by Karina Halle
I gulp, swallowing hard, more than ready.
I follow her, standing in the doorway before the twin bed covered with flannel sheets. She slowly strips in front of me until she’s this pale glowing goddess, beckoning me to join her.
Where she goes, I follow.
I strip quickly, feeling fire running through my veins, a sense of urgency unlike any before and then I’m climbing on the bed after her, prowling like she’s the prey and I’m hunter, or maybe it’s the other way around because I’m in her pull, her power, and there isn’t anything I can do about it.
She lies beneath me, her hair loose now and spilling around her like a red halo, looking so flawless and pure and soft against the thick flannel. My cock juts out between us, bobbing as I move above her body, and the need to drive myself so deep inside her is more dominant than ever.
It’s the need to claim.
To make her mine.
That primal, animalistic instinct to take and hold and possess. As alpha as it sounds, it’s real and raw and it’s an ache in my chest, clawing its way out of me.
It has been for a long time.
I lower my body onto hers, relishing the feel of her skin against mine, the heat we’re already creating. Her legs open wider, parting for me as she raises her hips, but I’m not ready for her now, not yet.
I kiss her, electric, fast, and she slows me down, turning the kiss into something like satin, soft, drawn-out and deep. Heat slides through my veins, my pulse quickening with lust.
“Turn over,” I tell her and she does. My words come out thick as I face this desperate, trembling kind of hunger.
With the smooth rounds of her arse facing me, I move down the bed and place my tongue on her cheek, making long, wide licks up and then down, back and forth, while I’m squeezing the other cheek. I switch places, paying attention to her signs, how much she wants, if she wants it.
Her hips are rising into me, her arse pressing into my mouth.
She wants more.
Even with my cock almost painfully rigid, everything swimming with this heady infatuation, I slide my finger down her arse cheek, parting them gently.
“Do you like that?” I whisper. Everything is wild and tense.
She makes a sound, tight and breathless, that sounds like “yes.”
I draw the finger back up and she stills for a second before relaxing.
It’s the “no, I shouldn’t like this” and then the “but I do.”
I lower my head and gently blow on her.
She stiffens again, then presses herself back.
More.
I slide my tongue in slowly, my heart intent on climbing out of my chest.
Amanda sucks in her breath sharply, the exhale is a low groan I feel rumble through me.
I slide my hand around, finding her clit and lightly petting it until she’s moaning again, her hips circling for more.
Her legs spread wider, giving me greater access in all ways and I’m experiencing her in a way no one has before. If this is akin to claiming something, then I’m planting my flag. But more than that, she’s opening up to me, putting her pleasure in my hands, and offering herself. She’s vulnerable, something so rare for her, and I want to drown in the feeling.
I can feel her close to coming. She’s panting, her body growing warmer, on the verge.
“Oh my god, Blake,” she says hoarsely and I nearly lose my fucking mind. “Keep going.”
I do. My tongue plunges in, so tight, my fingers stroke and circle and she’s panting, breathless, needy.
She’s incredible like this, about to throw herself over the edge.
And then she goes. It happens quickly and I feel her unravel under my tongue, my lips, my fingers. She tenses for a split second and the world seems to still, tipping on its axis, and then she’s shattering, arching her back, crying my name.
I lift my head and get off the bed, standing at the end.
I don’t give her any time recover. There is no time. I’m that close.
I grab her hips and flip her over, then reach down around her waist, my hands so large against her, and yank her down toward me until her arse is at the edge of the bed. She stares up at me in a daze, and I know her cunt is still pulsing, the orgasm slowly abating.
Her legs go up along me and I grip the back of her thighs. She manages to reach for my cock, just her touch causing my eyes to close, the breath to leave me.
With a firm grip, she expertly guides me to her entrance and when I open my eyes she’s staring at me with wonder and need and then I’m pushing inside…
Losing myself.
I’m losing myself.
And I don’t care.
I groan, the fire building inside me as I push in to the hilt, the pressure reverberating through me.
She’s so tight.
A fist of raw silk.
So good.
So good.
And that look in her eyes, the way she won’t look away, it holds me captive as I work her, sliding in and out, deeper and deeper the higher she raises her hips. My body gets warmer, tighter, and that coil builds inside, layer by layer, until I know I don’t have long.
“Oh keep going,” she manages to say, her head rolling to the side, her mouth open and gasping.
I wish I could go on forever.
I wish I had her forever.
Because being inside her now is different. It’s not just fucking. It’s becoming something else.
I’m starting to know her in so many ways, inside and out.
My lower back tightens and everything inside me cracks.
I come, back arching, pushing into her so fucking deep as I grunt loudly, sounding more animal than man.
She’s coming again with me, her noises so soft compared to mine and we’re rocking together, joined, until everything inside me is gone.
She has it all.
