by C C Monroe
“I want you.” My hormone induced desire and sudden epiphany kick into gear.
“Who doesn’t?” And he’s back, so cocky.
Untying my robe, he slides his hands up my nighty. I lift my ass as the material stops around my hips. When he tries to lift it past my waist, I react, stopping him with my hands on top of his. Kingston knows I don’t like him to see my chest. There’s a huge scar from Joel. I told Kings I have one—not how—just that I have one and I’m insecure about it. That story is a long one to weave, and I just want him inside me already. I need to make up for last night, if I don’t I will continue to feel this empty hole in my chest.
His eyes flash with disappointment, the rejection setting in, making my stomach tie in knots. Never once has he seen me fully naked, not my chest at least, which has him irritated, desperate to see me completely. The scar too ugly, marring my skin, I distract him. “Take me now.”
He smirks, looking down at his cock. “Pull big man free then, my Queen.” Kingston calls me his Queen and it’s one of the many things he does that makes me feel most worshipped. I’m anxious inside as I reach down to release him from his running pants, thankful I don’t have to work with buttons or zippers.
All glorious ten inches spill over and bob around hard and ready. The tip already laced with pre-cum, his veins thick and pronounced, the tip red and hungry. When I look at it my core tightens, half in pleasure, the other in pain. I’ve had him so many times, regardless of that I still feel pain with the first thrust or two—or three.
“You like this big dick, don’t you?” he asks. I nod stroking it for him. He’s always the one in control but he gives me just enough to make me feel comfortable—safe. “Take it then, slide it into that wet, tight pussy and take it, dirty girl.”
“Yes,” I moan, causing his resolve to give. He pulls me forward—hard—guiding me right onto his waiting dick.
“Kingston!” I scream out. Completely full to the point of pain, I look down and see he only has a few inches of himself inside me. Not only is he long, he’s thick, the cock of a King, just like his name.
“Does it feel good? You’re soaking.” He bites my collarbone, then soothes it with the run of his tongue over the sensitive flesh.
“Yes, baby.”
“I love it when you call me, baby. Makes me feel like I’m yours.”
“Oh, Kings, you’re mine.” My words undo him, undulating his hips in a fast pace, he thrusts into me over and over again, deeper and harder. Even if I can’t be with him, I don’t shy away from the fact that he’s the only man I want touching me.
“Yeah, I am and you’re mine.” I almost protest and push him away, that’s one of my triggers. Before I can, though, he reaches between us and flicks my clit, causing an abrupt orgasm to consume my body.
“You’re squeezing me so tight, I need your words Lana, I need them.” Kingston is a dirty man and he needs those sexy little words... moans... screams, to help him reach his ultimate high. I think he needs it to feel some sort of ownership over me, some kind of connection that ties us together, in ways outside of what I won’t give him.
“Come deep inside me, Kingston.” He looks me in the eyes and I grab his face, I do his favorite thing and bite the corner of my lip and squeeze down on his cock.
“You’re so bad, a bad fucking girl.” He’s so foul when we make love, his words raw. If this were any other man, I would feel dirty. But with him I feel sexy and irresistible. I don’t feel like a whore, I feel like a desired queen.
I want to come again when I feel it building in my lower belly, the renewed heat striking within the deepest part of my body. His hands slide under my hips and over my ass lifting me from the countertop. I grab onto him by wrapping my arms around his neck, losing my hands in his hair. I kiss his cheeks, his lips, his jaw, anywhere my mouth can touch. Kingston lifts me with his strong, tattooed arms in a way that has barely an inch leaving me then hitting me again.
“I wanna come again.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice, Lana, I’ll make you feel good.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I want you on the bed.” He finds the stairs and with each step he moves inside me, causing twitches to happen in all the right places of my body. Our eyes never waver off one another.
