by Dakota Gray
Especially when he puts his mouth to my ear, dragging his tongue along the lobe, whispering, “Rub that wet pussy along my dick.”
I huff, “I swear, if you stop to ask me a question...”
I can’t quite decipher the sounds he makes with his face pressed against the swell of my breast, but I know he’s loosened his hold on me to scoot down. I don’t need a big flashing neon sign to know where he’s headed, what he wants. It takes all my willpower to not climb his face right then and there.
And he can’t stop. He bet not. I practically moan, “Fav color?”
He tilts his head back and grins. “Brown with pink undertones.”
That’s like an invitation, right? I slid up while he scoots down. He doesn’t waste a moment as I position myself over his face. He’s sucking my clit before I can get comfortable. The sound is wet and downright carnal. My toes curl at the delicious tightness in my belly.
His tongue speaks for him. I know how he feels about my pussy from every flick and long drag he showers on my clit. I’m shaking well before he takes two fingers and slides them into me. Any coherent thought I have slips away on a wave of pleasure.
My hips follow the rhythm of his finger fuck. I’m so close to coming I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. The crest of my orgasm stills me, but he only speeds up. I become nothing but moans and tremors. Nothing else matters. Everything ceases because he’s not done with me. He utters no complaint when I reach down to cup his head, guiding him to give myself what I need in that moment.
More. Don’t stop. Make me come. Come. And come.
I don’t have any of my mind left but the pleasure he’s drowning me in. Waves isn’t the right word, but I’m being dragged in the undertow. I don’t want to come up for air. Do I even need it? Not while my muscles give out and all the strength I have left is to fall forward to lean against the wall. If I could catch my breath I would have apologized, but it’s his own fault he’s suffocating. He shifts beneath me to trail kisses on my inner thighs. I shiver. It’s too much. I place my hand on his forehead to keep him in place and to move away from his lethal mouth.
My pussy clenches at the sight of his wet chin and too satisfied smirk. Some part of me just wants to knock him down from the pedestal he’s put himself on. I’m sure it’ll be good for his ego. “Nate taught you that?”
He’s laughing as my world blurs. I didn’t see him move or feel the way he shifted his weight. All I know is one second I’m on top, and the next he is and snuggled between my legs.
“He taught me that move.”
“Thank him for me.” I’m breathless. Shit, I’m impressed. We haven’t even fucked yet. “Tarek?”
“Green is actually my favorite color. My favorite activity is hiking. If I were to die tomorrow there is only one thing I’d regret.” He barely finishes those words to kiss me.
I taste me on him and I might be a little conceited to say I taste good. Or maybe it’s just him—salty, musky, so fucking drugging. I hook my legs around his just beneath his ass.
He murmurs. “How do you want the dick? Deep and hard? Slow and punishing? Everything we can fit in before I come myself stupid?”
“The last category for $400, Alex.”
He uses his mouth to shut me up. So much later I’ll thank him.
12
Tarek
* * *
Without having to look, I know Nina’s gaze is on my ass. I’ve bent over to dig into my pockets for a condom. I glance her way. Her head rests in the palm of her hand. Her brows are up, and she’s wearing an expression of a woman who appreciates what she’s seeing.
I need to be inside her.
Ninety-nine percent of my brain, my body, and my soul is convinced if I don’t get to do the last I will die. Death by blue balls.
I find the condom. I take my time rolling it over my dick. Every muscle trembles from how wound up I am. I want to be rough. I need to pull her hair as I fuck her from behind, growling when it’s necessary. Suck her neck until she cries out from how good it hurts.
But a man hurting her in any way is off the table. I’m not fazed by that. I’ve thought this whole fucking thing through.
I slide back onto the bed, and for a ten-count, things are awkward. She’s trying to find a comfortable way to lie back with the four pillows getting in her way. I’m waiting with my dick heavy and bobbing because she keeps bumping into it trying to wiggle her way into a decent missionary position.
