by James, Ella
I look up at him once more. He’s beautiful. Perfection, really, even more so as he comes undone. His cock is so responsive. Swelling when I suction my cheeks around the base of him, leaking salty pre-cum when I suck and swallow deeper.
His fingers quiver in my hair and he starts snarling, talking dirty. Calling me his fucking whore, his cock-tease, slut, even as he slumps back in the chair, more swollen-cock-that-needs-to-come than guy.
His body trembles as I give the best blow job I’ve ever given. “’M... gonna make that pussy... pay for this,” he pants. He grasps my breast and pushes further down my throat.
So aroused... I’m surprised to find that even I feel hot and bothered.
So it’s a shame what I’m going to do. What I must do, to ensure my safe departure, and also to get some insurance: a way to invalidate his story if he tries to set me up.
I swallow one more time against his thick head—something all men seem to love—and focus my mouth around the base of him. I taste another drip of pre-cum. His hands, now threaded through my hair, curl into fists as he thrusts into my throat. He groans. Grunts. I feel a flash of sheer lust, imagining his huge dick in my pussy. Damn, he’s close. I’m close. I realize with a bolt of shock that I am wet and throbbing too.
And then, as I suck my cheeks in hard and grasp his sac, his hips buck; he spurts like a fountain down my throat. His body shudders mightily, and I marvel at the moisture that’s pooled in between my thighs. I’ve never enjoyed giving blow jobs, but this was something else.
I stare down at him as I stand up. His eyes are closed, his head leaned back against the chair.
But his legs are wide open—cock still mostly hard, his balls hanging without a care.
His eyes peek open too, right then, confirming my hunch that Kellan Walsh is not someone who relaxes for long. His gaze connects with mine. I grin.
And then, before he or I can speak, before another proposition can be made or another kinky phrase exchanged, I ram my knee between his legs.
I hear him grunt, but I am on the move, grabbing my shirt and shoes and darting out the door, dashing down the hall and down the stairs. Down the stairs and to my car. I hit the driver’s side so hard it hurts my ribs. I hoist myself over the door and fumble with my keys. I’m cranking the car before I catch my breath, gassing it as my head spins.
I glance behind me, half expecting to see his Sexcalade bouncing down the dirt drive after me. Half expecting to see him in my back seat.
But...nothing.
Nothing as I leave his dirt road.
Nothing as I pull over to put my shirt and shoes on.
Nothing on the drive home.
Nothing as I contemplate if he was really what he said. If he really wanted what he said, or if he was playing me.
Nothing as I shower, study, slip into my bed.
And then my phone lights up.
SIX
Kellan
I’m such a fucking liar.
The thing about it that bothers me most is how weak it makes me feel.
I tick them off:
Would she believe me if I told her I make a damn good crème brûlée? I’m not sure why I asked. It doesn’t matter if she’d believe me, because I can. I’m a great motherfucking cook. I cooked for my brothers for years. But after I told her that, I backed away from it. I don’t even know why. Scratch that: yes I do.
My second dumb lie: ice cream. I hate the shit, so why did I say that? Having her in my house made me uneasy. As much as I want her here so we can fuck ourselves into oblivion, I can’t stand having anyone close. Everything about me is...forbidden. So many reasons.
So I told her things about him.
I rub my temples, but the pressure only worsens. The deep green canopy I’m staring at seems to sag a little lower over me.
Lie three: Leading her to believe, even for a moment, that any dealer has ever lived with me to be ‘trained.’ There was Nessa, for that one night—but I let her go. I didn’t even fuck her. At times, I’ve almost wished I had. But it wasn’t like that with us. Oh, I wish it was. I wish it could be. Not because I would want to compromise our friendship, but because it would mean she was still alive.
I close my eyes, and I remember the cool glass wall against my forearm. I remember how hot the cell phone was, pressed against my ear. I can hear the awful sound that came out of my throat April 29 when they called to tell me: the first domino that fell in this last chain of events.