“Get me there.” He laughs and does just that. I peer at him, enjoying the beautiful, powerful man in front of me. He’s tall at 6’0 with muscles so tight and taut, that I’m surprised he can put his arms down. He has an eight-pack gracing his beautiful stomach and his brown hair is longer on top and buzzed on the side, with green eyes that could hypnotize even the nonbelievers. I love the way he looks at me, I’m blessed daily to experience his unadulterated lust.
I ride out many orgasms, thinking to myself with each one that being pregnant feels so damn good.
Kingston falls asleep after our morning romp and I remember the breakfast I still need to cook for him and I. We leave tomorrow and while I make pancakes and his favorite green shake, I pray that we can spend the rest of this trip free from fighting. Telling him I’m pregnant will have to wait until we’re home.
“Why the fuck can’t you just let me in, Lana?” I yell, banging my fist on the counter with rage. Two hours ago we made love on the beach, rip roaring, passionate love and I thought I broke through her barriers, thought that I finally got deep inside her heart and chipped away the remaining wall. But, pity me the fool, when I asked her to be my girlfriend after, she said no without a twitch or blink of her long lashes. A bold, loud, deafening no.
“Because Kingston, we can’t. I can’t trust you.” As if she slapped me, I close my eyes for a minute and grind my teeth—replaying that sentence, almost sure she didn’t say it.
“You can’t what?” My jaw ticks, my eyes rolling back open and zoning in on her face. I’m sure I look murderous, but why in the world would she say that shit? I have never once touched another woman since we’ve been fucking. Never once have I lied to her or hidden how I felt—never once did I or will I hit her.
“I can’t trust you...”
“I heard you, Lana, that shit was fucking rhetorical,” I cut her off, ripping my hands through my longer hair, turning to face the windows in the kitchen that look out upon the water line. It’s dark so I can only see the reflection of the moon and the bright sandy beach.
“You don’t have to be such a prick.”
Turning on my heels I march to her. How dare she fucking call me that. “Seriously Lana, I’m the prick? I’m the prick. Yeah okay, whatever!” I take the glass of water from the counter and extend my arm, throwing it against the wall behind her head. The glass slithers off into tiny little pieces and her body goes rigid, shivering when the sound of the glass breaks.
“That right there, that is why I’m scared and can’t trust you. You have anger problems too, Kingston, and I won’t be the victim again.” I have never hit her, I know that there’s something more she isn’t telling me. She won’t let me in fully because some kind of fear is holding her back—and it isn’t me.
“And this right here, Lana.” I move my hand between us. “You fucking comparing me to that guy is like a knife in my chest every fucking time. Do you enjoy watching me hurt? Do you enjoy letting me make love to you and fall in love with you more each time, just to rip my heart out from my chest? You like being a fucking tease and using me like you use all the other guys you’ve dated before me?” I’m inches from her, her body heat radiating off in waves as much as mine.
“Fuck you, you asshole! I hate you!” The power of those words, combined with her turning and running up the stairs from me, seers me like a burn and as much as I realize my mistakes, I’m still pissed. I’m not him and here she stood telling me she hates me. Those words hurting me deeper than any words ever said before in our other fights. How can she say that to me? How could I say what I did to her?
My dream wakes me. Last night sucked the life out of me, then this morning Lana breathed life
right back into me. We fought then made up, like we do every single day. I shouldn’t do that, we shouldn’t do that, but how can I not continue to fight for her? How can I turn her down when she stands in front of me sorry and weak, beautiful and angelic, begging me to forgive her and show her with our bodies how much I need her?
Lana needs me—she needs me more than anything and even though she pushes me away, I know that deep down in her heart, if we ended this and I walked away, I wouldn’t be the only one who would be dead inside.
All of my muscles ache but my cock. I fucked my woman good this morning after my workout, making me sore everywhere. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I did. Last night I slept on the couch, waking up every hour, on the hour, more pissed off then the time before over our fight.
I fucking hate that she can’t let go of the past, but at the same time I get it. I witnessed firsthand the things he did to her. I saw the bruises, the fear living in her eyes every day. If I had my way, I would have killed Joel that night—ended his life.
