by Mason, V. F.
Our gazes clash, a raspy breath of protest slipping past my lips when he steps back and tugs at the back of his T-shirt, dropping it on the floor. He comes back, the heat of his body spreading fire inside me, and my eyes roam over his perfectly carved six-pack and smooth skin. I lean closer, tracing my tongue on his collarbone, biting the flesh and enjoying the musky taste of him enhanced by his masculine scent, which is like an aphrodisiac with such male beauty in close proximity to me.
He fists my hair, stilling my movements, and pulls me back, whispering, “Phoenix.” I quickly put my finger to his lips, shushing him before he can say anything else.
If I hear his voice for long, he will break this bubble I’ve created, and I can’t have that.
His gaze darkens, desire mixes with anger, but he stays quiet, not wanting to give this opportunity up either, it seems.
One minute, he holds me prisoner, and the next, I yelp when he sends me landing flat on my back across the counter, his body covering mine. Once again, his mouth lands on me, but this time the kiss is different.
Any gentleness is gone. Instead, the kiss is passionate and all-consuming, sending waves and waves of goose bumps breaking on my skin while his hard-on digs into my core, sliding up and down, giving me a brief hint of what it can do to me. Fusing our mouths, I hope he’ll end our misery and give us both what we want so much.
Giving me a harsh bite on my lower lip and tugging on it a little before soothing it with a lick of his tongue, he moves lower to nip on my chin before traveling to the underside of it, leaving burning sensations all over while the scruff of his five-o’clock shadow probably leaves imprints on my skin, but I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything as long as pleasure awaits me at the end of this journey.
“Phoenix,” he murmurs against my collarbone, and I jerk in his arms, my eyes snapping open from his voice rocking between us. “Phoenix,” he repeats, biting on my skin, earning himself a gasp, even though I try to wiggle so he’ll shut up.
His strong hold on me doesn’t let me move though. Instead, he slides lower, his breath fanning over the mounds of my breasts. He gives them a light kiss before trapping one of my nipples between his lips through the silky nightgown, tugging it to the side and then sucking on it harshly, his tongue coating my pointed peak with saliva. My back arches as a moan echoes in the kitchen, and I clamp my mouth, afraid of waking someone up.
How is it possible though for wave after wave of sensations to assault me with his flesh against mine? “Be as loud as you want. No one is going to hear you here,” he says and shifts to my other breast, repeating the action and driving me insane. My skin burns, and I want to tear away the offensive silk plastered to me, keeping me from fully connecting to his touch that is driving me crazy with each flick of his tongue.
Please, please be quiet. Let me enjoy this oblivion without the cruel reality.
This time, I moan louder as electricity rushes through my system, making me tremble in his hold. My core becomes wetter, begging for any kind of relief from the fire spreading in my veins, flaring everything in its wake.
I roll my hips forward, wanting to grind on his hard-on that’s so thick between my thighs, but he doesn't let me. Instead, he whispers again, “Phoenix,” to my loud moan of protest, my head shaking, not wanting to listen to him or acknowledge this reality.
His hands grip my hips once again, his fingers digging so hard they will leave bruises as a reminder of this night, but none of those things matter right now.
With every touch, he only intensifies the unbearable need in my core, and with one last bite on my nipple, he props me forward on the counter as his mouth trails lower and lower to my stomach then navel with him biting on my flesh through the silk, leaving wet traces on his way. He drapes my legs over his shoulders, pushing my nightgown up, and orders, “Hold it.”
I do as he says, lifting my hips to pull it over my breasts while his hot breath fans my core right before he rubs his stubble over the inside of my thigh, scratching me. I whimper, and he sucks on my skin, a moan slipping past my lips. My splayed hands slide up and down my stomach, wanting to palm his head to bring his mouth to where I crave it the most but, at the same time, hesitating, curious to see what he will do next.
He shifts his attention to the other thigh, nibbling on the skin, and I hiss, the heels of my feet rubbing his back, and this time I don't stop myself when my fingers lace in his hair, bringing his mouth to my aching core. “What do you want, baby?” he asks, rubbing his face against my panties and making me moan in pleasure and frustration, as it only intensifies the need and does nothing to extinguish the fire.
“Please,” I repeat, blocking away the past and future, and focus only on the present where the fire will swallow me whole if he doesn't do something about it.
I try to grind on his face, but he chuckles against my flesh, giving it a slight bite through my panties while he asks again, “What do you want, baby?” I stay silent, his every breath tickling me and sending waves of sensations through my body. The air sticks in my lungs when he says, “Do you want my tongue? Where?”
I nod even though he can’t see it and slide my hand to my core, flipping the panties to the side and gliding my middle finger through my sensitive skin, moaning so loud they probably can hear me upstairs, but I don't care.
How can I?
He makes me lose all decency.
“Right here,” I reply, my voice hoarse and needy as I glide my finger again, enjoying the slight relief it gives me, and bring it up to my clit, pinching it and hissing at the pleasure spreading through me. “Here too.” Or maybe I don't need him at all?
After all, I can get off all on my own if he continues to be a stubborn ass about it!