I collapse on the bed beside her, the flannel scratchy against my cheek, and I pull her into my chest. Even though it’s early in the day and we have a weekend ahead of us, there’s nothing I would rather be doing than lying right here, listening to the waves, with her in my arms.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Amanda
Crazy as it seems, the time away with Blake actually seemed to help my writer’s block. Ever since we got back, the words have been coming a lot easier. I’m not only working steadily on Dirty Broken Bad Boy Billionaire (trying saying that five times fast) when I’m with Blake, I’m spending time with Phenelope and Luthwen when I’m not.
Ironically, I don’t feel the push to put my characters in a sexual situation anymore. If anything, it’s a sweetly romantic one, held back through loads of tension and unrequited feelings as they soldier through their fantasy world. But when it comes to sex, it’s pretty much the last thing I want to write when I have scene upon scene of my erotica focused on double penetration with dildos and sixty-nining and anal beads.
I can’t say that the increased productivity in our writing has led to a drop in our sex life because that’s simply not the case. We’ve just somehow found a rhythm and made it work. Apparently exhibitionism seems to be a theme. We made love on the beach, in the car, deep in the vines of a vineyard.
At least, I think it’s all working.
The sex is amazing.
But…there’s something else.
Something I can’t put my finger on.
Something I don’t want to put my finger on.
I’ve noticed it since we got back.
When we fuck, there’s this tenderness on both our parts that keeps coming out, wrapping around us like it’s second nature. When we’re done, we no longer just get up and go back to work and on with our lives.
We linger. We stay in bed forever. Just talking. About everything. Relationships, childhoods, books, films. We laugh.
We laugh a lot.
And each time this happens something in my heart aches. Because I’m experiencing everything that a relationship should be but it’s not a r
elationship at all. No one even knows we’re together, except for Ana, and she doesn’t know about the books so the actual whole truth has never been laid bare.
I want to be honest with him. But I don’t know how I feel and I don’t know where to start.
I really like what we have and I don’t want to ruin it.
But I want more.
Not more books, not more money, not more work and not even more sex, as good as it is. I just want more of him. I want all that he is and I want to be able to call it mine and dive in and possess every part of him. I know I sound no better than the possessive alphas in our books but it’s true.
He’s becoming something more to me, something very real but all we’re surrounded by is fiction.
We take a break from each other for a few nights and this is mostly my doing. I need to talk to Rio, need to go out and lift my head out of the sand. I need to see the life around me, the world that exists without the books and Blake. I need to know that no matter what happens, there is always more out there, even when Blake feels like all I need.
“You look like you need another drink,” Rio says to me.
We’re back at our favorite place, the Tapas Bar, managing to snag a table on the small patio that ducks out into the middle of the alley. The weather is beautiful, a welcome respite after a week of rainy gloom and we’re in the heat of summer again.
She pours from near empty jug of sangria and it splashes noisily into my cup, spilling a bit on the table. “Shit, we need more,” she says, signaling to the waiter for another. She gets half out of her seat and yells after him, “And napkins too please!”
I fish the orange out of my glass and suck on it with a sigh. “I’m fine.”
I’m not really sure how to tell her I’ve been sleeping with Blake for a month now. She’ll definitely be hurt that I didn’t tell her earlier and when she gets hurt, she likes to hurt others. Like, physically.
“I’d say you need to get laid,” she muses, eyeing me over her gigantic sunglasses, “but I’m not sure that’s it. Either you’ve been hitting it hard with your battery-operated-boyfriend or you’ve managed to snag dick elsewhere. You seem a bit…spent.”
“Well I have been running a lot,” I tell her, taking a long gulp from my glass. That’s still true. When I wake up in my own bed, I try and go running, and sometimes when Blake hits the gym in his apartment building, I’ll jump on the treadmill.
Just like fuckbuddies would do, I tell myself dryly.
“That’s not it,” she says. She leans in closer, her layers of brass bracelets rattling on the table. “Are you doing hard drugs?” She attempts to whisper. Very loudly.
I jerk my head back. “What? No!”
Tell her. Tell her now.
“So, whatever happened with that guy you were seeing?” I casually ask her.
Damnit Amanda!
She cocks her head, studying me. “You’re trying to change the subject. You’ve never ask me about any guy I’m humping.”
“Because you always tell me, whether I want to know or not. Anyway the last text I got from you, you said that God was testing you with copious amounts of brownies and dick.”
She shrugs and sips her drink. “Both were enjoyable. But you know what. I’m over men.”
“Again.”
“Yeah. I mean, what’s the point? What can they offer that my fingers can’t?”
“Fingers cramp up.”
“As do hands when they’re giving a handjob for the millionth time.”
I give her a look. “Handjob? Who have you been with lately, a sixteen-year-old?”
“Ugh. Even I wouldn’t do that. No, seriously. After I get my degree I’m blowing this popsicle stand—”
“Too bad you’ve already blown everyone in it,” I mutter under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear it.
She narrows her eyes at me. “I heard that.”
“Well I said it loudly,” I retort.
“Don’t use Friends’ references at a time like this. I’m telling you my life plans. This is serious business. Once I’m out of here, I’m traveling the world and teaching English and I’m probably going to go stay at a yoga commune in India and learn to be one with myself, then go to Bali to surf and maybe fall in love.”