The cops showed up after I did, my call to them before I got to her place not answered fast enough. If I would have kept at it, he would have been lifeless within a few more seconds. But it wasn’t just the cops who stopped me. It was my Queen. I looked over at her unconscious body and clung to her, trying to wake her up, to do anything to get her to come back to me. My life nearly ended in that apartment when I felt her pulse slowing down under my fingers. Lana is my lifeline, if she stops breathing I will cease to exist.
Regardless, her saying she doesn’t trust me still hurt, her saying she hated me did nothing but slice me open. But I’m weak where Lana is concerned. I would do anything for her, because that is the crazy in me, that I beg she will fix.
Getting out of bed I rub my eyes and comb my hands through my hair, shaking off the rest of those nasty fucking flashbacks. The reminder of those feelings has me desperate to find Lana. Standing from the bed—naked—I head to the bathroom, ready to find my brunette beauty and give her another round of sweet fucking love making.
I stop in front of the mirror, first looking at my arms, noticing the veins bulging from my biceps and triceps. Pursing my lips in a smug smile, I flex. Turning around I glance at my huge ass, Lana’s scratch marks still present from all our fucking. She loves my fucking bubble butt. What better reason to have a big ass than to give my girl something to scratch and use to push me deeper inside her tight pussy?
I pad to the tub and start up the water. I watch it fill the bath giving me a moment to think about last night and the things that were said in our fight, the way she said she hated me. Talk about a fucking riptide of anger, hurt, and fucking pain. Hearing those nasty words come out of my woman’s mouth plunged the switchblade deeper. The thought of having Lana hate me devastates me more than the thought of never having her at all.
Lana doesn’t want me now, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen. When you love someone the way I love Lana, you would wait for her, fight for her, move to the ends of the earth just to have her.
Thankfully my fucking run this morning cleared my head and kept me from diving off the deep end. I replayed the way her voice sounded when she said hate and each time my feet pounded the sand harder, my legs sped up faster. Then like a beacon of hope, I came home and she erased it all with a simple I’m sorry and the best damn make-up sex.
Our vicious cycle isn’t normal, probably unhealthy even, but I don’t care because I would drown myself in our turmoil just to mean even a little to her.
I smell Lana all over me, the perfume she wears, the shampoo she uses on her perfect caramel brown hair. I don’t want to erase her scent from me, it’s a symbol of what we shared before. The taking back of her cruel words—her submission to me.
“Hey handsome.” Her sexy voice sounds smooth and low—sensual. “Look at that sexy butt.” I smirk. Told you she loves this ass. I reach back and jiggle it, causing a sweet laugh to release from her beautiful mouth.
“Want to join me?”
“Kings,” she warns, all trace of humor gone within a split second. You would think after a year she would let me shower naked with her, make love to her completely bare. I’ve been inside this woman without any barrier before, yet she won’t let me see her breasts. The scar she claims to have from her childhood aids her insecurity. Lana was a clumsy child—she still is, but she didn’t explain too much to me. I personally think she worries I won’t like her tits, which is fucking bullshit.
Sure, before her I loved tits, I was a boob man, I liked big juicy tits. But Lana is a sexy fucking A-cup fitting perfectly in my large calloused hands. We spend more time over the clothes like horny adolescents. Which further demonstrates my point that it shouldn’t matter, because I’m completely fucking smitten by her, obsessed with everything Lana. I want to wrap my lips around her sexy little nipples, leave my mark on her creamy soft tits—have my dessert after every healthy meal.
“Okay, sorry. I thought I’d try.”
“I was thinking we could hit the beach today, since it’s only.” She checks her phone before setting it face down on the counter and hopping up. “Twelve thirty.”
“Sure.”
She’s staring at me, her eyebrows drawn in and her brown eyes giving nothing away. She’s challenging me. Lana wants me to beg for her to get in this damn bath with me, but I’m too prideful to do so. Thinking I’m gonna do it is one thing, thinking I’m gonna do it and believe that I won’t get turned down is another. I just woke up from a nap and I don’t feel like fucking fighting with her over this trivial, petty shit. We just made up, is it really time to fight again?
