by SR Jones
She wants it hard, rough, and likes a guy to be in control, I’m sure of it. But she’s cheeky, ballsy, and bratty too. She pushes back, and it makes my dick so hard it will explode if I don’t get it in her soon.
I am screwed.
I come back into the room, acting all in control and tough, but deep down I’m nervous. Not of getting fucked in the ass, I like that, and am hardly a novice at it. I’m nervous about being fucked in the ass, or in any way, by Damen.
My feelings for him are starting to be more than simply wanting a roll in the hay with my sexy protector. I like him. I know I have an issue with getting crushes on people, and then getting hurt. Alesso was only one in a long line, although I didn’t put on porno shows for any of the others. Now, Damen is the one I’m crushing on, and this time I think it is something more. It’s probably a bad idea for me to do anything more with the man because I don’t think he’s the kind for a relationship.
An instinct buried deep within tells me this man will be my nemesis. Not Yannis, or even my father. Those men tried to break me with cruelty, but they are weak. This man is strong, and it’s the kindness he’s shown me that might achieve what the others couldn’t.
The sight that greets me instantly chases away all my valid reservations because standing by the bed, taking his watch off, gloriously naked is Damen. He’s so big. So broad, tall, and striking.
He turns to me, and I take him all in for the first time. I let my gaze caress his olive skin and hefty muscles. His cock is beautiful. I love cocks. I don’t get women who don’t and giggle about them as if they’re weird or funny. Cocks can be beautiful, especially when they’re hard, long, and thick and attached to a man like Damen.
I swallow because he’s big there too, and wow, he better take it slow.
“I got the lube.” My voice sounds uncertain, and I clear my throat and throw out a sultry smile.
I think he might start asking if it is what I really want again, but it seems he’s done with the good guy routine because he crooks his finger. “Get over here and climb on the bed. All fours.”
I nod and do as he says, my heart pounding. The other times I’ve had anal, I’ve been drunk, and twice I was high. I’ve purposefully picked young guys, in their early twenties, like me. It’s been silly, fun, and hot, yes, but in a lighthearted, we’re two young people messing around sort of a way. It was a way of me getting sexual gratification and still staying intact for my family and future husband.
Now, I’m sober. Damen is a lot older than me. There’s probably a picture of him under the word alpha in the dictionary. It’s exciting, but it’s a little nerve wracking.
I climb on the bed as ordered and get on all fours.
“You have an amazing ass, do you know that? Yeah, of course you do, because you wear clothes to show it off. I love seeing this ass swaying down the corridor in front of me.”
I do wear clothes to show it off, but I don’t think it’s amazing. I think it’s too big, and I’d wear less revealing clothes, if they didn’t make me look fat. My whole wardrobe is designed around what makes me look slimmer. Hardly the siren he seems to take me for. I let him have his misconceptions, though, because he clearly finds the idea sexy.
A sharp smack rings out, and I hear it before I take in the stinging pain on my left buttock. “Ow, what the hell?” I turn to him, eyes narrowed.
“You’re a brat,” he growls.
Crack. Another blow on my left cheek, and it hurts. Stings and smarts.
“A tease, and you think you know what you’re doing, but you don’t.”
He’s right, I don’t. I never have. I’m like a heat-seeking missile, and all I’m searching for is a place to belong and be loved, but each time I crash and burn. Something tells me this will be the most epic burn of all.
Another two blows on my right ass cheek, both of these gentler, and then a soothing rub of his palm, which is more domineering oddly than the spanking.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” I turn to him and ask.
I think this spanking thing is turning me on. I’m not sure because I’ve never done it before, but I like it. Like how he’s making me feel debased and naughty. Does that make me sick?
“No.” He laughs, and I feel something light and soft caress the back of my thighs and my butt cheeks. I turn my head to see him draping his silk tie over my flesh, dipping it down until it slips between my slit. Oh, Lord. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with you.”