His hand wraps around my wrist, bringing my finger to his mouth and sucking my juices from it as I lift my head. His gaze is trained on me, and my breath hitches at the naked, raw desire in it, awakening parts of me I thought were dead. My core clenches, wanting only him inside it.
My finger won’t be able to give me relief from the fire he’s inspired… and how freaking pathetic is that?
Sliding his palms under my ass and lifting my center up to his mouth, he orders, “Put your hands on your breasts. I don't need instructions when it comes to eating out a pussy.” And with this, he places his mouth on my core, delving his tongue inside me. I arch my back, crying out while thousands of electricity volts prickle my skin. Hot flashes travel all over me, from the tip of my hair to my toes, making every part of my body hungry for his touch.
He pulls his tongue back only to slide inside again, twirling it from side to side then gliding it through my folds, licking through my lower lips one by one before he spreads his mouth over my core, giving it a deep french kiss, sweeping my wetness on his way. I whimper, my heels dig into his back, and I thumb my nipples, groaning in frustration at the need pushing up and up to the surface, demanding release from him, but he doesn't let me. Instead, he flicks his tongue up and down my pussy before he traps my clit between his lips, rolling it around and then sucking on it. I cry out again, forgetting about his order, and thread my fingers in his hair, pressing him close to my core, keeping him in the same position. He continues to deliver onslaughts of pleasure one after the other, bringing me higher and higher to the brink of an orgasm that’s almost within my reach. But then he shifts lower again, his tongue flicking through my folds, and I huff in frustration, tightening my hold on him, which only earns me a growl from him that sends vibrations through my flesh, and I groan, chanting, “Please.”
Licking me from bottom to top, he asks, “Please what, Phoenix?” He taps his tongue against my clit, pressing on it, and I jerk under his onslaught, but his fingers clench my ass cheeks so hard I have no choice but to stay in this position.
What does he want? Surrender? I will gladly give it to him, as I have no dignity left. “Make me come,” I say and exhale in relief when he glides his tongue inside me, swirling it deeper and deeper. I
roll my hips forward, grinding on his tongue and almost come on it, but he pulls it back, licking my folds once again. “Please!” I add with frustration and anger, hating him for making me beg, yet still my legs are wrapped around him, clamping my thighs against his face, yet it doesn't change the trajectory of his movements.
He brings his hand to my core, rubbing me with his thumb up and down, up and down, driving me insane with each wet slide before he dips two fingers inside me, stretching me while his mouth sucks on my clit. The double sensation almost sends me flying. Sweat coats my skin, and my ears buzz from the overpowering pleasure that feels like it could destroy everything around me.
Only he whispers loud enough for me to hear, “Tell me, Phoenix. Who makes you feel so good right now?” I freeze, the air sticking in my lungs, but I groan when he drags his tongue through my flesh then slips it inside only to snatch his mouth away when my silence continues. “Who, Phoenix?”
“Please,” I say, closing my eyes and covering my face with my hands, keeping myself inside this bubble my subconscious has created of the hot fantasy every woman has in her head… and where I don't have to see him.
Truly see the man who brings me pleasure.
However, the devil is never kind, oh no.
He is ruthless and oblivious to anyone’s desires but his own.
“What’s my name, baby?”
I hate him for asking me, for he lifts his face from my flesh and stops all his actions, holding me on the brink of an orgasm, starved for the oblivion he refuses to give me until I play by his rules.
Cruel, cruel man.
But then, didn't I know that already when I decided to give in to this?
Our heavy breaths fill the space in the silence that follows his request—or order—and I snap my eyes open, gulping for breath before I let him shatter me once again, because I have no armor when it comes to him.
He stripped me of the last, fake sense of dignity. “Zachary. Your name is Zachary.” And with that, tears form in my eyes, falling down my cheeks, and I do nothing to wipe them away, but I don't have to.
Zach steps back, straightening up, takes out a condom from the back of his pants, and lowers the zipper on his jeans before tearing the foil packet open.
He easily wraps his hard-on in it. My eyes widen for a second at the thick, long, angry flesh leaking precum at the tip, and then his hands are back on my hips, pulling me closer until I wrap my legs around him and his erection digs against my core. He rubs it all over my center and leans forward, licking away the tears on my cheeks, one by one, then swallows a piercing moan tearing out of my mouth when he thrusts into me, shifting me on the counter a little and stretching me so much I wonder if I’ll survive it.
We groan, and I thread my fingers in his hair, angling my head back to deepen the kiss, our tongues brushing against each other, wiping away all the dark thoughts as he pushes back and rolls his hips forward again, driving inside me so hard I’m surprised I don't fall back.
Clamping my thighs tighter around him, I allow him to drink from my mouth. With each jerk of his hips, he encloses me in a hot cocoon of passion and pleasure that sinks into my every bone and poisons my blood; my body craves more and more of it, giving me the amplitude of emotions I didn't think was possible.
My lungs beg for some kind of oxygen, but I don't listen to them. Instead, I tug on his hair, opening my mouth wider as he enters me deeper and deeper with each thrust, my pussy clenching around him, my flesh burning from his wide length that should be forbidden for how much ecstasy it brings me.
