by Kane, Jessa
My heart thumps heavily. All that time spent with him, getting deeper and deeper. It wouldn’t be wise. “You don’t have to do all of that.”
“I want to.” He spears a handful of fingers into his hair and leans back against the top step, hesitating as if deciding whether or not to tell me something. “My aunt, Allie…she is the guidance counselor.”
Understanding dawns slowly. The answer to a question that has been plaguing me for years. “Your aunt. That’s how you got into all of my classes?”
He winces slightly. “To be fair, she didn’t know I was…stalking you. She thought it was a crush. And I was bribing her with some serious ammunition. The woman has never been able to turn down a Snickers—and I supplied them by the case.”
When I laugh, I cut myself off in surprise. Am I really laughing over the lengths Moore went to shadow me every hour of the school day? His head jerks around at the sound, searching my face, hope beginning to bleed into his expression. I shouldn’t allow that hope. Nor should I rely on him for things I need to do myself. Things that will be required to take control of my life. “It’s not safe for you at the school, either. What if my father presses assault charges?” As soon as I ask the question, I shake my head. “Never mind. He’d never do that. People would know you bested him. They’d know what he did to me, too—and he’d never allow that.”
“So I’ll go to the school for you?” he asks, quietly, casually, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw. It’s not a simple question. If I say yes to this favor, it means our…relationship will extend beyond one night. To include tomorrow—Sunday—plus Monday morning, before the school opens. It adds time to the us I know he still wants. Do I have a choice, though? What he’s willing to do could help me tremendously. Could start me on the path to a new beginning.
“Yes,” I whisper. “You’ll go.”
Moore swallows loudly, his eyelids briefly dropping.
When he opens them again, his gaze traces my bare thighs hungrily. We have until Monday now. What are we going to do with all that time to kill? That question hangs in the air, unspoken, but louder than a shout. I can almost feel the binds tightening us together, strengthening until they become impossible to snap. And it scares me, but I’ve always loved storms. Always loved being scared, electrified, by beautiful things, and bare-chested in the moonlight, Moore is by far the most beautiful of all. “Allie…” he breathes, swallowing loudly. “Can I lick your pussy again?”
Heat envelops me, wraps me tight in its grip.
I’ve always worried I need to touch myself too often. That I have a more pronounced sexual appetite than I’m supposed to have at my age. But as Moore kneels on the lower stair in front of me and separates my thighs, kissing a path toward my apex, I know he’s the reason. Moore is the reason I’ve been riding the heel of my hand, crying frustration into my pillow, night after night after night. He’s the one that inspires the excruciating arousal—and I don’t have a shot in hell of saying no to him. Not when it comes to being physical.
I just have to remember to say no to anything more. Anything beyond this.
“Yes…” I lean back on my elbows. “You can.”
He barks a hoarse curse and starts to pant, tangling his fingers in the sides of my panties and stripping them down my legs. Licking his mouth until it glistens, the moonlight bouncing off of it, his reverent breath coasting over my slick folds. “I want to try everything with you. I want your first time in every single position to be with me. Standing up, sitting down, on top, behind you.”
“Yes.”
His face tips toward the sky, as if issuing a prayer. And then he worships only me, his tongue parting my flesh in a slow, shallow light, waking up every cell, every hair follicle in my body, making me tremble on the step, moving my thighs open wider, restlessly, leaning back on my elbows.
“I’m going to eat this first, every single time,” he rasps, planting a hard kiss on top of my clit, nudging it with his nose. “Make sure you’re wet.” I hear his zipper come down and look through the scant space between our bodies, watching his heavy balls and long, thick shaft drop down, free of the wet denim, his relieved growl of freedom turning my nipples to pulsing points. “Which way are we going to try next, Allie?” He sips at my sex, gently, then parts me roughly with a stiff, flat tongue, dragging it over that hyper-sensitive bud, making me cry out. “I’ve always dreamed of fucking you standing up. Right there at your locker, taking my dick beneath your skirt, those innocent, pink Mary Janes dangling behind me.”