“Nina,” I murmur. “Let me do this.”
She lets out one of her exasperated sighs that borders on frustrated. “I mean—”
I kiss her. She’s prissy, fussy, and can’t for the life of her accept things as they are. Control is her favorite pastime. Not once have her hands gone to the scars right above her pelvic pone. Either they’ve been there long enough she’s forgotten to be self-conscious of them. Or my mouth is that good in distracting her. Probably both, and I’ll take it as a win.
Deepening the kiss makes her limbs go listless at first then she’s using her hands and legs to tug me closer. Her hips are already arching up, searching for relief only my cock can give her.
The only thing I want to do is sink into her, but she’s prissy, fussy and nervous. I spread her legs with mine, moving lower so my cock is lined up to her entrance. All I have to do is thrust forward, and I’ll know just how snug her pussy will be around me.
“Nina?” I kiss my way down to her chin.
“Hmm?”
“What did you want to be when you grew up?”
I rub the tip of my cock in her wetness. Each time I pass over her pussy’s entrance the juiciest noise fills the quiet. My spine tingles. “I can come from just doing this. You hear that sound your pussy and my dick makes? It’s fucking profane. You’re so goddamn wet. Did my mouth do that to you?”
Her only answer is a moan, a soft rock as she tries to follow the rhythm I’m rubbing her in. I give her one. She doesn’t want a man to hurt her in anyway, but she didn’t say anything about tortuous need.
I move my hand down my shaft to have better control, and tap my cock against her clit between the slow swipes. The lips have turned a dark shade of red and brown. The sensitive flesh that covers her nub protrudes from the swell of blood rushing to her sex.
“Your pussy is beautiful.”
“Fuck me,” she begs, still gyrating her hips to follow the path I’m drawing with my dick.
“I want you to come like this. I need to see if your second nut comes out creamy or if I have to fuck you to get that.”
“If you don’t start fucking me…”
“Then what?”
Her legs turn into a vice, and the second my dick passes over her entrance, she impales herself on me. I push in deeper without meaning to. She’s snugger, hotter, wetter than I’ve imagined. It’s ten times harder to fight the urge to throw her legs over my shoulder and pound into her until both of our orgasms end in a mess.
I brace my arms near her hips. The shake in my biceps is barely noticeable, but, thank fuck, my first stroke inside her is gentle. My nape tingles at how good she feels when I’m balls deep. I arch my back and curl into the next thrust. The moan she offers up will be worth the pain in my overworked and strained muscles later.
So I take that pace of pulling out slowly, curving my back and thrusting, knowing I’m hitting her sweet spot from the way her nails dig into my back. Her first orgasm builds that way until her pussy clenches, grows wetter and then tighter. My upstrokes speed up, only softened by the cushion of her ass. Her moans transform into pants.
Fuck.
My toes curl into the mattress. I can only remain still as her orgasm pulls me deeper. The pulse at my spine matches the way her inner walls quiver. My gums pang from how hard I’m clenching my teeth. I can’t come yet. I can’t let this woman undo me just yet.
I refuse to move until she relaxes. Her eyelashes flutter as though I’ve stolen her sight for a few seconds. Her lids drift low and the faintest of smiles f
lirts with the corners of her mouth. “I grew up watching Friends. I wanted to be a personal shopper.”
Her announcement throws me. “What?”
“You asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. I imagined dressing people for a living was the best paycheck anyone could earn.” She rocks her hips in a slow roll. The movement slides my dick in and out in shallow thrusts. “Now what do I get for that answer?”
Fuck being gentle. I wrap a hand on each of her thighs and position her legs over my shoulders. Fuck. Just that move and I’m seated so much deeper, surrounded by so much tight, wet heat. I push in deeper because there’s nothing else I can do in the moment.
