by Amelia Wilde
19
Christa
There are rules to dating, to making the first move, the next, taking it further, upping the ante. It’s always felt kind of choreographed, to me. He moves in for the first kiss, or I do, if he’s hesitant. We start with lips—except for that one guy, who swooped right in with what I’ll always think of as his tongue erection—introduce tongues, slowly put our hands on each other’s bodies. This is if it goes right, of course. I’ve had other experiences, too, like most women I know. Unwanted hands, kisses, words, pics. Case in point: asshole boss who palmed my breast before I decked him.
With Micah, it wasn’t so much a fast-forward as an explosion of everything at once. I couldn’t say whose tongue moved first or who grabbed ahold of the other’s hair. No knowing if I bit him or he bit me, or who started the crazy grind at our crotches.
At some point, he shifted, arms around me, until I was beneath him on the sofa, covered me with that great big body, and showed me just how wild it could get between us. His breath was as shuddery and frantic as mine, his mouth all over me. He drew a long, hot trail from my lips to my jaw, under it to that sweet, sensitive spot on my neck, where he set my nerves off and turned me into a writhing, moaning shadow of a human being.
And all the while, I felt him between my legs, his erection through his work pants and my long johns, a constant tease. I wanted to touch it. If only he’d let me reach down there, I’d get my hands on it, measure it, feel the heat of him there.
But every time I tried, he’d knock me away, trail his lips lower, open up some new brand of torture I had no idea existed.
Another try, another foiled attempt, except this time, he kept his hand on my wrist, held me, loosely, but irrefutably.
“Don’t reach down again.” His voice was low, almost angry.
“I want to touch you.”
“You’ll touch me when I’m ready.”
Oh, shit. Bossy, huh? Do I like bossy?
“When will that be?” I was breathing hard, the words shakier than I’d intended. Bossy, it seemed, was just the thing.
He settled back on his haunches, somehow keeping his weight off me, leaned over, and tapped the armrest beneath my head. “Reach back here. Hold on and don’t let go.”
Yeah. Be bossy. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to do it.
My pulse went so wild it narrowed my vision. “Or what?”
Already dark in the half-light from the fire, his eyes narrowed on my face, before traveling down my body. “You like this, Christa? Me giving orders?” His gaze was hard on mine now, curious, and sharp as diamonds.
“Yes.” The word came out embarrassingly hoarse. Something less than a whisper.
“You want me to stop, or you like something different, just say so. No safe word, none of that other bullshit. Just plain English. You want it, you ask and it’s yours. Got it?”
Heart thumping a million beats per minute, I stared at him, the moment suddenly overshadowed by flashbacks of dates gone bad. Men who’d wanted porn scenarios instead of reality. I’d been truly frightened with a couple of those guys.
I blinked and concentrated hard on him. If ever there was a time to be scared, this was it, wasn’t it? Absolutely alone at this enormous man’s mercy, I should feel fear.
Was I scared?
“You need to stop?”
I shook my head.
His brows lowered and, for the first time since we started making out, there was a hint of indecision there. “Then tell me. Tell me you like the way I’m…being.”
I looked at Micah, who’d saved me, taken care of me, and now wanted me to tell him exactly what I wanted in words.
The answer was crystal clear. I’d trust this man with my life. And he was offering the stuff my fantasies were made of.
“Don’t stop, Micah. I like it.”
“You sure? ’Cause this is working for me, but honestly, anything would work, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to. For any reason.”
I nodded, embarrassingly eager to move on with this, to see where he’d take it. How far. “Yes, yes. A lot.” I couldn’t help a hint of whininess. “Come on.”
He straightened with a self-satisfied compression of the lips.
“All right.
The look he gave me now was subtly different. Meaner, more remote. No longer the guy who’d blushed at dinner, but the stranger I’d known for less than a full day. The kind of guy who pulled women from falling cars one day and fucked them senseless the next.
