Kiss Me Now

by Wylder, Penny

  “I’m parked right over there.” He nods toward his car. “At least let me drive you home.”

  There’s a long beat where I hesitate. I know what this will lead to. Behind us, my ride honks again, a little longer this time, the driver through the windshield visibly annoyed.

  But Lark’s hands are still tight around my waist, his hard cock still digging into my thigh, and I’m only a human, in the end. “Take me, then,” I tell him, and I don’t mean straight home.

  In response, Lark wraps both arms under my thighs, and in one smooth motion, lifts me up against him. Reflexively, I wrap my legs around his waist, my hands digging into his shoulders, as he carries me across the lot toward his car. Over his shoulder I watch my ride share rolling his eyes and giving up, restarting his engine to drive away. My phone buzzes with the cancellation notification, but I hardly even notice.

  Because we’ve reached Lark’s car, and he’s pinned me against the door, kissing me again, his hands at the fly of my jeans when he sets me back on stable ground.

  My heart beats faster. We’re still in the middle of the parking lot. But it’s dark out, and with my ride gone, there are hardly any cars on the road which we’re hidden from by Lark’s car anyway.

  He grins at me, his eyes twin green flames in the dark. “I can’t get you out of my damn head, you know that, Cassidy?”

  My belly tightens at his words. Not least because I do know what he means. Far too well. “I dream about you…” I admit, my voice quiet. “Every night.”

  “What do I do to you in those dreams?” he asks, his voice dropping lower. Almost husky now. He kisses my neck again, my throat, my jawline.

  I tilt my head back, savoring the sensation of his hot mouth on my skin. “Everything,” I say, and I can feel the vibration of his mouth as he laughs. “You… kiss me,” I start.

  In response, he leans up to press those searing lips to mine. “Go on,” he adds when we pull apart again, and it takes me a second to catch my breath.

  “You peel off my clothes,” I murmur.

  His hands return to the clasp of my jeans, and he finishes undoing them, pushing them down, so I’m standing in my panties in the parking lot, backed up against his car.

  “You let me take yours off,” I add, and then I reach out to do the same to him, pushing his jeans off. He steps out of them, in his boxers, and then, before I can do anything, he pushes those down too.

  Fuck. I forgot how big he is, how thick he is when he’s hot for me. Which is, frankly, every time he’s close to me.

  It drives me wild, how hard I make him.

  “Then what do I do, Cassidy?” He steps closer, and I reach out with both hands to wrap them around the base of his shaft. I stroke along his length, savoring the velvety smoothness of his skin, the contrast between that and how hard his shaft feels beneath.

  “Then…” I swallow hard. Raise my gaze to his again. “You fuck me.”

  He takes one last step, and his cock is pressed right up against my belly now, hard shaft pressing against my soft skin. “How do I fuck you in these dirty dreams you have?” he whispers, leaning down to lick the shell of my ear, making me tremble. It’s chilly outside now that night is falling. But his body is so damn hot against mine, searing.

  “Hard,” I reply.

  He pushes my panties off with one thumb, easy as ripping apart wrapping paper. Then he spreads my thighs and stands between them, bending to position himself until the head of his cock is at my entrance. He parts my pussy lips with two fingers, one stroking between them, along my slit, until he grins at me. “Someone’s wet for me,” he says, before he bends to rest his forehead against mine.

  “Always,” I admit, my gaze focused on his.

  He keeps his eyes on me as he pushes inside me, slow enough that I can feel every centimeter of his cock as he fills me. A groan escapes my lips. I forgot how good this felt. I’ve been dreaming of him, yes, but dreams can’t possibly compare to the real thing, to the thick, full sensation of his cock straining against the walls of my pussy.

  He keeps moving, grinning at me now. “I love those noises you make,” he murmurs, before he tips his head sideways to kiss my cheek, my jawline, the side of my neck. He nips at my skin lightly and I inhale sharply, making him laugh again, low and sure. “Just like that,” he says, and I huff out a breath in protest.

