Spring Fling

by Claudia Burgoa

  Cecily tries to play her part. She really does. She digs her hands into the comforter and buries her face in it, only to toss her hair back a few moments later. But with every pass of my tongue on that sensitive flesh, a little more of it disappears until she’s rocking her hips back into my face and making little mewling, growling sounds. The panties are a lost cause, utterly soaked from her desire and the efforts of my tongue.

  I pause to take a breath and remind her of everything she stands to lose—and gain—in this moment, and her hips wriggle against thin air. Her thighs, strong and toned, quake. It’s a perfect opportunity to run my thumbs from the crease below her ass to the backs of her knees. This draws out a groan from her pretty lips, which are currently half-buried in the comforter.

  The anticipation tastes almost as sweet as she does.

  I’m still kneeling behind her when I slip my fingers underneath the waistband of those poor, pink, destroyed panties and pull them down half an inch—not enough to expose much skin. “I’ll do it,” I warn her. “I will.”

  Cecily picks up her head from the bed and turns it sideways so I can see all the beautiful lines of her face in profile. “Do it then,” she forces out through gritted teeth.

  “What’s the magic word?” I didn’t think she could find any more tension in her muscles, but there it is, as obvious as a ringing bell. Over the pure, sweet sound of it, I laugh. It’s partly borne of memory, of all the times when I wanted to be in this position and couldn’t get there because she was too good at the battle we waged, and partly because I have to release some of my own tension. It builds between my legs, another wave of blood coming to fortify my cock, and I won’t tell her this, but I’m so ready for her that one false move could send me over the edge. “Cecily, you sweet thing, when have you ever turned down exactly what you what?”

  She grinds her teeth together, her hips coming back toward me, the smallest concession. “I’ll turn you down right now. If you’re going to make me so humiliated—“

  I reach between her legs again, sliding three fingers over her swollen sex, still covered in the panties that I know now are driving her to distraction. “But you love it so much, being humiliated. You can’t get enough of it.” I click my tongue. “Your body can’t hide it from me. Why would you try?”

  Cecily drops her head back into the comforter, a frustrated groan like a bolt of lightning floating into the air. “You’re—you’re—”

  I take two fingertips and press them against the button of her clit. If Cecily wasn’t gripping the comforter so tightly, she’d have jumped straight into the air. I felt all that energy move through her shaking body, all the way down to her toes, digging into the carpet. I circle that clit—a little more pressure, a little more—and at some magical moment, the groan turns into a moan. Her thighs slide another few inches apart, the panties stretching between her legs.

  I keep the rhythm absolutely steady, rubbing, circling, drawing out more moans. They’re fucking musical, deeply gorgeous, and utter torture. But as much as I’m torturing myself, I’m torturing her.

  Cecily takes in a big breath, her hips rolling with the movement of my fingers. If she comes right now—well, I’ll drink that sight like a man lost in the desert. I don’t want it to be over so soon—ha. So soon. For Cecily, this has probably taken a hundred years, a lifetime.

  She doesn’t come.

  She turns her face to the side again, her eyelashes brushing against her cheeks, and there it is—that high pink color I’ll never get enough of, even if I see it every day for the rest of my life. Her lips move.

  I don’t hear it.

  “What was that?”

  I don’t take my hand from between her legs. I’ll only do that when I actually hear the magic word.

  She sniffs, the sound slightly irritated, slightly chastened. “Please.” This time, the sound is barely above a whisper.

  I could be a gentleman right now. I could.

  Three more circles around her clit, three more gasping breaths from Cecily. I could do it, right now—put my plan into action, tease an orgasm out of her. One orgasm—the first orgasm.

  But what could be sweeter than dragging this out for a minute longer?

  That’s right. Nothing.

  I let my voice ring out over her, like we’re sitting across the table from one another at a study group in the middle of a crowded library. “I can’t hear you.”

  * * *

  Cecily

  * * *

  He has me.

  In his hands, bent over the bed that was supposed to be mine but is now inarguably his. I choke on the first please. Is that any surprise? In a way, asking Jaxon Bliss for anything is a surrender. A huge white flag, waving from a hilltop, for all the world to see.

  That’s what it feels like. Begging, one word of begging, might as well be an admission to the planet that Jaxon Bliss has had me in the palm of his hand since the very first time I saw him at law school. It was some bullshit orientation meeting with dry cookies and an overabundance of bitter coffee. He was standing there by the carafes, pouring himself a cup and looking so at ease that I hated him instantly. Adrenaline from the fight to get into law school at all traced silvery paths in my veins. I’d been making my way to get coffee, too, but I wasn’t going to take it plain. I was going to make it play by my rules.

  Then Jaxon looked at me, and I saw those blue eyes. Those Bliss blue eyes. If adrenaline was keeping me awake and upright, his eyes brought me back to life. Paddles, meet chest. Electricity, meet heart.