Our dirty weekend had just officially begun.
Slower than before, he looked me up and down, made a show of it, looking arrogant as hell. We were doing what he wanted, his grim smile told me, on his time. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen, the hottest I’d ever felt.
“Use one hand and pull up your shirt.” His words lit me up like a Christmas tree. Show me your tits, I wanted him to say. Make it crasser, filthier. Take advantage of me. Make me feel dirty.
Jesus, who the hell was I? Could I be the strong woman who kneed her asshole boss in the crotch and still want to be this man’s…object?
My eager hand didn’t give me time to think about it. It reached down, grabbed ahold of the fabric of this man’s shirt, suddenly the sexiest thing I’d ever felt against my skin, and yanked it up.
His eyes gleamed, fierce and hungry. I could have sworn I felt them on my skin, touching, weighing, heating me as they went.
“Nice.”
Oh, crap, that one word, so freaking innocuous in everyday conversation, so banal, so absolutely useless, was like a jolt of electricity to my weirdo wick.
“Big, soft.”
Why? Why did him talking about my breasts as if they were something on display in a shop window, instead one of my most tender, sensitive parts, turn my insides to molten lava? My hips strained up, needing pressure.
“Stop that.”
I froze, as if caught, trapped, terrified, and blinked. My eyes were huge on him, sucking him in like oxygen, willing to take just this if he wouldn’t let me touch.
I drank him in, from the shorn, dark hair clinging to his skull, over his wide forehead, thick straight brows, low above those deep-sunk eyes. They’d been light today, blue, I was pretty sure, but now they were all pupil, daring me to dive in. And, for a few strange seconds, more than his touch or the sight of his body, I wanted to explore that brain of his, to visit his dark places, learn them, wallow in them, maybe brighten them.
With a start, I emerged from whatever strange limbo I’d gone to. What the hell, man?
I ignored the question on his face and lifted my hips again and, when he pulled away, stroked him with my gaze from those wide, squared-off shoulders, over the tuft of dark hair at the collar of his work shirt, to the obvious outline of his cock below.
He put one rough hand to my breast and I groaned.
MICAH
Had it always been like this with women and I’d just forgotten? Had time just worn down all this bright, frantic need to something dull and fun? This was more than fun. It wasn’t, actually, fun at all.
Jesus, no wonder I didn’t do this anymore. I was out of control, wild, willing and able to do just about anything to get myself into this woman, under her skin. To get her to moan like that again—like we weren’t two people having a conversation with our bodies, but something deeper, wilder, more elemental. Connection.
It scared the shit out of me.
But she said my name, the two syllables like music on her lips, and I couldn’t stop. Her tits were perfect—soft and heavy, overflowing my hands like water from a fountain, like the tenderest, most elemental part of a person. When my calluses made feeling impossible, I ran the back of my knuckles along their plump, satiny sides.
I’d planned to take my time, but that feeling—the ultimate femaleness of that perfect curve—shoved everything into overdrive. I bent, put my face between her tits, and breathed her in…
“Fuck, you smell good.” Another sucking inhale, ful
l of her—my new oxygen—and I turned, grasped her breast and pulled, putting her nipple right where I needed it.
Oh, shit, she was perfect. It was hard and red and big as a cherry and it was all I could do to kiss her before scraping her with my teeth. She gasped and writhed beneath me and, still hunched like some fucking maniac, I knocked her knees aside with one of mine, put that pouty little point into my mouth, leaned back to watch her face, and sucked.
“No no no no no no.”
I stilled, dropped her nipple. “No?”
“Yes. Yes, I mean yes! God, don’t stop, Micah. Don’t.”
A weird savagery worked its way from my cock to fill my chest, then back down again, pumping more blood into me, making me rock hard and ready. “You’re screaming no, like you don’t want this, but then you say you do. Which is it?”
“Huh?” Her eyes were fuzzy, her face and neck and chest bright red, like I’d slapped her. “I want it.”