  “Not my fault,” I tell him. “How can I not make noise when you’re—” I break off on another gasp, as he pulls back suddenly and thrusts into me again, faster this time, deeper. “Fuck,” I murmur, losing track of my argument.

  He’s still watching me, smiling that sly smile that says he knows exactly what I’m feeling, and how to make me feel it more. Damn him. He still knows every inch of my body better than I know myself.

  He knows exactly how to get me where he wants me.

  He pulls back and thrusts into me again, hard enough that car rocks a bit behind me. I tighten my thighs around his waist, hooking my ankles behind him, and at the same time, I wrap my arms around his torso, my fingers catching on the ridges of his back muscles.

  “God your pussy is so fucking tight,” he murmurs, those hot eyes on mine. He pulls out again, thrusts back inside me, and I can feel the graze of his shaft along my G-spot, already sensitive as hell because damn him, my clit is already swollen with desire.

  How can I help it, when I’ve been fantasizing about him all week? Longing for him, even when I know he’s the one person I shouldn’t be longing for.

  “Lark,” I breathe, and I don’t know where I’m going with this, whether I’m going to beg him to stop or to keep going. But it doesn’t matter, because he reaches up to press a finger to my lips. Then he slides his fingertip inside, and I wrap my lips around it, sucking hard on it, eyes fixed on his.

  I can see the moment his pupils dilate, feel the pulse of his cock jumping inside me as he tenses at the sensation.

  “Fuck,” he growls, low and throaty in a way I recognize, that tells me I’ve pushed him over some kind of edge now. He draws his fingertip from my mouth and runs both hands down my sides until they reach my hips. There, he grips tightly, fingers digging indents into the soft skin at my hips. He pulls me up and away from the car, and I arch my hips toward his, let him put me right where he wants me.

  He fucks me hard, then. Draws out and thrusts back into me again and again, pinning me right where he wants me. All I can do is hold on through the sensation, my hips bucking in time with his, faint gasps of pleasure escaping me with every thrust.

  “Fuck, Lark, fuck me,” I groan, not even sure what I’m saying anymore, I’ve lost control of my vocal box. “I want to come for you, fuck.”

  “Good, because you’re going to have to,” he replies, and damn him, his voice sounds so steady even now, like he’s barely even winded as he drives into me, making my whole body tighten against his, every nerve ending in my body singing out, screaming for release. “That’s it, Cass.” He’s grinning, watching me, fire in his gaze, and I know what he’s feeling. He loves watching me come undone.

  I know because it’s exactly why I haven’t taken my eyes from him since we got to his car.

  “Come for me,” he says, and at the same time he angles his hips up, drives into me hard and fast, hard enough and fast enough to push me right up to the edge.

  “Fuck,” I shout, or maybe I just think it. I’m not sure. The whole world goes white around the edges, and my vision narrows until all I can see is Lark’s face, his expression as he watches me break apart.

  The orgasm hits hard enough to steal my breath away, to sing all the way down to my fingertips and toes. But Lark doesn’t pause, doesn’t hesitate at all. He just keeps going, and just when I think I can’t feel any more, he reaches down between us with one hand, still thrusting into me, and grazes his thumb across my clit.

  I cry out, loud enough that anyone passing within a two block radius knows exactly what’s happening here. But I’m past caring about that. Past thinking about anythi
ng except the sensations firing through my body, flooding me with pleasure.

  Lark finishes a moment later, with a groan that echoes mine, and I watch his eyes flutter shut, his face suddenly open and so, so vulnerable as pleasure hits him, too.

  He slumps against me when he’s done, and I keep my legs wrapped around him, fold my arms around his body too. He feels so good like this, pressed fully against me, every inch of our bodies touching.

  A distant, far away part of my brain is screaming at me to remember why I’m avoiding him, to pull away, push him back out of my life. But that voice is distant now, and the rest of me is all too happy to ignore it as I let him hold me in his arms, draw me closer to his body.

  For now, I think, gazing up into his eyes, I can forget practicality. Forget what I should do, and instead, focus on what I really want.

  On who I really want.