Nina tilts her head back. A strangled cry escapes her throat. I groan in reply. The ache in my balls, the tingle in my spine, they refuse to stay background noise. I pump into her. My breath is a huff of air. I swear, stars fall over my vision, and yet I can make out her swollen clit and the hard points of her of tits. I bend forward to take her mouth.
She wiggles for a moment, and then Nina’s meeting my thrust with a roll of her hips. If this is what it feels like to be lost, then I never want to be found. I need my life to be her and me, fucking like this.
It’s perfection. It’s tortuous pain she lets out sobbing moans for. We fuck and fuck and fuck until we can barely move. I’m out of my mind muttering how good her pussy is, how her come has turned into cream I want in my mouth, on my dick. I think I beg her to play with her clit and to put her fingers in my mouth so I can taste her as I come.
Or maybe she does it without encouragement. All I know is she’s coming again, her index and middle finger is in my mouth and I’m slamming into her, my hearing dulled by the pounding of my blood in my veins.
I finally come. I had to. She’s whimpering into my neck, but her hips continue to meet me thrust for thrust.
It’s the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.
When the fog of pleasure clears from my mind, the hole in me might pipe up again, but until then I’m going to fucking revel in this roar that quiets everything.
13
Nina
* * *
I’m roused by soft beeps that come in quick succession. Reflexively I reach under the pillow. My hand brushes against nothing. A small switchblade should be there. How did I forget? The fear and recriminations for being an idiot spikes my heart beat. The door swings open.
Tarek strolls in carrying two plastic bags. The scent of sesame seed oil hits me first, then sun, and him. The details rush back in. I’m on a road trip of my life. He’s my guide…my lover. We had sex. He went to get food, and I fell asleep post-coital.
I’m okay.
My heartbeat refuses to slow at the harmless facts, and I know why. This trip has triggered me. I hate to even admit that. I like to live in the mental headspace that my abuse didn’t damn near alter my DNA. It’s a lie, but it’s a lie I’m willing to tell myself. And now I can’t. The reality of what I lived through keeps butting its head demanding my full attention.
And my mind drifts back to when I first left Thomas. The first and only time he used physical violence, I ended up in the hospital. I pretended to hear and accept his tearful apologies. I told the police what Thomas wanted me to say even though they were obvious lies. I waited and waited until he relaxed enough to think I’d keep my mouth shut, toe the line. So when he went to work, letting me out of his reach, I checked myself out of the hospital, grabbed the absolute essentials at our home and went on the run.
I’d let my parents know I was okay through email. I used a burner to call my sister every day. Some days we’d just sit on the line in silence. What could be said? No platitudes could touch the depth of my wounds. I lived and breathed the fear he’d find me. He’d do what every statistic said he’d do—kill me. Running had been the only option, and I was lucky enough to have it as one.
Me and luck.
I spent a good six months hopping from hotel to hotel across the country. All I had taken with me was my ID, social security card, birth certificate, my camera, and the wad of cash my sister had pressed into my hands at the hospital when Thomas wasn’t paying attention. Those photos may be some of the best pictures I’ve ever taken, but I haven’t looked at them. I know with every image I’ll only remember what I was running from.
I didn’t file for divorce until he was safely behind bars. That was well after he showed up to my sister’s house with a gun, determined to get her to tell him where I was. Thank God, Layla had been out running errands, and that Ron was smart enough to call the police instead of confronting Thomas.
Between then and now I’ve done the group therapy, one-on-one therapy, the medication for anxiety. The sex. Piece by piece, I put myself back together.
I close my eyes and try to shake off the past. I just had some of the best sex of my life. Tarek, the smart-as-fuck man, picked up food. When I open my eyes, I catch the hardened expression on his face. He looks away.
I curl deeper into the covers and hope the move can hide the ugly parts of me I’ve exposed. “What'd you get?”
“When I asked what kind of food you wanted, you simply said meat.”
I try to dredge up the memory. Nothing comes up, but I don’t doubt his word. I went without carbs for six months back when I hated my body. I did perfectly fine. I tried to live without chicken, fish, and beef and came close to murdering someone.
