by Alam, Donna
Her tongue snakes, licking her lips in a way that’s just painful to my throbbing dick. She smiles, no doubt reading my expression, ducking her head and resting it on my shoulders as though to hide her heating cheeks.
‘You’re wrong, Kit Tremaine.’ Her words are soft against my neck. ‘Wrong in so many ways.’
‘But I was right about your taste.’
She ducks lower, bringing her head farther down my chest, where it moves along with my deep chuckle. She sort of mewls, her gaze suddenly meeting mine head-on, the amber and honey in her eyes as intoxicating as her taste. Her lips are slightly parted, her tongue darting out, then she whispers, ‘Look,’ and drops her head again.
Through the curtain of her hair and the space between our bodies, is a picture-fucking-perfect image as my cock stands . . . framed by her slick, pink pussy.
Fuck!
If this isn’t the hottest thing I’ve seen ever, then I don’t know what is. I wish I had a camera to keep this image for posterity—so I can see this image whenever I like. I want to keep—
My stupid thoughts at bay.
If I know what’s good for either of us, that is.
Bea pushes up from my chest, rising on her knees, and my cock slips instantly farther between her legs.
‘Wait. Hang on there, babe.’ I don’t have a rubber on, and the need to fuck is great.
She whimpers, caught between desperation and sense as I reach for the condom and tear it open, the muscles in my abs tensing with raw need. As I slip it on the head of my dick, I’m aware of her rapid breathing, the knot in my belly, and the drop of sweat rolling from my neck and cooling on my chest. Of the tremble in my thighs and the cold movement of air as it blows into the room. But most of all, I’m aware of her face. Of how her eyes are fixed to where I slide the condom down my length.
Everything drops away as I breathe out, my hands falling, palms flat against the bed. I tilt my head back against the pillows, breathing out long and low, before taking her hand and directing it to the base of my aching cock.
She gasps as I wrap her fingers around it, whimpering a little as I spread my hands between her hips and arse to direct her body. Up. On.
‘Oh.’ Her mouth is a soft “o”. The sound stretching out as I push inside.
‘Oh, fuck.’ My hiss counters her cry as the warmth of her body engulfs my tip. I fight the urge to yank her down—to fill her up. To fuck the life out of her. But the saner part of my brain knows that in order to make it good for her, she needs to be in control.
This time, anyway.
What I hadn’t expected was for this to hurt me as her hand falls away and she takes me into her body in a way that’s so slow, it’s fucking torturous. Every part of me is vibrating. Every muscle aching and tight and desperate to be inside.
‘I did’nae have you down as the cruel kind.’ My words are grated out between clenched teeth as I try to keep my hips on the bed.
But then we’re skin to skin, and this is where the real fun begins.
‘Don’t hold back,’ she whispers. ‘I want to feel it all.’
‘You don’t know what you’re asking.’ Jesus Christ, I want to own every inch of her skin.
‘That’s what makes it exciting. I know what I want, trust me.’ The fact that this trust is in reverse makes my gut clench.
‘Tell me. Tell me what you want,’ I say, pushing the hair from her shoulders and stroking my hands down her back. ‘Paint this picture for me in words.’
‘You’re a poet.’ Her fingers touch my face, sliding down over my chest. ‘A work of art.’ As she strokes the flat of my nipple, my dick twitches, the grip of her hot walls pulling me back in place. ‘I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you everywhere. I want this fucking to go down in history as the time Kit destroyed—’
‘His honey bee.’ Her insides start pulsing around my cock, a moan rumbling from deep in my throat. ‘You’re trying to fucking kill me, I’m sure.’
I start to move, slowly at first, counteracting her need with her arse in my hands. I try to set the pace and depth, I do, but with each flex of my hips, her moans become louder and a little more desperate, her tits bouncing so beautifully that it’s hard to hold back. I try to hold back myself, alternating between fucking her deeply—sliding out and thrusting in from tip to base, and more shallower movements—to small punches of my hips and little jabs.
And she loves it. She fucking loves it all.
