Beautiful Mine

by Jordyn White

  He pinches my nipple again, then squeezes me, all while gently brushing his lips along the sensitive skin on my neck.

  “You will, right?” I ask weakly, angling my hips up slightly. His fingers curl down until they find my entrance and he presses two inside me. I let out a gasp.

  “Oh, yes. But not till I’ve had my way with you here first.”

  I move my hand higher up his thigh, wanting to reach behind me for him, but the angle prevents it. His hard shaft is digging into my lower back and I can only press against him more as I open as much as I can. He slides his fingers deep into me. My silky moisture is protected inside, making it easy for him.

  I hook my arm around his neck, turning my head so we can kiss. His warm tongue slides over mine as his fingers slip out and return to my throbbing clit. He delves into me with his tongue, caressing my breasts and rubbing my clit in fast, tight, hard circles. I moan into his mouth, my tongue warring with his.

  He continues on like this. Caressing and playing me, he knows just how to touch me so it’s the right amount of friction, making the most of the water.

  Soon I’m gripping his knees, my head is thrown back on his shoulder, and I’m panting helplessly.

  “That’a girl,” he whispers in my ear as the flush in my chest, climbs and climbs. The water is hitting the side of the tub in an agitated way as I buck my hips in small movements. He squeezes me and pinches my nipples, as the flat of his fingers strum perfectly over my clit.

  I let out a whimpering cry, my desperation growing with the climbing pleasure. I cry out again.

  “There you go,” he whispers behind me, the full length of his shaft digging into my back.

  His fingers flying, I’m pressing hard against his thighs, needing so badly to open myself and yet feeling what the restraint is doing to me. It’s made the climb so slow, but so, so delicious.

  “Connor,” I breathe, arching my back so my breasts come out of the water. The cool air rushes over my nipples.

  “Yes,” he says tightly, his fingers moving faster, harder.

  “Connor,” I bite out.

  “Whitney.”

  Oh, fuck.

  My climax peaks, tearing me in two, stealing my breath. I whimper again and again, and Connor sucks on my neck, my earlobe, my shoulder and his fingers don’t slow.

  My head flies forward and I tuck my chin hard against my chest as I ride it out. When I’m released and collapsing back against him, his hand cups my mound firmly and I pulse against the firm pressure of his fingers.

  He lets me lie against him for a minute, head heavy on his shoulder and the sound of my panting filling the little room. His rod is rock hard against my back.

  “My turn,” he whispers hotly in my ear, and I throb in anticipation.

  We exit the tub and hastily dry off, just enough not to freeze. He throws his towel on the floor, then takes mine out of my hands and tosses it down too. When he takes me in a hot, hard kiss right there in the bathroom, there are still some droplets on our skin.

  Now that I can reach it, I grab his cock greedily. I squeeze him in the center, again closer to the top, again cupping the tip. He moans in my mouth, grabbing my upper arms. I want to taste him, and am about to slide down so I can, but I don’t get a chance. He sweeps me into his arms and carries me into the bedroom.

  I’m still flushed and throbbing from my orgasm, but I’m getting more wet at the thought of that cock inside me. He lays me on the bed, then goes for the box on the nightstand. As he rips the package and rolls it on, I lift one knee and lower my hand to my clit.

  “Holy fuck,” he says, watching my fingers rub in circles. “Flip over.” He climbs onto the bed on his knees.

  I do as he says and get on all fours, looking over my shoulder to watch him get into position. He grabs his shaft, and I feel it at my wet opening. He starts to come inside me and I drop my head in relief. It’s like I can’t get enough of this.

  He slides in deeper, the different angle stretching me hard in completely new ways. I gasp and he freezes.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  I urgently shake my head no, scooting my hips back, asking for more. He slides the rest of the way in. I widen my knees slightly. He firmly grabs my hips and gets us going in a rhythm that makes my nerve endings hum all over. I’m rocking back to meet each thrust, wanting it deeper. Wanting it harder.