He brings his tie up in front of his face and inspects a damp spot marring the expensive silk, and then he sucks the material into his mouth and groans.
My pussy convulses, muscles clenching around nothing but emptiness. Oh, God, he’s so … dirty.
“I’m not going to get this tie dry-cleaned; it’s going to be my new favorite, and every now and again, I’ll smell it and think of your wet, swollen pussy.”
I moan, I can’t help it. His fingers dip between my folds, and he plays in the wetness there. “You’re dripping for me, Maya. Wet fucking through.” One thick finger slips inside, a tease, nothing more, before he withdraws it.
There’s a pop, and I feel coolness at my asshole, and I realize he’s grabbed the lube and is pouring it over my most intimate and secret area.
He lifts his finger from my pussy and starts to smear the lube all around, then there’s pressure and he slips a thick finger in me. At first I tense up, the way I always do, but when he presses the finger against the back wall of my vagina through the thin layer of skin, I sigh. I love that feeling.
Soon he’s got another finger in me, and his free hand is reaching around to play with my clit. He presses on my clit, not rubbing but pressing, as his fingers pump in and out of me. It’s as if he knows what my body wants and needs.
Then his warmth behind me is gone, and I hear him rip open a condom wrapper. Moments later, a much bigger thing than his fingers is pressing at my behind. I tense.
“Sshhh. I’ll go slow. Remember your word.” He strokes down my back, soothing me.
His magical fingers are back at my clit, and for a while it distracts me from the pain of him pushing in. More lube is drizzled on the place where we meet, a ton of it. It runs down my thighs too. He’s using more lube than anyone has before, but it works. The burn I normally feel at the beginning of this every time, isn’t as bad. And he’s bigger than any other guy I’ve taken. He continues to work my clit, his touch gentle but firm as he presses against me. His lips kiss my back, his tongue darting out to lick and taste my skin there.
The pressure increases, then he’s in me. Seated in me, filling me, so full, so tight. He doesn’t pull out; instead, he simply moves his dick where it is in me, deep and damned big.
It’s intense enough I’m panting. God, he knows what he’s doing. Other guys I’ve done this with, they’ve dragged their dicks out as soon as they’ve bottomed out, then pushed back in, and it always takes a few thrusts before it’s not sharply painful. Damen isn’t doing that. He’s gently pulsing his dick inside me, deep but oh-so-slow. Short, barely-there thrusts with no withdrawal, clever fingers working my clit, lips kissing my back as he whispers to me what a good girl I am, taking him so well.
Holy, hell, I can’t cope with this. It’s too much. I can feel tingles at the base of my spine and an ache building between my legs, and low in my belly.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I gasp.
He pulls out then, a long, smooth draw out and a glide back in.
“Oh, fuck.” I shiver, the sensation too overwhelming, too much.
“God, Maya,” he grunts.
The hand at my hip leaves, and he wraps it around my throat. Now he’s holding me by the throat, fucking my ass, deep and relentless as he slips a finger inside my pussy. He bites my ear, and I explode.
I scream when I come, and I am not a screamer. I’m a moaner, but he drags sounds out of me I’ve never made before.
“Christ,” he moans into my ear as he stills
and finds his own release.
When we both come down, he withdraws from me gently, kissing my spine as he does so, soothing me at the same time he makes me wince when his big dick leaves me.
God, I won’t be sitting down for a week.
He didn’t hurt me, though. He, in fact, hurt me less than any other time I’ve done this, but he made me feel him so deep. Deeper than anyone else has ever been. It’s as if he’s stamped his name inside me, in a place only reserved for him.
I want to sink into his arms and let him cuddle me, but I’m suddenly terrified he’ll reject me. So instead, on shaking legs, I get up and go to the bathroom.
While I’m sitting there peeing, I’m glad he refused to take my virginity. I think it will be dangerous for my emotional health to let him. Best we keep it casual and dirty. No pussy sex, no making love, no face to face. If I let myself, I could fall for this man, and I won’t.