The way she moans as I rub the tip against her slit, and the feel of me seated deep inside with her pussy rubbing my base. The place that’s too much for some women—too uncomfortable—but Bea is something special. And I’d guess, a wee bit of a secret pain whore.
The realisation of this runs through my body like a tactile thing, singing its siren’s song. I wrap my hands in her hair, arching her backwards and bringing a nipple between my teeth. Hard.
She moans, a helpless and hungered sound.
‘You like that, honey bee? Tell me how it feels.’
‘Words,’ she pants, her hands flat on her thighs. ‘I don’t have any. You’ve fucked the brain right out of me.’
Pinning her in place, I growl, thrusting up hard and fast, and tighten my grip in her hair, bowing her backwards and bringing my lips to her neck. My hips begin to pump and flex as I fuck her harder. I fuck her as though I can get her to take me inside her body. In my entirety.
Her expression alters, her teeth biting hard into her bottom lip, her eyes glazing, her body suddenly as tight as a bow. I slide my hand from her hair, dragging my fingernails down her back as she cries out.
‘I can feel you,’ I rasp. ‘I can feel you coming around my cock.’
She grinds against me, whimpering and repeating my name again and again, rocking her pussy against me as she takes what she needs.
She’s beautiful. And she’s mine.
The thoughts are confusing, though not unwelcome. I banish them to the back of my mind, my sentient self hanging on by a thread as I try not to give in to my body’s demands as her pussy pulses around me.
Her breathing is still laboured as I slip my hand under her arse and flip us. Her head lands on the pillow, the golden strands of her hair covering her face like a veil as I straddle her thighs.
‘Where have you been hiding, honey bee?’
I smooth the strands of her hair. Kiss her head. And watch the surprise on her face as I peel the latex covering from my cock.
‘You’re not going to—’
‘Oh, I am. Open your mouth, honey bee.’
Her expression morphs, just as I’d expected. But what I don’t expect is her sly smile. And I certainly don’t expect her to prop herself up on the pillows and place her hand over mine. But what completely blows my mind is, as she brings my head to her mouth, she lays her wet, pink tongue flat on her bottom lip.
An invitation for me to come where I like.
Everything blurs around the edges, white heat shooting through my limbs as I slowly jack myself—into oblivion, it seems. One hand cradles her head, the other on my cock, and I lash her lips and her tongue with white-hot streams of my cum.
I feel like I’ve run a marathon as my hands fall to the bed by her shoulders, caging her in. My mind empty. I’m done. All that’s left is lust, blood, bone, and cartilage. Until she stretches out beneath me, sighing her contentment.
Her small but sated smile is a sign of a job well done. There’s a fleck of my cum on the bow of her lip, and I lick it off as I slide my lips over hers.
I take one last look down at her body. Her soft curves are an invitation to destruction. Only, now I don’t know who’ll be ruined—left in bits.
Me or her?
Chapter Nineteen
BEA
The pale morning light fills the room as I peel my eyes open and have a mini but silent freak-out.
Oh, my God. I’ve just spent the night with a man who could’ve stepped from my Rumblr feed. A man who’s the epitome of every dirty idea I’ve ever had
wrapped in a pristine three-piece suit.
Except he’s not currently wearing a suit.
Not according to the lethal weapon pressed against my ass.
‘You sore, you dirty girl?’
I shiver as Kit’s hand tightens on my breast, the big spoon to my smaller one. His teeth and tongue tantalise the skin of my shoulder as he whispers those sleep roughened words against me.
‘Not sore. I’m dead.’ My words sound more like a groan, and his chest begins to move against my back in some semblance of a laugh. ‘It’s true,’ I grumble into the pillow. ‘I’m aching in places I didn’t know existed.’
‘If you can’t tell the difference between well fucked and dead, you should ask for a refund on your medical school tuition.’
I try to peer over my shoulder but can only view him through the curtain of my hair.
‘I’m well and truly fucked, and I’m never moving again. I may as well be dead for all the use I’ll ever be.’ My head flops back to the pillows as he resumes his kissing and licking, the delicious glide of his morning stubble igniting my skin. ‘I’m broken, I tell you.’ My tone is husky and, in hindsight, most likely encouraged him.
