by Stasia Black
And damn, I need Kennedy’s cock in my mouth so I can drive him absolutely goddamn crazy, too. Then I’m going to ride him so hard, right here with our friends watching. Oh God, oh fuck, that’s so hot, I feel another gush of wetness spurt between my legs.
I pull out Kennedy’s glorious cock. “So fucking big,” I whisper and then I choke down as much of him as I can fit in my mouth and down my throat.
Kennedy groans and throws himself back against the couch, sinking down so his ass is closer to the edge of the leather cushion. Closer to me and my mouth.
I angle my body slightly so I can look to the other couch. Vale and Callie’s eyes are locked on me where I kneel with Kennedy’s girth shoved deep in my mouth. Vale’s hand is paused cupping Callie’s giant breast. Our show is too much for him to look away.
I turn back to Kennedy and give him all my focus. I pull off his hard shaft and then bob back down, choking myself just as roughly. I grab one of his hands and put it on the back of my head. He gets the picture and starts guiding me by my hair.
Oh yeah. Oh God, that’s so hot. I want him to just take me. Fuck my face. Use me. Oh Christ, just fucking use me like a whore.
He hesitates at first, but I brace his other hand behind my neck and then jam him down my throat, so far that I gag on him. But God, that’s how I want it. Dirty and wrong and just, absolutely raw fucking.
He must get the idea because he finally takes over and starts to really fuck my face. Ramming into my throat without mercy.
And my cunt weeps. I reach down and touch myself and come hard right as he pushes himself deep down my throat.
He must feel it because he roars. It’s relatively quiet up here but we can still hear the thumping music below us. Kennedy doesn’t bother worrying about how loud he is, though, and I love it.
He pulls me off my knees, lifts me, and bends me over the side of the couch. He grabs my jaw and moves my face so I’m looking at Vale and Callie. Vale has one arm wrapped around his fiancé, hand disappearing below her skirt. Her cheeks are pink and eyes lust-filled as she watches us.
Kennedy slaps my ass. Not hard, but enough to get a satisfying smack noise. From the other couch, Vale’s eyes light up.
So I tell Kennedy, “Again.”
He obliges. He spanks me several more times and I bob my now bare ass up in the air for both Kennedy and our viewers. I don’t know where my underwear went, if they got pulled down or ripped off at some point, but I don’t fucking care. I’m feeling so many sensations. God, all I can do is feel.
Kennedy palms my ass cheeks in his huge hands and massages them. Then his clever thumbs get to work, pulling apart my legs and exploring between them. He dips his head and starts tonguing around—my sex, my clit, even the ring of my asshole.
And God, it’s too much, too much.
I turn over my shoulder and grab Kennedy by the hair, pulling him so that his head is up by my shoulder.
“Get your cock inside me this second and fuck me hard,” I growl at him.
His eyes, already dark, seem to go black. He grabs for something on the table beside the couch and then he plunges his cock in me.
I grab the sides of the couch for purchase because he immediately starts ramming me hard. So hard.
“That’s right,” he whispers in my ear. “You feel me now, don’t you? You aren’t distracted now?”
I shake my head and whimper. Oh God, another climax is coming. It’s so close. I reach down between my legs to stroke myself, but Kennedy’s hand is there the next moment, batting mine away. His fingers start working me at the same time he strokes deep from behind. Oh shit, oh God, how can anything feel so good? It’s not fair. Oh, oh, almost there—
But then Kennedy pulls out suddenly and my body’s being lifted and flipped. Wha—?
My back slams into the leather couch and Kennedy’s body is there the next second, chest to chest, pressing me into the couch. His cock slips right back in but the angle feels completely different. We’ve never done it in this position. Face to face.
I blink in confusion as he looms over me. He leans down and then his mouth is on mine, tongues tangling. My mouth responds immediately. Of course it does. This man owns my body. Owns me.
When Kennedy strokes in now, he swivels his hips in such a way that his body hits my sweet spot without him having to touch me separately.