“Okay. Enjoy your bath. I’ll see you out there.” Lana turns, stomping out of the bathroom, more irritated than before, her words blunt and sentences choppy. You would think fourteen years with me in her life, she would learn. I don’t chase, I get chased. Besides, I’ve tried chasing her and it’s done nothing but break me into a weak man. No thanks. Lana will come when she’s ready. I have to decide which running race I’m going to lose, wisely.
Undoubtedly I want to slap that ass and scream after her, tell her she isn’t gonna leave this house without me. But that’s semantics, she won’t do it, she’ll just tell me I’m controlling. No one wins in our game. I listen to her huff and puff on the other side of the damn door, digging through her suitcase.
Keep it up, baby. I can play this game all day.
Finally after a few minutes, I hear the door slam and she leaves. I hurry with my bath and get my ass in my white swim trunks, grab my snapback and ray-bans, making an anxious exit to the damn water.
Fuck, I’m chasing....
“A one piece, huh?” The sun shines bright behind Lana from where she’s standing above my laying form on the sand. It silhouettes her tiny frame, showing the snug fit of her black one piece.
“Yup.” Lana reaches for the towel and dries herself off before planting her ass on the sand next to me. I haven’t gone in the water yet, too busy watching her play in the waves, her hair blowing in the wind. Fuck, she looks good. Knowing that I need to break her sassy little attitude streak, I start in on her.
“What’s your problem?” The harshness in my tone comes out a bit blunter than I intended. She turns her head in my direction slowly, gaping at me with the roll of her eyes. Those damn brown eyes.
“Nothing. What’s your problem, asshat?” She gives it back tenfold, once again challenging me. I lick my lips, chuckling in disbelief. She has been so fucking sassy lately and her moods go from happy to pissed in zero to sixty. Like the water here has made her a bit nuts.
“My problem is instead of sitting here letting me kiss you and finger fuck you on this private beach, you’d rather give me attitude versus having a good time, you know like we used to. When we were best friends.” She stands in a rush, the sand from her legs and ass catching with the wind and hitting my face. Shit, I’m lucky my glasses were on, or my eyes would be sandpaper.
I wait for her to snap back, her hi
p is popped with her hand lying on top, she’s fuming.
“You know, is everything sex with you? Is that all you care about?” She reaches down, grabbing her towel and flip flops. Not even letting me answer, she takes off for the house.
Oh fuck no.
“Hey!” I jump up and grab my shit. “Get your sexy little ass back here, Lana James! I’m not fucking around!”
“No you won’t be after this and no, I don’t want to!” She hollers over her shoulder. I close the gap between us within a matter of seconds. Dropping my shit on the ground I wrap my arm under her tits, swooping her up with minimum effort. She weighs maybe a hundred pounds. Compared to my two hundred and forty pounds of pure muscle—thank you—that was nothing.
She kicks and punches the air in front of her, flailing around like a woman possessed, but I don’t even blink, not the slightest fazed.
“Kingston Troy Donovan, you put me down, now!”
“No, not till you calm the fuck down and tell me what the hell is going on.” All movement comes to a standstill, Lana goes completely limp in my arms. I hesitate for a minute, not sure I trust her giving in that effortlessly.
“You done?” I whisper in her ear. With the tiniest nod of her head I release her and she turns to face me. “What was that?” I ask.
She sighs crossing her arms over her chest. “Where would you like me to start, the part where you pretty much said we aren’t best friends anymore? Or was it the part where you said you would finger me on the beach?”
“Seriously, this shit started way before that. It started in the fucking bathroom. I wake up happy and well fucked, ready to take a bath then come find you, when you come in the bathroom and give me sass and challenge me. For what reason, Lana?” She gapes at me, as if what I said was complete mockery.