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a sly smile. He never took his eyes from my face. He didn’t scan over my body. What he saw in my eyes was enough for his expression to change, and in that moment I knew. I knew I’d never be able to keep him. Even if I could get him, conquer him—I knew he’d always be an adversary. How could we ever live with each other? You’ll never make the cut. That’s what came out of my mouth, thoughtless and rushed and nonsensical. A challenge even I didn’t understand. I only knew I could never win.

  But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was fucking wrong.

  “Please!” The word tears from my throat, and I don’t give a damn it punches straight through the walls to the guest in the next room. I have to get it out of me or I won’t survive.

  “Thank God,” he mumbles, and that’s the last thing I hear clearly over the sound of my panties being ripped to shreds.

  The brief, stinging pain of the fabric going tight against my skin and then releasing is almost enough to make me come, only Jaxon’s hand isn’t there—he’s using it to discard my panties. Then his arms are around me, bundling me up onto the bed, onto my hands and knees. He’s so strong. It takes no effort for him to do it. His breathing is still even, if a little fast.

  The bed bends beneath him as he climbs on it behind me, one hand gliding up the length of my spine until he curls his fingers over the back of my neck, over my hair, and shoves my head down into the comforter. Is that me, moaning like that? Is that me, who loves a man who can do this with such...such...gentleness, and such power at the same time? Is that me who loves being pinned down, with my face in the bed and my ass in the air, everything in my world on full display for him?

  Yes. It’s me.

  Jaxon knocks my thighs farther apart with one hand, and I have one heartbeat to brace myself before he enters me in one furious, hard stroke.

  I haven’t been taken like this since…

  ...since the last time I was with him.

  He fills me to the point of bottoming out, stretching me, and I have not been fucked in weeks, in months. The sensation of my body accommodating the perfect thickness of him has me gasping, my hands scrabbling for purchase in the sheets. “Oh, oh, oh....” I can’t stop the sounds from coming out of my mouth, and I don’t want to. What possible energy could I devote to that kind of useless task?

  None, because Jaxon is pounding me like he’s never wanted anything more in his life. He’s a knight who’s fought his way through a ta
xing, never-ending battle and come out the other side to claim his prize. I’m not a prize to be won floats through my mind, the thought disintegrating beneath the strength of his strokes. I wasn’t anyone’s prize to be won. All my life, I never wanted to be anyone’s prize...except Jaxon’s. Isn’t it always fucking complicated that way? Under a limited set of circumstances—this kind of circumstance—I wanted to be a prize for him, I wanted him to take me, to fuck me, to own me—

  He threads his fingers through my hair, pulling my head up and back so he can fuck me while I’m on my hands and knees and I let out a long, low moan so I can survive the pleasure. It’s so intense, it’s so—it’s so awfully intense. It’s a terrible, wonderful thing, how much I love this. Love. Five hours ago, the strongest emotion I could have mustered for something would have been liking it a lot.

  We’re so far past that.

  Jaxon releases my hip with his other hand, though his palm never loses contact with my skin, and inch by fiery inch he slides it around to the front of me, to my spread legs, to my clit. This time, his fingertips aren’t teasing, they’re not soft, they’re not patient. They’re commanding.

  “Come,” he barks, and I do.

  Holy fuck, I do. He slams himself into me, all the way to the hilt, and holds me there as the first wave of pleasure and release hits. My mind flies away from my body. All the careful walls I’ve built up, all the knowledge I’ve forced into my brain, all my poise and control—all of it is gone, vaporized into a lovely sheen of sensation. Specifically, the sensation of being made to come all over Jaxon Bliss’s cock. What’s left of my brain—all the nerve endings, all the sparks of electricity jumping between cells—whooshes down my spinal cord and centers itself straight between my legs, making a blockbuster movie of all the intimate details. My pussy clenching, squeezing him. His cock pulsing back. In the background is the hum of my voice, crying out, wordless, ecstatic.

  Obeying him—that’s what’s getting me off. My mind circles around it again and again, and every time I arrive back at the point where I submit to his hands on my body, another wave of pleasure washes over me. His finger works my clit—does he say something, or is it only a sound of animal need that he makes. I come again. Again. Again.

  “One more time.” There’s no room in his tone for argument, and that hand wraps around my neck again, lifting me up so that my back is flat against his muscled chest. Jaxon is still inside me, tense and ready. He lifts one of my arms upward to curl around his neck, and the other....

  The other, he presses down between my legs.

  “For me,” he says.

  I can hardly stand to touch my clit, it’s so sensitive, but with him holding me this way, impaled on him, I don’t have the slightest desire to say no. I work my fingertips over that sensitive bundle in the old familiar way I’ve always done it, only this time the first touch rips a cry from my mouth. Then I’m over the edge, coming again, hard, harder.

  I don’t know whether it’s the cry or the orgasm or both, but with a half-grunt, half-growl, Jaxon follows me over. I can feel the last moment of preparation and then his release explodes into me, hot and thick.

  How long does it go on?

  I don’t know.

  I only know that I stay that way, held up in his hands, for what seems like a long time.

  Jaxon is still breathing hard when he pulls away, letting me fall forward onto the bed. I collapse into it like I’m at the finish line of the longest race of my life, and who knows? Maybe I have. The bed dips again as he climbs off.