  14

  Cassidy

  Images blur behind my closed eyelids. A car door slamming. An apartment door slamming open, with me pinned against it, my legs around a solid, steady torso. Lark’s mouth on mine, on my throat, my collarbone, my chest.

  The kitchen counter, where we sent pots and pans flying in our haste for him to set me on top of it and push between my thighs again.

  Then the living room couch where we stumbled afterward, still entangled, my lips on him now, tracing my way down the smooth, hard planes of his torso until I reached the fine V that led to between his legs. Kissing every inch of his cock before I so much as licked his length, enjoying the way his shaft clenched and shuddered at my touch, and the way he inhaled his breath between his teeth, sharp and desperate.

  I sucked him into my mouth, licked and pulled until he came apart shouting my name.

  Then the shower, his bed. Him again, between my thighs, for so long and hard I ached by the end of it, but a pleasant, bone deep kind of ache that I never want to lose.

  And now… my eyes detect the pinkish glow of dawn approaching. I’m vaguely aware that wherever I am is warm and comfortable. A lot warmer and more comfortable than my apartment be at this hour of the morning, with its shitty heating system and my thin blanket.

  Then, belatedly, I register the sensation of lips on my skin. At my hipbone now, followed by a tongue tracing a searing line across my belly to delve into my navel. It flicks on its way back out, making me shiver and burrow deeper into the blankets around me, the pillow so soft it engulfs half my face when I twist against it.

  The lips move lower. Kiss a fine line from my navel down to the shaved clean mound. Then the tongue returns to trace a searing, white hot line along the curve where my legs meet my hips, tracing the crevice.

  I moan a little and shift, so I’m lying flat on my back, prone and open. My legs are already parted, but I feel warm hands cup my calves and press them wider apart. I feel the weight of the bed shift beneath my hips, then warm hands slide beneath me to grip my ass. Cupping, more like, almost gently. But so, so warm.

  And the tongue again, tracing each of the lips of my pussy in turn, taking it slow. So slow that by the time the tongue presses between the folds of those lips, I’m groaning, my hips arching up off the bed of their own accord. The hands on my ass tighten, pull me farther upward, and then a whole mouth presses against my pussy, wide open and hot, hot, hot.

  The tongue traces the full length of my slit, back to front, hesitating just before reaching the throbbing, aching point of my clit. It runs back along my length again, and returns to swirl around my pussy entrance, licking, teasing.

  “Please,” I moan through gritted teeth, not even sure if I’m awake right now or dreaming still. Not caring either way.

  The tongue presses inside me so, so slowly. I twist against it, try to press upward, thrust my hips against that hot mouth. But the hands shift from my ass up to my hips, pinning me down. In control.

  This isn’t my game; it’s his, and I sink back to the mattress, obedient. Enjoying the feeling of relinquishing control over my body, if only for a little while.

  His tongue pushes all the way inside my pussy. Then it does a slow twirl inside me, licking, tasting, testing. When the tip of his tongue grazes over my G-spot, I gasp and buck. Then there’s a soft chuckle, hot breath against my wet pussy, and his tongue curls up, the tip digging into that sensitive spot.

  It flicks back and forth, back and forth. Slow and strong. So damn sure.

  I moan again, longer and louder this time. His tongue keeps moving, right over that spot, circling, pressing, digging. My hands move on their own, slide down over the comforter to clench fistfuls of the blanket. My back arches, my hips dug into the mattress still, and I’m sweating, panting for breath, as the pressure builds behind my navel, my hipbones.

  At the last possible second, his tongue slides out of me, and I cry aloud in protest, deprived of the cliff I’d been so close to. But then his tongue flattens to a blade, laps over my clit, a strong, steady stroke that has me panting again right away, my whole body arched and trembling.

  He licks me over and over and over until I’m right up at the edge again moments later, and I come with a cry so loud I’m surprised the neighbors don’t pound on the walls to complain.

  But then I come back to myself, still trembling, as a warm, smooth body climbs up mine to draw me into his arms, and I remember—I’m not at my apartment, with its dingy, paper-thin walls and my threadbare sheets.