  I bite my lip and glance over my shoulder. His chest and ab muscles are hard and defined. The view of his body down to his pelvis are such a turn on from this angle, I don’t want to stop looking. I’m bracing my arms hard against the mattress, trying to give as much resistance as I can to his movements.

  “You like it hard?” he asks. I nod urgently.

  Grabbing my hips more firmly, he yanks me back against him and thrusts into me so hard that I drop my head to the mattress and desperately grip the sheets in my hands. “Yes,” I choke out, but I don’t know if I said it loudly enough for him to hear. I can barely breathe. Every thrust causes a pulse of pleasure to radiate out from my center. His stiff cock is stretching me almost more than I can handle and hurts so good.

  I exhale in hard, sharp gasps as he pounds a mind-splitting climax right out of me. I’m crying out, my open mouth pressed into the mattress, and arching back on him. As my orgasm rips through me, he comes, pulsing inside me. His groans and sporadic thrusts only make me come harder.

  It lasts so long, I’m left gasping for air when it’s done. My blood is pounding in my ears and my heart is trying to break out of my chest. I sink heavily onto the mattress and he sinks heavily onto me, cock still wedged firmly inside.

  “Oh my god,” I say, as he kisses my shoulder in between pants.

  “You’re insatiable.”

  “Not,” I protest, slowly catching my breath. The pulses in my body are morphing into a sweet, throbbing afterglow. “I’m good for at least ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”

  Chapter 8

  Connor

  Sometimes insomnia bites hard, but having Whitney by my side makes it significantly better. She’s sleeping on her stomach, one leg pulled up, chin tucked down, hugging her pillow, breathing softly. She’s fucking gorgeous. We didn’t finally get to sleep until after midnight to start with—well, she fell asleep anyway—but, it’s after one now and, in spite of my physical exhaustion, I’m still wide awake.

  For some reason, people assume I get insomnia when I’m worried about things. I wish that were the reason. At least then maybe I could do something about it. No. It seems my body has a mind of its own and just flat won’t sleep sometimes.

  Tonight’s different, though. Aside from a whole lot of wondering about the woman lying next to me, my cousin Corrine is on my mind and, yeah, you could say I’m worrying about her. It’s only four in the afternoon in California, so I should wait a bit before calling her, but fuck it. I’m awake and I can’t wait any more.

  I quietly climb out of bed, get dressed, and take my phone to the darkened main room. Not bothering to find a lamp, I use my phone’s light to guide me to a chair and hit Corrine’s number.

  When she answers, she doesn’t even say hello. “No, I haven’t heard yet.”

  “I wasn’t calling for that.”

  “You’re full of crap.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “I was just getting ready to call Dr. Nguyen’s office though. I want to get them before they close. Want me to call you back?”

  “Okay.”

  Trying to ignore my nerves, I check emails while I wait. It’s the usual sort of stuff: some business-related correspondence, an update from my broker, a sappy this-is-true-and-will-break-your-heart bullshit internet story my gullible grandmother forwarded to me, and a link from my mom. It’s an article about a graphic novel that illustrates Albert Einstein’s life, just the off-the-wall thing we both find interesting.

  I’m half way through drafting a reply to an email when Corrine calls back. “The nurse was just getting ready to call me.” I already know the answe
r based on the tone of her voice. “Negative!”

  Thank God.

  “See?” I say, trying not to sound as relieved as I am. “I told you everything would be fine.”

  “You always say that.”

  “Because it’s true.” I sigh and sink further into the chair, feeling distinctly more relaxed now. “So tell me what else is new.”

  “Your mom gave me a new project. She wants me to update the operations manuals.”

  “Shit. All of them?”

  “Yeah. I’m really excited.”

  “Better you than me.”

  “Do you want me to read a few pages to you? It’ll help you sleep.”

  “If you’re trying to bore me, just put Rayce on.” I grin.

  “I’ll tell him you said that.”

  “I was hoping you would.”

  “So, where are you now? Did you make it to Santiago yet?”