My arms, which are supporting me, almost give out, that image is so raw, so easy to picture, because I’ve thought of it before, too. Thought of Moore kissing and touching me in the school hallway, instead of sneering and insulting me. I’ve wanted it, yearned for that intimacy with him so badly. Now he’s offering and I’m taking. I can’t do anything but take.
“S-standing up. Let’s try standing up.”
Mid-lick, Moore moans. Lays another kiss on top of my clitoris, petting it once with his thumb. Then I’m being dragged to my feet, the T-shirt whipped from my body, leaving me completely nude. On the porch of this strange cabin in the middle of nowhere. Free of my father’s torment, hungrily kissing the object of my lust, and I feel wild for it. Wild under the glow of the moon, the whisper of the wind and call of forest animals, coming from deep in the inky black.
We stumble backward on the porch toward the entrance, but Moore’s hand stops my back from hitting the front door just in time, his mouth insatiable on mine, our tongues in a continuous tango, slipping and pulling. And we don’t wait, can’t wait. Moore lifts me and I lock my legs around his hips, my back finally meeting the door, rattling the old brass knocker. He doesn’t even need a hand to guide himself to my entrance, he’s as stiff as a pike. The broad head of his shaft nudges, breaches my sex an inch, two—we both suck in a breath—and he drives into me with an upward buck of his hips, flattening me back onto the door.
“Don’t come, don’t come,” he chants to himself, his lower body undulating in tight circles, stroking my tight ring of nerves with the fat base of his erection. “Rub your clit on me, baby. Can’t thrust yet. You’re built so fucking perfect. God.” He exhales roughly into my ear. “Rub it. Come on, rub it so good, wet baby. Do it.”
His unfiltered speech, the raw stretch of his thickness inside of me, my newfound freedom, it all combines and creates an implosion. Of lust, greed, feminine power, and I tangle my fingers in Moore’s hair and ride all over his huge sex. It’s planted so deep inside me, throbbing, his jaw clenched, pectorals flexed, so sexy. So masculine. And I’m driving him insane with every grind and side-to-side rub of my clitoris on his manhood. I’m riding him so hard, our stomachs slap together. Unfettered, unashamed. I look him right in the eye while I’m doing it.
“Oh Jesus, Allie. Jesus, baby. Fuck!”
“Don’t move,” I whimper, my loins quickening, stealing my ability to see or think, all I can do is strain, bear down, whip my hips, faster, faster. “I-it’s happening.”
Seemingly in awe, Moore reverses our positions and leans his shoulders back against the door, thrusting out his hips, giving me a sturdier platform on his lap, more friction, sweet gravity, and every cell in my body screams toward the apex of my thighs, gathering tight, tight, and the orgasm goes through me like a silk spear, making me scream brokenly, my hips still pumping hungrily, needing to wring out every last second of the blessed relief, the wonderfully terrible ticklish sensation that pulsates madly, addicting me to its power.
I’m barely coherent from the magnitude of my climax when Moore starts to rut into me with sharp upward slams of his hips—and he’s so big, it hurts. He’s right at the edge, rigid as steel, no give to his flesh whatsoever.
“Hurts,” I whine.
“So good. So fucking good.” He digs his fingers into my buttocks and holds me steady for the next roll of his hips, the pressure inside me mounting, splitting me in two. “Ahhhh. Shit. You drenched
me, Allie. So fucking hot. I’m going to come to hard.”
“You’re too big. It’s too big.”
“What?” I watch him struggle for awareness, his eyes unfocused as he searches my face. “Too big…”
“It hurts.”
Horror wars with lust. “No. No, I’ll stop.” A shudder passes through his big frame and he pants a breath, stopping causing him visible pain. “I’ll pull out.”
“No.” I tighten my legs around his hips. “Just go slow.”