He snatches his mouth away, trailing kisses down my neck, while I press against him, the hair on his chest tickling my pointed peaks, which only adds to the building blocks ready to collapse at any moment.
He speeds up his pace, sucking on my neck and no doubt leaving hickeys, while he pounds deeper and deeper.
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.
My hands slide down his back, raking my nails over it, wanting to bring him pain, the same kind of agony mixed with pleasure he evokes in me while my pussy gets tighter and tighter around him, welcoming every drive of his hips until it all finally becomes too much. I arch my neck back, screaming when it finally hits me. A hot flash spreads all over my body, hammering me with pleasure over and over again, almost making me drown in it for how strong it is—it’s nothing like I’ve experienced before.
He thrusts a few more times and then groans into my ear, biting on my earlobe. He spills inside the condom and grips my ass cheeks so hard a moan slips past my lips.
He leans back, palming my head, and rubs his thumb over my cheeks, his green orbs roaming over my face as if he’s searching for some kind of sign. “Are you okay?”
With his gaze on me, his dick still inside me, and his voice penetrating through the fog of the all-consuming need that finally got soothed, the full scope of what I’ve just done registers in my mind.
And with that comes hate and self-loathing toward myself for allowing this.
Pushing at his shoulders, I say, “Get off me.” He doesn't move, and this time I almost scream, “Get of me, Zach!” He slowly steps back, and I wince when he slides his cock out, the light sting still present, and then I get down from the counter.
Adjusting my panties and the nightgown, I flee from the kitchen toward my room, ignoring him as he calls, “Phoenix.”
Dear God.
What have I done?
Chapter Thirteen
“Where is this invisible line between right and wrong?
And how can I cross it?”
Zachary
From Phoenix and Zach’s email history…
To: Zach
From: P
You didn’t reply on my last email (and it has been what… six months?). You either listened to my advice or ignored it.
Both are fine by me, by the way.
Anyhow, I was sitting in the library yesterday and studied some things for my history class. And one of the topics was to find significant dates in the history of society.
So while I did that, I thought about the fact that I’m turning eighteen in a month, and you will be twenty-one.
Isn’t that cool? We both share significant dates in the same year, it’s like we are connected or something (it might sound lame now, but the epiphany I had in the library, man, so many feels).
While I contemplated all this information, I realized that we are wasting a great opportunity for a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.
You know all these movies and books where the hero and heroine decide to meet on a particular date? Yeah, you might call it romantic crap, but it’s not about romance in our case.
Although, I’m not dating anyone right now, and if I like you enough, who knows…? (Joking, you can relax. I’m not planning to dig my claws into you. Even though your egocentric ass probably thinks you are irresistible.).
But isn’t it cool? We fit the description. We met a long time ago and still kept in touch. So my proposition (even though it’s crazy, but hey, we live only once) is the following. How about we meet on January 15th at four o’clock at the Empire State Building viewing platform? (I know, I know, cheesy as hell… but if you have any other suggestions, I’m open to them.)
Maybe we can stop doing the whole pen pal thing then (sorry, I know you hate when I call you that) and become good friends in real life. Or, you know… we hate each other so much that we stop sending emails to one another (I think this point might actually persuade you in my favor).
Zach… are you ready to do something reckless?
You crazy pen pal (haha),
P
P.S.: I know you live abroad, but you mentioned coming back? Plus, you are rich. You should be able to come. You are always welcome to send me a ticket to wherever you are though.
P.S.S.: I’m totally kidding about the whole ticket thing. Or maybe I’m not?
3 hours later
To: P
From: Zach
That’s what comes to your mind while
you are doing your history class assignment? Should I be worried for your academic skills and what actually stays in your head? After all, you want to be a doctor.
I’ve already turned twenty-one, and I celebrated that shit on a yacht in the Mediterranean Sea. (So yeah, rich as fuck).
Unless you were holding on to something big while waiting to turn eighteen or twenty-one, I don’t get why you think those dates are significant?
The only upside to turning twenty-one was getting my hands on my mom’s trust fund and investing it in several stocks, increasing my inheritance before I can create my own company. I finished my degree, and I’m back in the States for the time being, although still plan to get my master’s.
Subtle really about mentioning the previous email, and since you are so curious, I can answer.
I did try to talk to him, but it ended in another argument when he announced that he was going to sell my mother’s estate home as it’s just standing unused. (Hence me investing in stock and all that. Guess who plans to buy it from him once it’s for sale?)
Honestly?
Don’t give a fuck about love, and I’m old enough to stop chasing Daddy’s love.
Now, let’s come back to your ridiculous yet oddly interesting (or should I say intriguing?) idea.
Besides all that romantic crap (laughed too hard at that one), it has an appeal. You already know a lot about me, wouldn’t mind actually putting a face to the words (us seeing each other as kids doesn’t count. I can barely remember how you looked the last time; your hat covered your face almost entirely).
I will probably regret it, but what the hell. I’ve done more stupid stuff than this. (If we become friends, I might tell you what I did on the yacht. Or should I wait till you turn twenty-one?)