  “Yeah. A couple days ago.”

  “Did you get to see the incense thing?”

  “Yeah,” I say, remembering kissing Whitney during the second one, and everything after. “Yeah. It was pretty cool. I’ll send you a pic.”

  “How long do you think you’ll stay? Do you know?”

  Last time we talked, I mentioned that I’d planned on staying in the city awhile. It seemed like it’d be a good one to explore. After getting there I didn’t change my mind about that. It did seem like the kind of place I’d like to get to know better. But, you know, things change.

  “Well, I’m actually heading for the coast now,” I answer. “I’m in Olveiroa.”

  “Oh yeah? What made you decide not to stay in Santiago?”

  “Oh,” I say vaguely, “you know.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, I know. Those feet of yours have a mind of their own.”

  We talk awhile longer before hanging up. I finish the email I’d started and send off another. That done, I sit in the dark a few minutes, trying to let my mind and body relax. My brain is still whirring though, so I give my brother Rayce a call.

  “I heard you want me to put you to sleep,” he says, after our initial hellos.

  I smile. “Word travels fast.”

  “I could sing you a lullaby.”

  “There aren’t enough miles between us for me to stomach your singing.”

  “So where are you?”

  That’s the standard question on just about any call with my family: where are you? I give him the latest, sans Whitney. Normally I’d tell him, but he’ll either make it out to be a meaningless hook up—which I don’t want him to think—or something serious. Which I also don’t want him to think.

  I don’t know what to call this thing that’s happening with Whitney, so I’d rather stay mum.

  Anyway, I called him for a reason. “How’s Corrine?”

  “She seems to be doing okay.”

  “She’s not getting too worn out?”

  “No. If anything she’s looking better. I think it’s helping to get back into the swing of things. Mom was right.”

  “She usually is. But don’t tell her I said that.”

  Not long later, when I’m climbing back into bed, Whitney stirs slightly and barely opens her eyes at me before letting them slide shut again. “Did you go somewhere?” she asks sleepily.

  “Just for a minute.” I kiss her on her cheek and settle into bed. My body finally seems tired enough, and I’m more than ready.

  She heavily scoots over, curls her arm around my waist, and rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her soft body, sink against the pillow, and am asleep seconds later.

  We both sleep in a bit, and take a little longer getting ready than usual—what with the whole morning romp we couldn’t seem to resist, not that we tried very hard—but we manage to get on the road at a decent time anyway.

  A couple hours in, we pass by an outdoor market and pick up some bread, cheese, salami, and grapes for lunch. Not long after, we find the perfect place to enjoy it: a grassy area with a view of the sprawling field just across the Camino from us.

  We settle on the ground and lay our items on the brown bag we’ve been carrying it all in.

  “It’s almost too pretty to eat,” Whitney says, admiring the braided Challah loaf, “but I’m sure we’ll manage it.”

  I smile, pull out my pocket knife, and cut a slice of the salami. When I hold it out to her, she holds my eyes and smiles in that way that makes my breath catch. Good lord, she’s a beautiful woman.

  She reaches for the salami, but I gently catch her wrist in my other hand and tug. Her smile widens, and she lets me pull her in. Our lips come together in a soft, sensual kiss. Only when I’ve had my fill do I release her. Her cheeks are softly flushed and the crotch of my shorts are a bit tighter than normal.

  She takes the slice of salami with two fingers, puts it in her mouth, and licks the tip of each finger, watching me the entire time.

  “She-devil,” I say grinning, and turning to the meat to slice the rest.

  “You started it.”

  “Keep that up and I’ll finish it.”

  We’re too close to the road and potential spectators to be serious, though, and eventually settle into our meal.

  “Were you up in the middle of the night?” She tears off a chunk of the bread. “Or did I dream that?”

  “Yeah. Just for a bit.”

  “Was I keeping you up?”

  “No. Not at all.” I explain my occasional insomnia issues, telling her there’s no real reason for it apparently. “I just have trouble with my clock sometimes. Last night was different though. Corrine’s been fighting cancer and we were waiting on some test results.”