I stopped sleeping in this room because I couldn’t stand to see that window anymore. Because, after that moment four months ago, I dismissed my then-sub, Gina, without a single word, and told myself she’d be the last.
There were other lies today as well. The way I set Cleo up to come to my place. Having Matt tell Lora, Cleo’s friend, that he deals to other dealers sometimes. Intentionally omitting that if Cleo moves in with me, she’ll spend most of her time cuffed, suspended, or spread-eagle on the middle of this bed. On weekends, she’ll watch the sun rise and go down as she hangs here, getting fucked as often as I want to fuck her.
I’m not finished with this. I just...can’t be.
I swing my legs off the side of the bed and allow my toes to luxuriate in the thick rug before I grab my black silk robe from a hook on the door. I try the balcony, but despite its generous size, there’s not enough space. I feel pinned in. Edgy. It’s a problem I have often.
I go downstairs and grab a shake out of the refrigerator. Drink it down and fuck with my phone.
I’m still wired, so it’s the workout room, down in the basement. I run for twenty-seven minutes before my heart starts beating too hard, then hop off, pace around, lift some weights, and hit the elliptical for another numbing forty minutes.
I’m climbing up the stairs when I give in.
I read once that everyone has a finite supply of willpower, and tonight I’ve used up all of mine. Not going after Cleo and giving her the whipping she earned. Not calling one of the girls on my list of dirty fucks.
I pull up the text feature first, but I know as soon as I see it that I’m not going to text Cleo.
I need to hear her voice.
I punch her number in and sit at the top of the front staircase, looking down on the foyer: a dark cavern, sparkled and polished—all for naught. No one who comes here cares about those sorts of things.
No one but me.
I like order.
Cleo lets it ring so many times, I’m surprised when the ringing gives way to silence. A little rush jolts through my body when I realize she’s breathing into the phone.
“Cleo.”
It takes her a moment to answer, and when she does, she sounds...young. “It’s me.”
I curl my hand around the phone, remembering how good she tasted on my fingers. My dick hardens, and as it does, my balls draw up and ache. I ignore the pain and focus on the pleasure. My hand drifts down and wraps around the thick head of my dick. I tug and grin, imagining how I’m going to discipline Miss Whatley as soon as I get the chance.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” I ask.
I know she’s got something to say to me. Otherwise she wouldn’t have answered my call. I wait a minute, stroking myself through the opening of my robe.
Finally she says, “What do you have to say for yourself? You made me feel cornered and set up. I don’t trust you. If you try to rat me out, I’ll say you lured me to your house and tried to force me. The bruise between your legs can back me up.”
I laugh—a low hoot, surprising myself. “Can it?”
“Yeah, it can. I don’t like you, Kellan. I don’t want to talk to you again.”
“Tell me—how does your pussy feel? My cock is wounded. Even now, as it salutes you, it feels...misunderstood. Discarded.”
“Are you really trying to sexy talk me after what happened today?”
“No trying to. I am. Don’t tell me you don’t like it.”
“Is that a threat?” Her voice is high, like she really t
hinks it might be.
“Cleo. Cleo, Cleo... We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, I’m afraid. If you think I would hurt you, I’m forced to wonder if you’re fanaticizing. I’d never hurt a woman who didn’t beg for it.”
“What does that mean?” she whispers.
“Have you ever been whipped?”
“No.” Her voice is still a whisper.
“Have you ever had your cunt spanked?”
“No.”
“Ever been bound?”
She hesitates.
“You have.” My pulse quickens.
“Not really. My ex tried to tie me to the bed posts with one of his ties.”
“What did you think of it?” My throat is so dry, the words stick a little.
“It was fun I guess, but he wasn’t very good at knots. I got out in like ten seconds.”
“Maybe you’re just good at escaping.”
“Maybe.” Another pause. “Kellan, can I go now? I’m sorry I offended your dick or whatever. I did that because I was freaked out. Thank you for not following me, and for not threatening me or being any weirder. I enjoyed...” She fumbles for the words.