My breath catches because— oh my— it feels—
Kennedy reaches down and pulls my dress over the top of my head. The dress had a built-in bra so now I’m completely naked.
I glance over at the other couch. Vale has his cock in hand, jacking off while he watches. His other fingers trail up and down Callie’s thigh. Meanwhile, Callie’s eyes are slits as she looks on. Her chest arches outward and her hand shifts deep under her skirt.
Oh my God. They’re masturbating to us. Like we’re their live porn. I’m naked and on display and Kennedy’s fucking me. I imagine his ass flexing as he thrusts into me.
It’s building so hot and hard inside me and I can already tell this isn’t going to be a garden variety orgasm. I start meeting Kennedy thrust for thrust, grinding my spot against him. His mouth latches onto one of my breasts and—
It hits. Oh God, oh God, oooooooooooooooooooohh—
I clutch Kennedy to me but keep moving my hips because God, it’s still going. It’s so good and high and hot and it’s not done. It’s not done with me either. If I keep pushing, I bet I can ride it into a second.
I start fucking Kennedy with even more abandon. I’m barely a woman in this moment. I’m only a creation made for fucking. I’m this body, female, orgasmic, light and heat and fucking. That’s right, only made for hard, dirty, nasty fucking.
I glance back over at Vale and Callie. Vale’s mouth has dropped open, features taut. Oh shit, he’s about to come. Callie must see it too because she drops over and takes his cock in her mouth.
It’s so shameless. All of us just here, fucking in front of each other. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I go even crazier against Kennedy. “Don’t you dare stop. Oh God, it’s so good,” I whisper as I clutch his hair. “I just want more. Never stop.”
Oh fuck, it’s still going. It’s the mega-orgasm of all orgasms. Am I riding it into a third one? I don’t know but I thrust and grind and grind until I feel like the center of my pelvis is cracking open and light is pouring out of my body.
I arch my chest up into Kennedy and fuck and fuck and fuck and I ride that fucking high so hard—
Kennedy’s been meeting me stroke for stroke, fucking me with the exact beastly abandon I’ve needed. But at the moment the high crests, on the highest of fucking highs of my whole goddamned life, he grabs my hair and forces my face down so that I’m looking him in the eyes. His neck goes taut and he rocks back and forth before driving inside me one last time. Then his whole body shakes while his growling voice lets out a low roar of pleasure.
I match him and finally release my own cry as the huge tsunami wave I’ve been riding finally crests and—
Kennedy keeps my eyes as we both feel our bodies light up from within—but God it’s something else, it’s like the lightning bolt of electricity has zoomed from his body out into mine. All the ways we’re connected, him inside me, those eyes locked with mine. So intimate, too intimate.
I feel everything. I can see inside him and he inside me.
I know this is dangerous. I know there are a million reasons why I should look away. Break this connection before it sears too deep into my soul.
My life fused to his life.
I can’t look away. Kennedy’s hazel eyes are so alive with wonder and awe as they search mine.
Nonna used to say of Grandpapa, I miss his eyes.
Grief strikes me in the gut. My life is fused to his life. And so, when I break him, I’ll break myself. When you start on a path of revenge, dig two graves.
I’m not going to have these eyes soon. He won’t look at me like this. I won’t have his eyes. I won’t h
ave any of him.
Kennedy draws me close, our sweat-slicked bodies sliding easily against one another. He doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls me down to his chest. His heartbeat is so strong underneath my ear. He props his chin on the top of my head and he starts to stroke my hair.
I want to scream and jerk out of his arms. The more I allow our two souls to bind together, the more we’ll both bleed when I rip us apart. At least with my head down, Kennedy doesn’t notice the tear slip out of my eye.
Oh God, I’m not going to survive this, am I?
* * *
My body still feels like it’s floating somewhere in that other space of bliss and light when we step back into Kennedy’s apartment an hour later.
The noise of the door closing helps jolt me a little.
Right. I’m here. In the present.