“Slow.” He nods vigorously, laser focused on my face, as if he’s now afraid of breaking me. “You’re sure, baby? You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
I kiss his mouth to reassure him and he groans, melting at my touch, slowly rolling in and out of me from below—and it still hurts, but the discomfort is manageable with his mouth on mine, when I can experience first hand how badly he needs relief, his shaft swollen and rock hard inside of me. It’s an effort to keep the easy pace, the muscles on his neck straining, perspiration breaking out on his forehead. His teeth are bared, animal sounds climbing his throat. But he continues to thrust, rhythmic and measured, our eyes hot on one another. Eventually wet sounds start to fill the air, his flesh milking into mine and he can’t help it, he starts to bounce me, his body in control, not his mind. My body doing the communicating for me by providing moisture, easing his path.
This is new. This is the beginning of experienced sex.
We’re in pace, we know how to reach our peaks now. Can be in control and out of it at the same time. It’s exciting and light snaps in our eyes as we remain focused on one another, Moore smacking me up and down on his lap, his belt buckle jangling below before eventually dropping heavily to the porch floor.
“Allie…” he pushes through his teeth. “There are things I want to do, things I don’t understand, some thing I know I shouldn’t do…”
“Do them.”
His chest flexes hard, eyes closing. And he slaps my bottom, the sound seeming to urge his hips faster, increase the urgency inside of us both. Yes, us both. It’s not the same as being struck by someone in anger. This is chemical, animal, an understanding between a male and a female. It says, I’m doing the fucking.
“Again,” I choke out, gripping his shoulders for purchase. “Again.”
Moore stumbles sideways a step, relieved by my acceptance, visibly turned on to the point of agony, his hips driving so hard and fast now, my back teeth clack together. “Dick tease,” he growls, turning me, impaling me to the door, shaking the wood on its hinges. “You hot, little dick tease. Wanted to cram that virgin hole so bad, you made me come in my pants in class. Lost count how many times. So hard for this good girl cunt, baby. So fucking hot for it. Every second of my life. Now. Forever. You own me, whether you want me or not.”
I’m still reeling from his guttural confessions when his middle finger presses to my rear entrance, teasing inside every so slightly.
“I don’t know why I want to do this so bad.” His erection jerks inside of me, his breath hitching, that finger testing me deeper. I gasp at the odd sensation, trying to decide if I like it. When my hips start working again, meeting his thrusts, I decide I do. Oh wow. Very much. Having his finger there is forbidden, taboo, unexpected and it’s making me so full, turning my sex so sensitive. “Shit, it’s so sweet and small. You showed it off to me earlier, at the lake. Maybe you want it fucked, Allie. Maybe neither one of us knows how bad it needs dick.”
Another orgasm crests over me unexpectedly and my muscles stiffen, legs squeezing around him, bliss collapsing everything inside of me like a house of cards, turning me into a whining ragdoll, my legs barely capable to staying around his hips. But that display of my pleasure seems to ruin Moore and he catapults over the edge, too, hips powering me into the door one final time, his strangled shout echoing in my ear, hot moisture leaving his body and filling mine.
“God, Allie. God.”
We stay like that so long, fit to one another like puzzle pieces, I start to wonder if either one of us is breathing. I’m drowsy, content to remain in his arms, somehow knowing he’ll die to keep me safe, despite the very recent past. And when he finally carries me into the cabin, I acknowledge to myself how dangerous that belief might turn out to be.
Chapter Six
Moore
I wrap my hands around my throat, trying to keep my heart from jumping straight out of my mouth. Allie is asleep in the cabin’s one bed. I’m pacing at the end of it, trying to get my fucking emotions under control. I don’t know how to exist like this. I haven’t known how to exist in a long fucking time when it comes to Allie James.
Four years ago, life was dismal, barren, lonely…except for her. Maybe I didn’t have parents to come home to. Maybe I had to scrape through odd jobs to afford food, rent. But at least I could get out of bed every morning knowing I’d see her walking the halls. Then I won her and lost her all in the space of a night and life turned into this ugly, soul-sucking doom cloud.
Now? Now I’m caught somewhere in the middle. I don’t have her. She’s committed to leaving, I can see that. But I haven’t quite lost her yet. Not completely. Her mind might be made up to leave. Her body—and God willing, her heart—are another story entirely.
The thing is…Allie can’t see herself when I’m inside of her. She can’t see the vulnerability and affection and hope in her eyes. Can’t feel the absolute trust she grants me. I feel it. I see her.