“That’s the plot of Eat, Pray, Love.”
“It was a good book.”
“Yeah.” My stomach growls even though I’m not hungry. Nothing like second guessing your current quasi-relationship to kill your appetite. But I know drinking sangria on a hot day without food is asking for trouble.
I pick up the menu and start considering the options.
Olives?
Fried potatoes?
Rio taps me quickly on the hand. “Oh my god, Amanda,” she whispers harshly. “Look but don’t look.”
Of course I follow her gaze to the alley and look.
Walking up amongst the throes of people out for dinner and drinks is Blake.
He’s wearing black pants and that slate grey dress shirt he wore when we had sex in the library, the shirt that unbuttons just enough to see a hint of chest hair, that showcases those shoulders and large forearms in which I’ve memorized every freckle and hair. It’s one of my favorite shirts on him and when he wore it the other day for the cover of the Billionaire book, I couldn’t help but throw myself at him. As usual.
His hair is shiny, disheveled, catching the evening light and he has this cagey look in his eyes, making him look brooding and intense and all the things I want to see in him.
He looks like mine.
I want him to be mine.
I swallow it down though, prepared to just sit there and watch him move past, his long legs taking easy, casual strides.
Then I realize there’s some guy with him. Shaggy hair to his shoulders, tanned, wearing skate shoes, board shorts and a Quicksilver tank top. The guy probably smells like surfboard wax too.
The two of them look like men on the prowl and a pang of horror runs through me when I imagine what their plans are. After all, me and Rio are out and I’m keeping an open mind about the guys I meet. Why would I expect less from Blake?
They’re almost gone, Blake’s gaze now directed at the bricks on the ground beneath them. I almost exhale the breath I’ve been holding when Rio stands up in her seat and yells.
“Hey Blake!”
“Oh my god,” I hiss at her, grabbing her dress and trying to pull her back down. “What are you doing?”
“Oh it’s water under the bridge, isn’t it?” she tells me, waving at them.
I dare to look over to the alley. Blake’s eyes light up when he spots me. Even though I’ve never met the guy he’s with, he doesn’t look too confused. He probably assumes that Blake has slept with one of us.
His assumption would be right.
“Hello ladies,” Blake says, hands thrust casually in his pockets as he strolls to the railing between us. His eyes linger on me and they’re nothing but warm. “How are we this evening?”
“Where are you guys going?” Rio asks. She gestures to the seats. “Here, sit with us. It’s been ages since we’ve seen you, Blake.”
“Yes,” he says, smiling at me. “Ages.
I try to show nothing on my face but I can tell his friend is studying me very closely. I wonder what Blake has said about me, if anything.
“We’d love to have you drink with us,” Rio says, finally sitting back down. “And I just ordered more sangria!” She pretty much yells that last part. People in the alley turn to look at us.
I give Blake a withering look. “You better sit with us or she’s just going to get louder.”
He holds my eyes for a moment saying nothing and saying everything. He nods, biting his lip in that way he does while still smiling.
“Heath,” he says to his friend and gestures to the table. “Might as well.”
Heath looks at us eagerly. He’s definitely game.
“We’ll be right in,” Blake says and they disappear inside the f
ront door of the restaurant.
Once they’re out of earshot I grab Rio’s hand, squeezing it painfully hard. “What are you doing?”
“Ow, you wench,” she says, ripping her hand away. “Like I said, water under the bridge. When’s the last time you saw him, when you handed in your assignment? That was ages ago. So he was an asshole in class, he’s not in class anymore.”
“You can’t fuck him,” I warn, shoving my finger in her face.
She looks completely taken aback.
Just then the boys show up.
“Hey, thanks again,” Blake says, taking the seat across from me. “We were looking to get a few drinks somewhere but every place is packed.”
“It’s the weather,” I tell him.
“What a small town Victoria is,” Rio muses.
“Very, very small,” Blake says, grinning at me.
I can’t help but smile back. Yeah, that smile? Still horribly infectious. Every part of him is horribly infectious. Once you have his cock inside you, that’s pretty much all you’ll ever want for the rest of your life.
“Amanda,” Rio repeats and I realize she’s been talking.
“Huh?” I ask, tearing my eyes away from him.
“I asked you if you had fun working with Blake,” she says.
I raise my brows. “Uh, yeah it was fun.”
“She’s very smart you know,” Blake says.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I tell him lightly.
Heath’s eyes are volleying between us. “Wait a minute. Is this the Amanda you had to work with on the book? For school?”
Blake gives him a warning look.
“Yeah that’s me,” I say quickly. “Why? What did he say about me?”
“That you were a stuck-up bitch,” Heath says.
Blake pounds him hard in the shoulder. “You are such a wanker!”
“That’s okay,” Rio speaks up. “Amanda hated your guts the whole semester.”
“Oh she told me that,” Blake says.
“You thought I was a bitch?” I ask him, surprised, but not exactly insulted.
“Peach,” he says, “I’ve told you I thought you were a bitch.”