Not back up on that couch in the club where Kennedy kept bringing me to peak after peak. He didn’t stop once he got off. That was just a brief respite. No, he just repositioned me on the couch and then started eating me out like I was his last meal.
Vale and Callie eventually let loose and started having sex on their couch, only occasionally looking over to see what we were doing. And God, Kennedy refused to stop. I lost count of how many times I came, but it had to have been at least eight or nine orgasms. I wouldn’t have believed that was possible until I’d experienced it myself.
By the end, I couldn’t think about losing Kennedy or my ‘mission’ or anything else except pleasure and Kennedy’s body on my body. The crazy orgasm-a-thon ended with us having sex again and just, holy crap, the man is a god.
My eyes drop closed for a moment after I’ve stepped in the foyer as I let myself relive some of the most sensuous, sinful moments.
“Come with me.” Kennedy’s warm hand taking mine startles me but also sends another flood of sensation rocketing up my arm. It’s like after tonight, any touch between us carries the sizzle of an electric spark.
My legs squirm as I follow him toward the kitchen. Wait, is he hungry? Does he want me to make him something? He doesn’t say anything, but neither does he let go of my hand the entire time. Finally, he settles me on one of the tall bar chairs that line one of the outer counters. He presses a kiss to my temple. “Stay.” He walks around to the center of the kitchen and starts pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator.
Normally, I’d bristle at being ordered around like a dog, but the whole bottom half of my body is too distracted, humming with warmth and tingles and sensation and—
“God,” I whisper, breathing in a long breath and then letting it out through my teeth, grabbing my dress and scrunching it in my fingers. “I’ve never felt so good in my entire life.”
Kennedy chuckles as he leans over the counter to kiss me. Oh God, he smells so good. He wears a clean, masculine scent, but right now, it’s mixed with sweat and sex and I want to lick his neck and then down his chest to his—
I push him away and he chuckles. God, when did I become such a sex fiend? I swear, I was never like this before. “Thank you for tonight. I can’t— I don’t—” I laugh at myself. “I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say.”
Kennedy’s grin doesn’t fade as he starts preparing ingredients into several separate glass bowls—separating egg yolks and whites, grating cheese into one, adding spices to both. Then he pulls out two saucepans. In one, he starts searing spinach and with the other, he begins a white sauce from scratch. He handles it all so expertly, appearing completely laid back as he moves seamlessly between tasks.
I’m suddenly very glad I’ve never allowed him in the kitchen while I cook. Sure, at first it was just because I didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary with him, but now I’m happy because while, yeah, I can cook great food, I’m an absolute mess at it. For one, I use measuring cups and occasionally even recipes, something Kennedy apparently has no need for, and two, I’m notorious for things boiling over and catching things at the last-minute right before they burn. There’s usually a general air of frantic near-disaster when I’m running a kitchen.
Nothing like the easy calm, almost debonair ease Kennedy exudes as he whips egg whites with one hand while stirring the thickening cream sauce with the other.
Is it just because he fucked my brains out that I find this insanely hot? I can’t look away from the way the muscles in his forearm flex as he flips the whisk so quickly it’s almost too fast for the human eye.
I keep watching, all but mesmerized, as he swiftly puts together what I quickly realize is a spinach-cheese soufflé. In less than five minutes, he’s gotten two mini personal soufflés popped in the oven and he starts on clean-up.
He pauses right after he drops the prep bowls in the sink, washing his hands, drying them and turning to me. “I’ll finish cleaning up in a sec. I have something for you.” There’s a twinkle in his eye that I’d almost describe as…like, boyish.
All right, this whole night is really starting to make me feel a little shell-shocked. First crazy club sex in front of our friends that went on and on and on, and damn it, what am I doing calling them friends? Callie’s not my friend—how do I keep forgetting that this is all a lie? Kennedy’s the enemy! But them with him cooking dinner and being so sweet and now what else is he up to?
But before I can say anything or yell out to ask the universe what the hell is going on, Kennedy’s gone, only to reappear a couple minutes later carrying a box about the size of a book.