I wipe myself, flush, and wash my hands and open the bathroom door, giving a squeak when I see Damen there.
“Let’s get cleaned up.” He drags me back in with him and turns on the shower. Once he’s happy with the temperature, he pulls me in with him.
The water is beating down on us both, and Damen does something that breaks down every promise I’ve made to myself. He gathers my wet face in his hands, pulls me into him, and kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before.
It’s a cliché, but it’s true—no one has ever kissed me this way. He’s taking control of my mouth, taking what he wants, and giving me what I need. This kiss is the best thing yet.
It’s over far too soon, and he nibbles at my lip softly before letting me go.
His hands are on me as he covers me in the hotel’s exquisite scented shower gel, and I close my eyes in bliss.
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” he asks me as if he’s not just obliterated me with one touch of his mouth to mine.
I try to keep my voice normal, calm. Not to let him hear the tremors I feel everywhere.
“I’m easy. Maybe some shopping. I mean, it’s a shame to be in Paris and not see the famous designer stores.”
He gives a dramatic sigh and rolls his eyes, but then grins. “Okay, shopping it is.”
He’s different somehow. The tense alertness he always carries himself with is subdued for the moment. He’s like a tiger that’s had a good meal. It seems I survived catching the tiger by the tail, and maybe even tamed him a little.
After we dry off, I go to head for my room, but Damen pulls me back into his with a shake of his head. “There’s a higher threat level, you sleep with me tonight.”
“Okay,” I say with a casual shrug. My mind is whirring, though. Is he truly only thinking of my safety, or does he want me here with him but can’t bring himself to say it?
“Here, you can sleep in this.” He throws me a t-shirt that on me is long enough to look like a nightdress. He pulls on a pair of boxer-briefs and climbs into bed, holding the covers back for me.
I follow suit and curl on my side, staring at the wall, not daring to cuddle him because now I’m sure this is only about keeping me safe.
A moment later a big, warm arm wraps around me and pulls me into him, until we’re spooning like some old married couple. I tell my heart to calm down. This is nothing more than him keeping me safe and cuddling a girl he just ass fucked, because he’s not a douche who will roll over and ignore a girl he’s done that with. This doesn’t mean anything to him, and I need to remember that.
The next morning I awake and stretch but can’t move. There’s a warm weight over my middle, and I realize that in the night Damen has thrown his heavy thigh over me. God, the man must weigh a ton if his leg is this heavy.
I glance down at where his arm rests on my top half, on top of the sheets. He’s got a smattering of dark hair, and his forearms are roped with sinew and, on the arm covering me, two white scars. I idly trace them with my finger wondering how he got them.
He stirs and mumbles something I can’t make out before he tenses, moans, says a clear no, and sits bolt upright. Panting.
“Shit.” He looks around him and runs a hand through his hair.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Nightmare is all.”
I wonder if he gets them a lot.
He’s a killer, he murdered a man for my uncle … father … whatever the hell the man is to me now. He has surely done it since then, probably before. He fought in the Special Forces. He isn’t some guy who has sat behind a desk for years, and whose worst memories are the time he erased half the firm’s computer records. His worst memories will come soaked in blood.
“So today, you want to shop, huh?” He gives me a glance then.
“If you don’t mind, but I don’t want to put you through torture.”
“Hey, so long as I think it’s safe, we’re good. And shopping in central Paris is probably safer than going somewhere off the beaten track to explore.”
“Okay. I’ll … erm … I’ll get dressed then.”
“Sure.” He’s already looking at his phone, reading a message, I can’t see who from.
Dismissed, I get out of bed and head into the living area to go fetch clothes from my own room.
I hope today isn’t going to be weird between us.
I’ve fucked up. Big time. Last night with Maya was all kinds of insane. I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life. But then instead of cutting it off there and keeping it purely sexual, I made her sleep with me, telling her and myself it was to keep her safe. Was it, hell? It was to keep her with me. I wanted her there, in my arms.