‘No, honey bee. Not broken. Just broken in.’
How hot is that? It shouldn’t be. I’m not a horse, or a meek virgin, but broken in, and for him, sounds so . . . raw and sort of sexy.
The other kind of raw, the kind my vagina is . . . is not so sexy.
I try to lift my head again. ‘I certainly feel broken in.’
‘So it should be easier this time, right?’ That sexy smirk should work, right?
I start to laugh a little. ‘Yes, maybe easier, but I might need more time. I think my vagina will be ready to receive you sometime next week.’
His forehead rests against my shoulder, and he exhales a long breath. ‘Ah, honey bee, you’re killing me. What am I gon’nae do with this in the meantime?’ Kit slides a hand between my thighs, lifting my leg and opening me wide enough to slide his length along my seam. My resistance melts along with the smooth slide of his shaft.
‘Why do you smell so good,’ he rasps against my ear. ‘I can’t place the smell.’
‘L’eau de ejaculate, I think it’s called.’ My silly giggle draws off; my breathing sort of heavy as he begins to slowly jack his hips.
‘Ah, that must be why it’s familiar.’ His voice carries the hint of laughter that’s short lived. ‘I should’ve gone easier on you.’ Even as he says this, the rough stubble of his bristled chin deliciously abrades my skin, the heat of his tongue following, soothing and causing goosebumps to break out along my limbs.
‘No, it was perfect. I like being hurt by you.’ My breath halts along with the admission. I did, didn’t I? Despite my playful morning complaints, I’m relishing the aches, each seemingly tied to a flash of memory or sensation.
His hungered gaze as he slid the bra from my arms.
The noises he made as he buried his face between my legs.
The way his piercing rubbed my insides.
The way he looked as he came at the end.
‘Life is suffering,’ Kit whispers, bringing both my hands up onto the pillows and folding them in one of his. ‘The key is choosing what or who you’ll suffer for.’
‘Kit.’ His name is pure, carnal groan. ‘That’s so deep for a Saturday morning.’
‘Mmm, just how you like it,’ he responds as his piercing brushes against my clit.
We stop talking then, my hands held in his, his heavy breaths in my ear as he slides back and forth. Moisture builds between my legs, the slickness coating his shaft.
‘It was a big ask,’ he growls eventually.
‘I thought it was a big cock.’
‘You’ve got a filthy mouth on you, honey bee. And that’s the way I’d like it. On me.’
‘Puntastic,’ I groan as he begins working his way down my body, torturing me with sucking bites and swipes of his tongue. As he works his way south, he settles himself, rubbing his hands over my ass.
‘This arse is just . . . fucking luscious. What I wouldn’t do to it given half a chance.’
‘Question?’ I pull my hand from the pillow, raising it. ‘What exactly does that mean?’
‘What happened to show, not tell?’ he purrs, reusing my words from last night.
My heart starts to beat at his positioning and his plans when I yelp—yelp!—as he smacks it. Smacks me?
‘Hey!’ I turn my head over my shoulder and glower at him. Not that it’s an effective strategy because he’s not looking. At my face, at any rate.
‘Look at that. Your skin marks beautifully,’ he says, as he matches his hand with the print.
‘Mind telling me why you just spanked me?’
He laughs, sort of delightedly. ‘Am I to take it you’ve never been put over a knee?’
‘Ya. Around the time of my sixth birthday.’
‘This is too good to be true, honey bee.’ Then he shuffles down the bed, his tongue laving the sting and causing all sorts of delightful squirms. ‘I’m adding it to the list of all the things I want to do to you.’
‘Are you here for the weekend? In Edinburgh, I mean?’ Wouldn’t that be perfect? A weekend fling of all the things.
‘Leaving today.’ He bites the flesh of my cheek, and I yelp again. ‘But I’m game to reconvene very soon.’
All thoughts drop away as he spreads my legs, his mouth working its way lower in a way that both excites and concerns. I mean, yes, the man could teach a class on oral, but how can I phrase this? I don’t think it’s a very good plan, especially not after a night of hot sex. Surely, he doesn’t want to put his mouth there?