I stroke my cock. “You enjoyed my mouth on your pussy?”
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “If you have to put it that way.”
“My tongue in your slit? My lips on your clit? I know you enjoyed it. I’d like to do it again.”
“Not happening.”
“What will it take? How many bricks?”
“You want to pay me like a prostitute, with marijuana?”
“I’d make an exchange involving that, yes.” I add, “Don’t say it on the phone, Cleo.”
“And you would get what?” She scoffs. “My body?”
I picture her lying in her bed, shirtless with her nipples hard, cradling a phone to her cheek. “And I would get....a bunch of free weed?”
“Exactly. And you give me a cut of what you sell.”
“How big a cut?” she asks.
“Sixty.”
She scoffs. “That doesn’t sound so great for me.”
“You have no overhead. You pay me nothing. It’s all profit to you.”
She sighs. “Thereby making me a whore.”
“My whore. I treat my whores better than most men treat their wives. I should add...you would get my body, too.”
I went with an arrogant voice, and it did the trick. She giggles.
I arch a brow as I stroke my aching dick. “What’s so funny, Cleo?”
“I can’t believe I’m talking about this. With Kellan Walsh of all people.”
I lean back against the wall and lift my legs up onto the second-story floor. I raise my knees and spread my legs slightly. “The insults keep coming.”
She snorts. “You’re an uptight, rule-following douche—or so I thought.”
“I do make a strong—and wrong—first impression.”
I hear her yawn. “I never thought I’d be discussing stuff like this with you. I can’t believe you called me after I got you in the balls.”
“I didn’t call to chat.” I’m going for stern, but I feel like I can hear a smile when she says, “What did you call to do?”
I imagine her pussy, spread open—pink and dripping. “I wanted to give you one more chance to work with me. To live with me. To be fucked by me.”
“Your arrogance astonishes me, Mr. Walsh.”
I try to analyze her voice and find it curious. Soft and feminine and definitely curious, despite claiming she was scared.
She wants me.
Just like I want her.
“Let me make you come—right now. With just my words. When I do, you’ll move in with me.”
* * *
Cleo
Damnit, but his voice is really sexy. It’s the kind of voice that pervert hypnotists use—right before they tell you to strip off all your clothes.
Just a voice on the other end of the line. Not a person. That’s what I tell myself.
“Where are you, Cleo?” it purrs. “Tell me, are you in your bed?”
“Yes.” I’ve got a soft fleece blanket tucked around me, and I’m looking up at the glow stars on my ceiling.
“Tell me what you’re wearing,” he instructs.
I hesitate while my heart pounds, pumping blood to the growing heat between my legs.
Should I lie?
I open my mouth, and the truth tumbles out. “Just a t-shirt.”
“Take it off for me, Cleo.”
My hand, between my legs, pauses as I argue with myself. I would probably be masturbating even if I wasn’t on the phone with him, so I’m not doing this for him. I’m just...horny right now. Yeah. He might be crazy and a total ass, but I do think he’s hot. So what if I use his deep voice to get myself off?
“Are you naked, Cleo?”
“Yes,” I lie. “I’m naked.”
“You’re not naked. Take your shirt off, Cleo. Take it off now, or I’ll come and do it for you.”
My eyes widen, and I’m not sure if I should laugh or cream my panties. “You’re good, Walsh.”
“That’s Master Walsh to you. Pull your shirt over your head and cup your breasts, Cleo.”
I put the phone down, and yeah, I’m doing it. I pull my shirt over my head, and my hair falls around my shoulders. The cool stream of air from my box fan makes my nipples harden.
I sink into the covers, holding the phone to my ear like a sixth grade girl talking past curfew on a school night.
“What do the sheets feel like against your skin?” his voice rumbles.
I stroke my hand down the inside of my thigh. “It’s not a sheet. It’s fleece.”
He purrs, just like a tiger. “So it’s soft.”
“It is.”
“Is it cold in your room?”