Gaze steady on hers, I leaned to the side for her other breast, ran my beard over her nipple, and watched the tiny changes in her face. A widening of those prim, wet little lips into a perfect oh, a fluttering of her dark eyelashes, an almost inaudible shudder. The connection between us sizzling, I reached out my tongue and licked, just the tip of that perfect little fruit, circled it once and then sank onto it, wishing I could consume every bit of her whole. “I want to fuck you.” With a finger, I drew a gentle line between her tits. “Right here.”
Her chest rose and fell, sudden as a convulsion.
“But first, I’d better taste the rest of you.” Letting this rough desire lead, I licked a path from that perfect, heavy breast, over the giving flesh of her belly, to where my pants rode low on her thick, plush hips. “You smell amazing.”
She blinked, appeared to wake up, maybe, shifted minutely, like she’d push me off her.
“No. Don’t move.” I pressed my weight back, moved lower, let my breath heat her pussy, through black long underwear that had no right to be this fucking sexy. “I want to smell you, you let me do it.” I put my mouth to her, open, hungry. “I want to eat you, you fucking let me.”
She huffed out a low, inhuman-sounding groan and squirmed.
“Stop moving and pull these down.”
“You want me to—”
“Don’t question it, Christa. Just pull down the pants and show me your pussy.”
She gasped, bit her lip, and shivered. Jesus, I liked this game. The harder I made my voice, the more glazed her eyes got.
I gave her room, watched her tug at the waistband, bringing it down, past her ass and thighs, where I took over.
Goosebumps covered her body, from neck to thighs.
“You warm?”
She nodded, slow and kind of out of it.
Out of breath, weak in places and hard as fuck in others, I separated her legs, and kneeled between them.
“You’re beautiful.” Flushed, clearly aroused, smelling of wet, welcoming woman, she was everything I hadn’t let myself dream of in years.
She made a little denial sound in her throat. Instead of ignoring it, I followed a weird instinct and stretched up over her again. With my weight on one arm, I bent close, wrapped my hand loosely around her neck, and kissed her cheek. “Honestly not sure I’ve ever seen anyone more perfect.”
She swallowed under my hand, turned and met my eyes, hers big and glassy and dark as a summer night sky.
“I could worship this body for hours. Days. You gonna let me do that?”
She nodded, the movement slight, but there.
“Good.” I tilted my head enough to kiss her, deep and wet. Owning her while she owned me. “Now, open your legs for me and let me look at your beautiful pussy.”
20
Christa
Yeah, this wasn’t how I’d pictured this at all. Not when I’d felt that first inkling of desire, or admired his body, or even when we’d talked about a dirty weekend. I’d pictured him efficient and quick, the way he’d stacked wood and cooked dinner. Not slow and intense. Definitely bossy, but not so…into me, I guess.
Sad, right?
Maybe not, though, because I wasn’t typically that into guys, either. I expected sexual excitement, the thrill of newness, definitely. I’d even fantasized about encounters—usually anonymous, the man a faceless taker—where I’d been utterly turned on. Utterly sexual, an object of desire.
What I hadn’t imagined, even in those private moments, was that a man could turn me into something more sensual than human. And it wasn’t just the place between my legs talking, it was every part of me—my brain, my skin, down to my most basic parts—atoms, molecules. Somehow, the way he touched me, talked to me, even looked at me, reduced me to a big, beating pulse. Quickening when my brain got involved, then lulled into a syrupy slow rhythm.
All I could think, while he stroked one sandpaper hand down my side was, I must be drunk.
Well, Jesus, if that’s what it is then don’t let me sober up.
Ever.
He returned to kneeling between my legs, saying words I couldn’t understand, hunkered down and put his mouth to me.
Oh, holy night.
Lips, kissing, so gently, I almost thought I’d imagined it. Another long, languorous kiss made me moan and reach for his head. His hair was too short to grab onto, so I scrabbled lower for purchase, latched onto his beard.