  “I’m sorry.” She genuinely looks it. “Is she okay?”

  “Everything came back negative, so that’s good.”

  “Is she in remission then?”

  I nod and fill her in on the details. Corrine was diagnosed half way through the first semester of her sophomore year of college (what would’ve been my junior year, had I not left that summer to travel the world instead). The prognosis wasn’t too bad that first time. She had to pull out of school, then went through six months of treatment before being declared cancer free.

  That fall she went back to Hartman College, again starting her sophomore year. She finished that year and got in a full semester’s worth of credits her junior year, but in February of that school year, the cancer came back and she had to drop out again.

  “Things were serious before,” I say, “but when it came back last year it was really bad. She ended up going to the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale from February all the way until October.”

  “Geez,” Whitney says softly. “That’s a long time.”

  I nod. “Yeah. It was a long, long year. Things were kind of touch and go there for a while, until they found the treatment that worked.”

  “Did you get to see her at all?”

  “Oh yeah. Both times. The first time I still travelled all over, in between visiting her. She lost her hair, and I made a joke that I should’ve brought her a gaucho hat from Argentina—”

  “What’s a gaucho hat?”

  “Gauchos are South American cowboys, and they still wear traditional clothing.”

  “Oh yeah. I think I’ve heard of them.”

  “Right. Well, that’s where I’d been when she was diagnosed. So, you know.” I shrug, smiling. “I went back and got her one.”

  “You went all the way back to Argentina just to get her a hat?” Whitney says, grinning.

  “Well, it’s a lot quicker if you fly. Besides, she wanted one. She loved it, too. All any of us wanted was to try to make her happy. It turned into this running thing. I’d bring her hats from all over so it wouldn’t be as bad, you know. Losing all her hair.”

  “What else did you bring her?”

  “I got her a headwrap in South Africa. She loved that one. A Rastacap from Jamaica. Soft things like that were better so she could wear them lying down. She asked for a beret from Paris. Places
far away like that I’d cheat, though and fly.”

  “You didn’t want to sail all that way, huh?”

  “Well, normally, sure. But I didn’t want to be gone too long. I kept my boat docked in the Caribbean or Gulf of Mexico somewhere and fly to Arizona to see her. I felt like I needed to stay close, especially when the cancer came back that second time. That’s the only time in my life it was hard to pick up and go places. No matter where I went or how long I was gone, it was like there was this part of me... kind of... anchored there in Scottsdale with Corrine. I’d feel really unsettled until I was with her again.”

  Whitney’s listening thoughtfully, chewing on her bread.

  “I would’ve stayed there the whole time, but I was afraid she’d think I was just waiting around for her to die, and how was that going to help? It was better to say, ‘Hey, I’ll bring you something cool from Saint Lucia.’ There was this weird power in that, too. If I said I’d bring her back something, she had to stick around, you know? Like, that was a reason to fight.”

  Whitney smiles, but I shrug.

  “Honestly, looking back, it’s kind of stupid I thought that. As if she didn’t have enough reasons to live. It’s not like my little gifts were the things that would make her want to stay. But at the time, giving her things was like making an offer to whichever god could keep her from dying. Every time I brought something, her eyes would light up and I’d think it was working.” I shrug. “It’s funny what you hang onto in times like that.”

  “I’m sure,” Whitney says. “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

  “I’d find the perfect thing and call and say, ‘Wait till you see it.’ But I wouldn’t tell her what it was, because, you know, wondering would keep her alive until the next time I saw her.”

  “Hmmm.” Whitney smiles softly. “I think it’s sweet.”

  “Sweet. Delusional. Whatever word you want to use.”

  She laughs. “Maybe she needed someone in her life who could leave for weeks at a time and say, ‘See you when I get back.’”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “What was her favorite thing you brought her?”

  “Aside from the African headwrap? Two shot glasses from the Bayou Boogaloo Festival in New Orleans.”