‘I don’t think—’
‘If you don’t think, then why can I hear you doing just that from here?’
‘Because—’
‘No, Bea.’ He hooks a hand under my knee, spreading my conflicted legs wider. ‘I’ll kiss it all better.’ His tone is laced with sugar and husk. ‘Kiss it until you’re squirming and coming all over my face.’
And as if that’s not sensation overload enough, he slips his head between my thighs and his tongue over my clit. I whimper as he grasps my hips with his hands to bring me closer while flicking his tongue out again and again.
‘Like fucking honey,’ he whispers, his words blowing across my slit. ‘Come on, Bea,’ he says, coaxing me with his hands. ‘Come sit on my face.’
As easy as falling, I allow him to move me. It’s such a strange sensation and so thrilling that I can’t put it into words. I feel powerful and in control. At least, until the first swipe of his tongue.
‘Oh, God!’
With a groan, he pulls me farther down across his face. His lips over mine, he kisses me as though he would my mouth. He alternates between soft lips and probing tongue until my head is so empty, I think I’d promise him anything. And he talks while he tongues me. Telling me I’m so sweet. That he could drown in the taste of me. That I’m a fucking queen. Between the whispering and the licking and the kissing, I struggle to keep my body upright. The feel of his breath and the grip of his hands. His dark gaze as it flicks up the length of my body. The sound of his soft breathing mingled with mine
It’s pure sensation overload.
But then everything changes from soft and teasing to frenzied and firm.
‘Get there, darlin’,’ he growls, his hands tight on my hips. ‘Let me see you come.’
I moan again—the rawness of his tone, the press of his mouth, again and again.
I’m hot—so hot. And shaking, the feeling just too intense. I run my hands though my hair, touch my breasts, and then give in to the writhing pleasure building inside.
‘That’s it. That’s fucking it.’
But it isn’t. I want more. More tongue. More heat. More wet. I’m wild, and I’m greedy, rocking rhythmically against his tongue—a tongue that seems to know my body better than I know myself. It’s insane how good Kit is, how in tune he is with my movements and mewls
. It’s like we’ve been fucking for months.
Wouldn’t that be something . . .
As my orgasm crawls down my spine, I arch my back, grinding into him and crying out his name. The feeling is intense, and the detonation real. I can’t remember coming like this. Ever. And what is that? Twice last night? Once more during the night when we sort of rolled into each other and sleepily screwed, falling back asleep almost immediately with his arms draped around him. That makes four orgasms in an eight-hour period.
Wow.
Mind and ovaries blown.
I’m panting and almost on all fours now as Kit’s mouth slows then stills. His morning stubble drags against the soft skin of my inner thighs as he moves from beneath me. The abrasion is a sensory step too far as I whimper and collapse face first against the pillows.
‘Not yet you don’t.’ The levity in his voice is lost on me, though my mind picks up as he murmurs, ‘I’ve dreamt about fucking you like this. You on all fours as I watch myself sink into your sweet pussy, parting you like a ripe peach.’
‘You can’t keep saying these things to me.’ It has to be against the rules of the one-night stand handbook, if there is such a thing.
‘So I’m not allowed to tell you I want this, too?’
Both of his massive palms land on the cheeks of my ass, thumbs hooking inwards and spreading my cheeks.
‘No.’ I seem to draw the word out over several syllables.
‘Obviously, not today,’ he says, oh-so reasonably. ‘These things are best taken slowly.’
‘That,’ I sort of whisper-groan over my shoulder, ‘isn’t for the taking at all.’
‘I’m not planning on taking it, honey bee. I’m talking about fucking it at some point.’
I close my mind to the possibilities that some point and slowly, though strangely enough, skim over the part where he said he wanted to . . . to do that.
A physical impossibility with him, surely.
‘But for now, I just want to do this.’
One hand under me, he flips me onto my back, leaning over and gently moving the strands of hair that have covered my face.
‘You’re a wild wee thing,’ he murmurs as though talking to himself. ‘Fin was right about hidden depths.’