  After a moment of letting my muscles come back to themselves, I push myself up on one elbow. Oh, that was good. That was so good that it hurt. I stretch my legs out and wiggle my toes, then sit all the way up and scoot toward the edge of the bed.

  Jaxon stands in the center of the bedroom, his blue eyes on me. His abs tighten with every breath, and he’s still semi-hard. I can’t believe it. After that, he could be ready to go again in another instant. I don’t have to ask him to know it’s the truth.

  I let him watch me, basking in his gaze, for another long moment.

  He’s so fucking hot.

  He takes in a deeper breath and runs a hand through his tousled blond hair.

  I’d rather stay here in this moment forever, but it’s quickly coming to its natural conclusion.

  Now what?

  * * *

  Jaxon

  * * *

  It’s funny how a simple, physical want can get so much momentum that it blazes into a need and then tumbles into something all-consuming in the space of an hour. Now, in addition to being naked and spent, I’m stripped bare, down to the raw nerve endings that still pulse and spark with want, want, want.

  I spent one night with Cecily in law school, but there were two and a half years of ebb and flow and push and pull leading up to that. I thought I’d grown out of wanting that push and wanting that pull, but the moment I saw her in the lobby....

  It felt like no time had passed at all. We could have been standing in the fucking dining hall, hating each other up close…and a lot else besides.

  My skin against hers—that’s what proved it. I already feel a hot desire stirring again. Taking her once only whetted my appetite. I’m far from satiated, and I can’t even lie to myself about it. Maybe if I were in the office, after a stolen few hours of sleep and a good hard session at the gym, I’d be able to convince myself that there had ever been another woman who made me feel this way.

  Maybe, all this time, I’ve been unconsciously comparing them to her. It’s not fair, and I know it, but the heart wants what it wants. I guess my heart wanted another night with her—or another mid-morning—enough that everything else paled in comparison.

  Cecily perches on the edge of the bed, legs parted, the breath coming fast between her lips. There’s a pink in her cheeks that only sex puts there. She looks up at me from underneath eyelashes, her dark eyes surprisingly...vulnerable.

  I should saunter into the bathroom with a smirk. I should let her know that all this meant nothing. But that vulnerability undoes something inside of me that I’ve been struggling to keep locked away since the first day I saw her. That day, she was wearing a gray pencil skirt and a boat-neck top that looked like it came straight from the rack at Ann Taylor Loft. Her hair was up in a ponytail, shining and long. She was gorgeous. I could tell that she was a little nervous. Back then, she hadn’t learned to hide a hint of her softness.

  She can’t hide it now, only now I see the power behind it, too.

  Cecily is like a queen. Cecily is a queen.

  “I think you should get dressed.” The words sneak out before I can rearrange them into something less asshole-ish. A flash of hurt crosses Cecily’s face. A mask of calm instantly replaces it.

  “Oh? Is that so?” She stands up and crosses her arms over her breasts. “I think I’ll shower first. Get all this off me.” Cecily gestures to her body, which is as luscious a body as I’ve ever seen, and turns toward the bathroom.

  I catch her by the elbow. There’s no way it’s ending like this. “I think we should both shower. And then I think we should put on our swimsuits and go to the pool.”

  Without her high heels on, she’s the same petite height I knew from law school. “The pool?” There’s hope and suspicion both in her eyes. “For what?” Her mouth curves up in a smirk. “For what? You want to watch me swim in my bikini?”

  “I have it on good authority that there’s a swim-up bar in the main pool. So, yes, I want to watch you swim in your bikini. Or without your bikini, if that would make you happier. Then I want to go to that bar and buy you a drink.”

  “Then what?” she whispers.

  “Then who knows?” I shrug, though I feel anything but casual. “Maybe we come back to the room together. Our room.”

  Cecily makes me wait a beat, because of course she does. “Deal.” She purses her lips. “But I’ll beat you to the shower.”

  “Fat fucking chance.” I pretend I’m going t
o sprint past her, then scoop her up in my arms instead, her laugher filling my ears, her arms around my neck. There’s a pool in our future, and a swim-up bar, but in the present there’s Cecily, laughing at me, her face completely unguarded.

  That’s the first good sign.

  Thank you so much for reading Jaxon and Cecily’s’s story, available only in this anthology! If you loved this little taste of the Bliss family, have I got news for you. Jaxon has six sexy cousins—brothers who own a luxury resort of their own in Ruby Bay, New York. Your room is ready now!

  * * *

  Start your visit with CRUSH ON YOU. [LINK = https://readerlinks.com/l/535026] It has everything.

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  ✔ a rich boss hero

  ✔ an unrequited crush

  ✔ one dirty secret

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  Click here to start reading! [LINK = https://readerlinks.com/l/535026]

  About the Author

  Amelia Wilde writes steamy contemporary romance and loves it a little too much. She lives in Michigan with her husband and daughters. She spends most of her time typing furiously on an iPad and appreciating the natural splendor of her home state from where she likes it best: inside.

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