He growled and deepened the kiss, brought some tongue to the job, turned my insides to mush, then lower, forcing me to release my hold on him. His nose glided between my lips, down then back up to press to my clit and—
Oooooooooh, you’re kidding me.
How had I not known a man could do that with his nose? Another swipe up and it was his beard rubbing me. Good God, did the man have no taboos, no limits? He used everything he had to make me feel good.
Another slick slide and his mouth was back, thirsty for me, eating me like a man starved and my pussy was going to save him. I almost laughed at the way I was thinking about this guy. Until he circled my clit with his tongue, then nibbled it.
“Oh, God. Oh, God.” And then, because he wanted me to use his name, I let it go. A song. A prayer to this. “Micah.”
“Yeah.” The word rumbled against my flesh, dark and needy. “You taste amazing. Heaven. I want to eat you all night. All fucking weekend.”
Impossibly, my nipples got harder at that thought. Like he’d make me come and come and keep going. I’d never get him to stop. Jesus, he could kill me with this tongue. This raw, aching hunger.
His hands slid under my ass and around my thighs to open me wider, to look at me before putting his face back to me like he’d been hungering for this—for me—for ages.
Another lick, another swipe, faster this time, his attention tight on my clit, where I concentrated every bit of my focus, too. So when his finger entered me, I wasn’t ready. At all.
I made a high, startled girl sound and he stilled. “This okay?”
“Yeah.” I giggled, full of nerves and excitement and the unexpectedness of this entire encounter. “Yeah, sorry. Surprised me.”
“You want to watch?”
Oh. Funny how that hadn’t even occurred to me. Now that he’d proposed it, I couldn’t wait to see.
“Grab that.” He reached back and threw me a throw pillow, which I jammed behind my head. Once he was in place and I was settled, he met my eyes, bent to lick me, brow creased with concentration, and lifted his gaze to mine again. His stare pinned my upper body in place as surely as his thick arms restrained the rest of me.
The sensations were different with him watching me. Sharper, as piercing as his eyes. Ensnared in that look, each stroke, each lick, each wet kiss cut deeper. Past layers of embarrassment, self-consciousness, and awkward humor, he went straight to that place again—it was wild and open and wanting.
I craved him in me, deep and hard—invading, like the Viking he resembled. I wanted this shared look, but closer. So close I wouldn’t have to see his eyes.
Why rush? I pictured him saying. This man who’d chosen to live on nature’s timeline, instead of in the mad rush preferred by modern man.
A deep thrust, a twist, another finger pushed inside, almost painful in that way that felt so good.
I groaned, desperate for that other thing, imagining this wasn’t his finger, but that erection I’d felt against me.
He deepened the penetration, quickened the pace on my clit, reached up with his other hand, skimmed my round belly, kneaded it once, and went higher to twist my nipple—hard.
I came, my body unexpectedly seizing, tightening around his fingers, bumping his face. My hand appeared from out of nowhere and squeezed his as if to share some of this unbearably twisted tension.
He didn’t move, just waited, watching. And, oh, those eyes sent my body up again—insides fluttering on something that felt as raw and uncomfortable as embarrassment. Or shame.
I reddened a bit more and bit down on the sounds I wanted to make, the truth suddenly obvious: I’d just been more unabashedly, openly sexual with this man than I’d ever been in my life. I’d shown him more of my raw, aching innards than anyone else had seen.
And I’d known him for just one day.
MICAH
Things fractured when she came, reason took off in one direction and that wild, instinctual thing hunkered low and deep in my belly took over.
Mine, it said, pushing me up the sofa, knees planted between hers, stiff arms framing her chest, while I bent to take her mouth.
Mine, it whispered as I yanked off my shirt, then reached down to unbutton and unzip myself, shoving down my shorts to release the pressure and get just a feel of her against me.