There has to be a chance I can keep her.
What would life even be without a chance to have this girl all of my days?
Part of me is so guilt ridden over the bullying, it’s telling me to have some decency, some mercy on her and walk away. I don’t know how to do that without killing myself in the process. I don’t think I could physically do it.
“Moore…” she murmurs, turning over in her sleep. “Cold.”
With my heart pinwheeling, I lunge toward the side of the bed and crawl in beside her, nearly moaning out loud when she snuggles up against me, face in my throat, her smooth nudity turning my cock to stone. Christ. How many times can we have sex before it’s too much? These are things I don’t know.
There are so many things I don’t know. Like why I want to fuck her in the ass so badly. Or why having my finger there made me so hot. Why I wanted to spank her, why I said such crude things. And is there something I should be doing for her afterward? Seems like maybe I should be building a monument in her honor or naming a constellation after her pussy. In all of my fantasies, all of my day-dreaming, I never knew it would be so perfect, so utterly addicting to be inside of Allie, but obviously I’ve worn her out, exhausted her, adding to my guilt. My cock doesn’t seem to care or feel guilty, though. It’s lifting toward the notch between her legs, wedging there. Fuck. She’s so warm and wet and soft, I groan without sound.
Focus, Moore.
I have until Monday to soften her toward me. I have until Monday to make her forgive me enough to need me. She’ll never need me as much as I need her, but if I inspire even a fraction of my devotion in Allie, it’ll be enough to sustain me for life. I know I’m hoping for too much. To be forgiven for what I’ve done is a lot to ask, but I’ll never want for a single thing for the rest of my life, if I can just have this girl.
Please let me have this girl.
My body is urging me to roll Allie onto her back. Take her again. I could probably just get off by pressing her sleepy palm to my cock, but I ignore my near-constant lust and enjoy her warmth instead. I must fall asleep for a while because the next time I open my eyes, the very beginnings of morning light are reaching through cracks in the drawn blinds and Allie is looking at me from the other side of our shared pillow. “Hey,” she whispers, voice husky from sleep.
“Morning.” The wariness in her eyes stops me from pulling her close, but I burn to have her against me, like she was in sleep. When she forgot who I am and what I did. “Sleep okay?”
After a second, she nods. “Yes. I’
m kind of surprised, actually. There is so much ahead, so many decision to make, but…the one I made last night, leaving home, it’s such a relief to finally have it over, sleeping was easier.” I hum in my throat, give in to my urgent need to brush the hair back from her face. “Or maybe it was you,” she whispers. “You’re very warm.”
“Consider me your own personal furnace, Allie. Any time. Anywhere.”
Is it my touch that’s causing her eyelids to flutter? God, I hope so.
“Moore…” She fingers the edge of the pillow. “We talked about me going to college, but not you. Did you apply?”
I’m already shaking my head. “Nah. I could never afford it and what I want to do? I don’t really need a degree for that. Working with my hands.”
“You want to continue being a handyman?” she asks, no surprise or judgment in her tone. Only open curiosity.
“Sort of, just on a larger scale.” Talking to her about the future at all, even if it’s mine we’re talking about—and not ours—feels so good, I can barely get a decent swallow. “Last summer, I got some handyman work with an older couple in Perryville. I noticed they had some rot under their porch. It was dangerous for them to be sitting on it, especially at their age. Normally I wouldn’t try and upsell anybody, but I thought…I could make them a new deck. I wanted to try. So I ran it by them and they offered to pay me. I’ve done three more since then.”
Her exhale leaves a smile behind. “Moore, that’s great. You want to work in construction.”
“Outdoors, yeah. Enclosed decks and porches where someone can watch a storm. Safely.” The back of my neck burns. “Got the idea from you.”
I’m just telling her the truth, I don’t expect her to soften, but she does. She even slides a little closer to me in the bed clothes, tracing a finger down the center of my pecs—and Jesus, my cock stiffens so fast, my vision swims sideways. She knows it, too, because it brushes her belly on the way to full mast.