“Now that I’m naked it is.” Reality slices through my fantasy, sending a pulse of fear through me. Making me feel vulnerable, like tomorrow I’m going to find a recording of our conversation posted on the campus forums.
“Are your nipples hard?”
I bite my lip. “I’m not telling until I know something about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
My stomach twists a little. I still can’t believe I’m doing this with him. I could stop right now, but... I can’t seem to say the words. In fact, I hear myself ask, “What are you wearing?”
“A robe.”
“What color is it?” I whisper.
“Black. And silk.”
My cheeks burn as I imagine his glorious body draped in a black robe. How it would hang off his huge, ripped shoulders. If I was there, I could part it and see his six-pack...and his happy trail.
“I’m sitting at the top of the stairs in a dark house, but I think I’ll get up and go back to your room now. Getting up...” I hear the sound of fabric swishing, followed by his deliciously low voice. “My cock is so hard, it’s bouncing as I walk. I’ve got my hand around the head of it. Put your hand between your legs, Cleo.”
I imagine his perfect cock as I slide my hand back down between my thighs.
“Touch yourself,” he orders. “Rub your fingertips over your clit—lightly—and then stroke down. Nudge your finger in between your lips so you can feel how soft you are. So warm and wet, aren’t you? Glide your fingers through your wetness.”
My fingertip circles my clit, almost on its own.
“Good girl. Don’t be shy. You’re fucking sexy, naked with your fingers in your pussy. My cock is aching for that tight, wet pussy. Slide one finger down and push a finger into yourself. It feels like velvet inside, doesn’t it Cleo? Push in—all the way. Do you like that?”
God—for shame. I push my finger up inside myself, and it’s all I can do to swallow back a moan.
“Tell me, Cleo—do you like to be finger-fucked?”
Heat sweeps through me, and every inch of my skin tingles with sweat.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Clench around your finger. Clamp that puss
y down on it. Are you doing that?”
I nod.
“Now drag your finger out. Not fast. Slowly.”
Damn me, I’m doing what he says. My clit feels warm and swollen.
“You’re empty now. All wet with no dick to fill you up,” his low voice whispers. “Push your finger back into your cunt. Then slide it out. I want you to fuck yourself. Like I would do if I was there.”
I close my eyes. I imagine my finger is his finger. I’m so wet.
“My robe is coming off, Cleo. I hung it on the door, and I’m walking to my—to your bed. I’m on it now, Cleo. I’m naked. Can you see my chest and shoulders? Can you see my dick? I’m stroking it. Squeezing it. It’s hard. Getting harder.”
I rub circles around my clit, tensing my legs. “Does it... hurt?”
“I’m sore, but you didn’t break it, Cleo. It’s ready for that pussy.”
I picture his hard length standing at attention, long and thick and striped with veins. His hand around it, stroking as his balls bounce underneath.
“Can you stroke your clit with your thumb while you slide another finger inside? I want you to feel full, so when you close your eyes and imagine my cock, you can almost feel it. Almost.” He laughs, a low, throaty sound that turns me on even more. “Are your fingers in your pussy, Cleo?”
I’ve been holding back, but now I spread my legs and push two fingers in. My clit throbs, and I can’t swallow my moan.
“Your pretty lips are around my cock. Now you’re taking it down your soft throat. I’m thrusting in and out of your mouth, pushing myself down your throat, because I’m getting close. Do you have a vibrator?”
I can’t speak, so I just swallow. I lie still for a minute, with my fingers in my pussy and my thumb stroking my swollen clit. Then I reach over to my nightstand drawer and pull my little bullet out.
“I trust you’ve got your vibrator in hand. Blow on it a couple times. Get it nice and warm, and then position it right over your clit. You’re throbbing, aren’t you Cleo? I can smell how wet you are.”
He’s right. I’m practically gushing.
“I’m wet, too. I’m so fucking hard for you, I’m leaking. I’m so hard it almost hurts. My balls are drawing up and that does hurts, Cleo. That’s your fault. But it’s a good hurt.”