  I open my eyes to find Lark gazing down at me, his arms around my waist to cradle me against his naked chest.

  Actually, his naked everything. I can feel the hard press of his cock pressed up against my stomach, and it sends a fresh pulse of desire through me, my nerves already on fire from his tongue.

  “That’s definitely one way to wake up in the morning,” I murmur, tilting my face toward his to let him kiss me gently.

  When we part, he’s grinning, and I can taste myself on his mouth. It doesn’t do anything to help calm my racing pulse or the spiking heat in my veins. “Happy to oblige.” He tucks my head beneath his chin and sighs, his breath stirring my hair. “If I had it my way, you’d wake up like that every morning, Cassidy.”

  I tense. Wrapped up like I am against him, of course he notices.

  “Stop overthinking,” he murmurs. His lips brush my temple, the edge of my cheek.

  I want to listen to him. I want to do just that, to forget about my own concerns and let this moment last a little bit longer.

  And, yeah, I want him to fuck me again. I’m still sore from last night, but the ache between my legs is sweet, a muscle-deep sensation that leaves me wanting more. I swear if I clench, I can still feel the outline of his cock inside me. Not to mention his actual cock pressed against my stomach, hard and wanting.

  But… “This was a mistake,” I breathe. The words slip out before I can stop them.

  Lark pulls back, his eyes unreadable when they catch mine. “What, exactly?”

  “Me. Being here. Us.” I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut so I don’t have to watch the hurt that blossoms on his face. “I shouldn’t have come. Last night was…” Incredible. “Not a good idea.”

  “Why do you feel like you have to keep pushing me away?” he says. His hand traces the edge of my jawline. Tucks under my chin and tweaks until I open my eyes. He’s staring at me still with that inscrutable look, like he’s seeing straight through all the walls I keep attempting to throw up and into something vital at my core. “Let me in, Cass. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “You want me to let you in?” My voice cracks. “What about you, Lark?”

  He draws back, his forehead furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if you want me to open up, maybe you need to do the same.” I slide away from him, across the bed. My whole body aches at the separation. But my mind knows it’s the right move. “What really happened with you and Sheryl?” I ask.

  And I can see it in his face. The moment his gaze goes from open and curious, to slamming shut. It’s like a wall has come down b
etween us.

  And he calls me closed off.

  “That’s not relevant to us,” Lark replies.

  “It’s relevant to me. I want to know the whole story before anything else happens here.” I gesture in the air between us.

  His expression darkens. “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”

  “I’m asking you to be honest. Is that so hard?”

  In response, he pushes the covers back and rolls out of the bed. I try not to watch him go, but it’s a struggle. The man seriously has a perfect ass. Not to mention abs, thighs, cock… I squeeze my eyes shut while he starts tugging on clothing, just to keep myself focused. “I’ve told you, time and again, that Sheryl and I are done. I don’t know why you refuse to believe me, but there’s nothing there anymore. It’s in the past. And I don’t linger in the past, okay? I live in the now, Cass. That’s what I’m focusing on. Here and now.”

  “There’s living in the past, and then there’s being willing to talk about it,” I protest, levering myself up onto one elbow. “All I’m asking is for the story, not for you to relive it.”

  “Yeah, well, for me it’s the same thing, all right? I can’t talk about it.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” I fire back, pushing myself up to standing too. He’s half-dressed now, so I do the same, snatching at my clothes, flung all over the room last night in our haste.

  “Either,” Lark replies angrily.

  “Fine.” I finish yanking on my jeans and grab my top from a lamp it somehow wound up slung over. “If you can’t open up, then neither will I.” With that, I tug the shirt over my head.

  When I emerge on the other side, Lark’s standing in the middle of the room, still only half-dressed, his own shirt dangling from one fist. “Cassidy…” He runs one hand through his hair, and I try not to get distracted at the way his muscles ripple when he does. “Can you just… give me time? To get there, at least? I’m not ready yet, but I hope soon that maybe—”