“I smell sesame oil. I’m hoping it’s Chinese.”
“Sesame grilled chicken, rice with a side of soba noodles.”
I pull the comforter around me to sit up. “I cannot wait to shove that into my face. I’m starving.”
The way he smiles at me I know he wants to make a dirty joke, and he doesn’t. I don’t get it. I now have a pretty good idea at how dirty he can be, and he’s just not when his clothes are on.
“What?” he asks, a smile lighting in his eyes. “You’ve got that expression where you’re trying to puzzle me out.”
“Why are you so…I’ve met your friends. Shit, I’ve dated men like your friends. Then there’s you, this gentleman.”
He places the food down on the dresser in a slow, careful manner. “If I acted like anything but a gentleman to the outside world, my mama would kill me.”
My laugh is big and surprises even me. “Now I have to know about your mom.”
He ignores me by opening the bag but a light remains in his gaze. He throws everything on a plate until it’s towering then brings it to me. I raise my brows at him. He, of course, ignores my urging.
After he makes his plate and sits on the other bed facing me, he says, “My mother came from a family six. They raised her to be a wife, a good church-going woman. She married my dad, a stockbroker. He’s a risk junkie. Soon after getting pregnant with my sister, she went back to school, picked up a bachelor’s, and stopped going to church as often. My brother came along. Then I did, and she was on her second year of law school.”
One of his best friends is a hardcore attorney. He, like most people, found the familiar in the chaos that is the world. He isn’t any different despite the many ways he’s surprised me. “You make so much sense now.”
“How?” He digs into his plate but still somehow manages to keep his attention on me.
“Your mother is like fuck the patriarchy. Your dad is a legal gambler. Then you go off to college, trying to live up to expectations, and you find the two people in the world—one who is a gambler and one who says fuck the patriarchy.
His brows furrow down. “I can see Duke as a gambler. He takes on clients who should lose in court, but Nate says fuck the patriarchy?”
“Here’s how I see it. If a man had the power to rebuild society from the ground up, nine times out of ten, he’d chose a world where a man had the edge. Nate seems like the kind of guy okay with women leading. And come on, there’d be a statute of labias and clitorises somewhere.”
The furrow deepens. “How do you know that? I know he didn’t tell you about his obsession when you guys met for
five minutes.”
I shove some food into my mouth and hope that shuts me up long enough to come up with a decent excuse for why I know so much about his friends. He lets me fester in the silence. I give after a full minute. “I went to Fade and spent an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom listening to drunk girls lament about past lovers.”
He chews for a second then asks, “What lovers?”
“You’re going to sit there like you’ve never left some bodies at Fade?”
“Didn’t say that. I want to know what hype I didn’t live up to.”
I roll my eyes. He’s speaking from pure ego. “Nothing bad was said about you. It’s just after a while it felt like a cacophony of praise. You need to find another hunting ground for hook-ups.”
He only shovels more food into his face as though the slight insult rolls off him. Maybe it does. If someone un-earthed my bodies, well, the world in general didn’t look too kindly on women who loved to fuck.
Finally he says, “I keep circling back to, like a creeper, you spent time in the bathroom pumping drunk girls for info.”
“When you say it like that my actions sound horrible, but I promise drunk girls are quite loquacious. I say this having been that girl a time or two. Think about it, Tarek. Who would be the one person who should hate your guts?”
“An ex of some kind.”
“Exactly, and if a man’s ex only has nice things to say?”
That…well, it’s borderline bullshit. An ex has questionable motivation at best even when giving praise. Yet my sister and I are nosy. After the first few girls spilled their guts—some literally because liquor and dancing can be a bad combo—we kept trying to find one girl who had regrets. One woman had to have heard through the grapevine, through anything, about Tarek being shitty. Nate had a small crew of I-hope-he-dies. No surprise Duke had double the amount.