I frown, my eyes immediately shooting to his. “What’s that? I told you I didn’t want any more special—”
He rolls his eyes. “Zip it. This is barely anything. You were just on my mind so I stopped in and picked it up. Don’t insult me by not accepting my gift.”
I huff. Well, when he puts it that way. Still unsure, I reach for the box. He happily deposits it in my hands, a wide grin cracking his face. “Open it,” he urges.
I glare at him. “If this cost any kind of serious money, I’m making you take it back.”
He laughs at this and holds his hands up. “I wouldn’t dare. I’ll only say you’ve taught me the value of discovering hidden treasure.” He stares at me in a penetrating way that seems to give more weight to his words than their obvious meaning. Is he trying to say…does he mean…?
Screw it. I’m too tired to try to puzzle out hidden meanings.
I rip into the wrapping, because yes, he wrapped the damn thing—bright red wrapping paper, in fact. Under the paper is a cardboard box. I lift the top off the box and there, cradled in soft, crinkly tissue paper is the little Eiffel Tower beaded clutch purse I picked up that very first day in the thrift store.
He remembered.
Not only that, but he went back for it.
Goddamn him. With my index finger, I reach down and finger the delicate beading that creates the outline of the tower and little beaded stars beyond. I pick it up and click open the clasp. Inside is the softest silk. Exquisite.
Everything seems to hit me at once, then.
“I don’t know why I like it so much.” My voice is quiet. “Sex in public.”
He doesn’t reply. I get the feeling it’s not from judgment. Simply that he’s waiting for me to say more.
“And it’s not like I’ve even really experimented much before you.” That’s not just a line. I never really felt safe enough to try anything before him. “I just— I don’t know. I spent so much of my life as the good girl, you know?” I look up at him, then quickly away again when our eyes lock. “But none of it mattered. It’s not true, what they tell you in school when you’re a little kid. It doesn’t matter if you study hard, follow the rules, pass your classes, don’t step outside the lines.”
My voice gets high and tight but I talk through it. “So fuck ‘em.”
I can’t help the bitterness coating my tone as I go on. “My dad paid taxes every year of his life and what did it matter when he was on his death bed and his daughter had cancer and the bank was about to foreclose on his house?”
It’s just the stupid sex hormones. All that adrenaline release, it’s messing with my body. Stupid hormones. He’s the enemy. The enemy. God, how have I just let myself forget that all night? Am I really such a whore that I’d betray my father and brother for a handful of orgasms?
Kennedy grabs the fist I’m pounding against his arm and holds me tighter.
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay now. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
They’re the same words he said when he picked me up in the soup kitchen parking lot after the guys Francisco sent started roughing me up. I used the signal word—applesauce—for them to back off if it was getting too intense, but I should have known from the way Francisco just smirked when I told him that part of the plan that he’d neglect to pass it on to his thugs.
“I’ve got you,” Kennedy breathes into my hair as he holds me. “Shh. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.” He runs his hands through my hair and I cry even harder because a stupid, stupid part of me wishes I could stay here forever and his words could be true.
The timer rings after another few minutes of him holding me. He’s reluctant letting me go and I have to push him away, laughing and wiping at my eyes.
“We can’t let those beautiful soufflés burn. That would be a tragedy. Besides, I’m starving.”
Those seem to be the magic words because he hurries over to the stove and produces the most beautiful soufflés I’ve ever seen. They are slightly browned, perfectly puffed up over the top of the little ceramic rounds he put the concoction in.
I’ve always been too intimidated by soufflés to even try them—they’re notoriously tricky to get to rise. But these look delicious.
And tastes it. My first spoonful into the flakey dough and soft, creamy cheese is enough to have me groaning with noises similar to what I was making earlier in the night. Kennedy notices too, because his eyes darken as he watches me over his own soufflé. He’s barely touched his by the time I’ve scarfed mine down. I burned my tongue a couple times, but it was absolutely worth it. God, it was so delicious.