My body and my heart don’t seem to care what my mind thinks; they see Maya and they think— mine. It’s not love, but it’s an elemental possessiveness I can’t afford to have. The way I want her, want to own her and make her mine, is far too much like my father and his twisted feelings for Mom. I can’t go there. I need to keep this light, sexy, and not much more.
We spend the morning shopping, then we head to a café for a well deserved light lunch and a break. Boy, can Maya shop!
She’s a strange mix of the girl who loves art and quiet galleries, who’d rather eat a sandwich from a street food van than go to a fancy restaurant, and the girl who spent what I consider a frankly absurd amount on a handbag.
She’s munching on a late brunch of fruit and syrup-covered waffles and sipping at her coffee, when she looks up at me.
“When we’re back in Athens, can I resume my volunteer work? Father made me stop, but I want to start again.”
“What do you do?” I ask her, expecting her to say she volunteers in some hipster gallery or organizes charity lunches.
“I work at a homeless shelter a couple of times a week, and once a month I sleep over to help out overnight.”
She couldn’t have surprised me more. I stare at her for a long moment.
“What?” she snaps. “Didn’t think a spoiled little madam like me could think about those less fortunate?”
“No.” I take a bite of my food, chew and swallow, watching her. Liking her temper. “It’s a bit incongruous with dropping a thousand euros on a bit of leather to hang on your arm is all.”
“Firstly, I buy nice handbags, you”—she leans in close and lowers her voice to a whisper—“kill people for a mob boss. I am part of the same life, yes, but I was born into it. No choice. You, presumably, choose to work for Stamatis. Secondly, if and when I get a job, I will pay all taxes I should, thereby contributing to a safety net for those less fortunate. I doubt you, my father, Stamatis, Alesso, or the rest of you are filling the government’s coffers with your ill-gotten gains. Why don’t you dial down the superiority complex?”
Fuck me.
No one, I mean no one, has spoken to me like that before. Plus, every word she says is true.
My blood is boiling, but not with rage. Instead, I’m consumed with white-hot lust.
I keep trying to keep this light, but then she pulls me
under with a word, a look, or her ballsy attitude. How could her parents treat her so badly? I know I’m going to be just another asshole who hurts her in the end, but I can’t seem to stop myself from wanting her.
I stand, grab her hand, and pull her into the dim recesses of the café with me.
“What are you doing?” she says with a gasp.
I push her into the toilets, close the door behind me, and lock it. I take a moment to check that the room we’re in isn’t disgusting. It’s not. And then I sink to my knees and push up her skirt, using my other hand to pull her panties to one side.
“Oh my God, Damen. What the hell are you doing?”
It’s a damned good question, because it seems I’m so desperate for a taste of her, that I’m on my knees in the ladies’ bathroom in a Parisian café. Not a scenario I ever thought I’d find myself in.
Before I can examine what I’m doing, or why, the sight of her already wet for me, and her scent, cuts off all rational thought. I dive in, no finesse, and suck and lick at her.
“Jesus, oh God. You’re…You’re…You’re incorrigible.”
I chuckle against her, amused by her scandalized use of the word. She’s loving it, though. Her head falls back to knock against the wall behind her, and her thighs start to tremble.
Not wanting to take my time or make it slow, only needing for her to come all over my face, I drive her relentlessly to the edge, until she cries my name as she comes.
The sound of my name from her lips as she loses all control is like a drug. I want more and more of it.
There can never be enough.
I put her panties back into place, smooth down her skirt, then stand and take her face in my hands before kissing her hard.
She makes a small noise, maybe shock at the taste of herself on me, I don’t know. God, I’m about to burst I’m so desperate for her. When I’m done kissing her, she begins to reach for me. “No,” I tell her. “You don’t get on your knees in a bathroom. You’re a princess, remember.”
“Are you being horrible?” she asks, vulnerability in her gaze.