“This ain't a pleasure trip,” I tell her, hoping for her sake that she backs up or I don't know if I'm going to be able to control myself. “We're not just fancying around on pretty bikes and scoping the scenery. If you want to do that, go call the AMA. You don't want anything to do with Triple M. Shit, I don't even want anything to with Triple M.” Not anymore, I think, but I can't delve too deep into feeling sorry for myself. It's impossible to get wrapped up in my mind when my body is this stiff, pulsing with heat so hard it hurts. What the hell is it with this Amy girl?
“Please.” Just that one word, thrust at me with force and the weight of a gaze that's beyond desperate for something different, something new. Amy's fingers curl in my shirt, graze the skin on my chest hard enough to bruise as she lets her eyes flutter closed and parts her soft, wet lips.
Ah, shit, I think. Fuck this self-restraint bullshit.
I reach up and grab Amy's chin hard, pulling her forward so that she trips and falls fully against me, rubbing her breasts along my chest as my hand slides down and cups her ass, nice and firm. She yelps, but she doesn't say a word, eyes flickering open and locking onto mine without a hint of fear. A wicked smile curves my lips. I knew it. This girl might be a virgin, but she's not some innocent little doe; she wants this, maybe more than I do.
“Let me take care of you, baby. Whatever it is that's bothering you, I'll help you forget,” I say, pulling her face up to mine and crushing my lips against hers.
Austin grabs me roughly and slams me into his firm body, grabbing my behind – ass, Amy, it's an ass – and searing my face with his hot mouth. A noise escapes me and sends goose bumps springing up on my arms and legs. It's a sound that I've never heard come from my throat and it's a bit startling. My mind, so used to analyzing everything, wants to focus on this, to force me away from this man that smells like oil and leather, but it loses out to the wants of my body. Long denied her basic right to feel human, she lifts my arms up of her own accord, rallying against my uncertainty and my trepidation at the unknown. My fingers tangle in Austin's sandy hair as his tongue slips into my mouth, teasing me with hot, slick strokes while his own fingers massage my butt with a ferocity that's almost frightening.
Oh dear, I realize as another moan slips out of me and mingles in the space of hot breath between Austin's and my mouth. You're just like my favorite book boyfriend. Now I know why I was so drawn to you. I try my best not to recall the very arousing scene in which Glance Serone thrusts his hard cock into the horribly sex-starved Miss Sali Bend.
I fail miserably.
And then I'm thinking about that scene and how many times I read it and how I rubbed myself in circles through the thick cotton of my very tasteful, very dull, laceless, nude panties.
“Austin,” I whisper as he steps forward and uses the weight of his body to get me right where he wants me. I want to keep kissing forever, tasting sultry Southern boy and good manners and a filthy fucking mouth, but I think he has other plans.
“If you don't want this,” he whispers as he grazes my ear with his white, white teeth. “Then you better tell me now because once I get started, I ain't gonna be able to stop.”
How unfair, I think because really, there is no way that I can speak with scalding kisses being pressed to the side of my neck and my shoulder. Instead, another sound escapes my lips, bursting out into the air like a sigh of relief. Finally, I think. After all these years of reading about bad boys and alpha males and delicious men with ridiculous names, it's my turn. Mine. Mine. Sorry, Horse; Sorry, Kellan Kyle; Sorry, Ty McCabe; Sorry, Travis Maddox; Sorry, Gideon Cross. But I'm breaking up with all of you.
“That's what I thought.”
Austin Sparks crushes me against the pool table with his hips, the roughness of his jeans rubbing against the smoothness of my thighs as he pushes up my skirt with his warm hands.
“Get ready for this, beautiful.”
And then he's spinning me around, so suddenly that my mouth opens wide and my cheek (my unbruised one, thankfully) slams into the felt of the pool table.
Austin, slow down, I tell myself as I come face to face with Amy's ass. Oh fuck. If I had thought it was nice before, I think it's friggin' perfect now, nice and round and plump. I resist the urge to slap it, figuring that maybe that'd be a bit much for Cross to handle at the moment. One step at a time, Austin. I take a deep breath and wait for her to protest, to tell me to step off and fuck off.
She doesn't.
Instead, Amy moans and wiggles the warmth of her body against my crotch. Shit, hell, and damn, I think as I unzip my jeans and reach into my back pocket for a condom. Think what you want about that, but it sure as shit comes in handy during moments like these.
“Better keep quiet,” I warn her as she moans and moves her hands back to brace herself like maybe she's done this before. I stare at the back of her head, at the long flow of silken hair, and even the brief thought of another man putting his hands on Amy sends me into this violet-eyed rage where I'm liable to start throwing punches. Her cheek, did she have a fight with a boyfriend? Without realizing what I'm doing, I squeeze her hip so hard that she yelps, and the sound of the bar comes crashing down around me – voices, glasses clinking, chairs sliding across the worn wood of the floor.
I don't even think about stopping; that's not an option anymore.
I wet my lips and bend down over Amy, more determined than ever to have her, claim her, mark her as my own. Crazy as it sounds, already I'm thinking up a pitch for the Pres, getting ready to tell him that I've found our next recruit. It's stupid as hell and doesn't make much sense, but when I imagine Amy's arms around me, the open road stretching out before us, I feel something. I can't figure out what it is at the moment. After all, I've got one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen bent over a pool table in front of me. But later, I will sort this out. After all, Amy Cross isn't the first small town girl that I've had a bit of fun with, just the first that's managed to get my panties in a wad.
“Shh,” I whisper in her ear, drawing her hair back with my fingers, feeling her shudder beneath the weight of my body. “If somebody hears you, they're going to want to come see what's going on.” I pause and listen to the sound of her breathing, the soft whimpers that manage to escape from her throat despite her pursed lips. “Unless you like being watched?” I ask as I lick her ear and push my hips forward, rubbing the hard bulge of my cock along her tight skirt. Amy shakes her head, and I can't help but hold back a chuckle, standing up and pushing her skirt the rest of the way up.
Austin is teasing me. Bastard, I think as his rough hands caress my thighs and expose my very tasteful, very dull, laceless, nude panties. He pauses for a moment, and I suck in a big breath, worried that he's going to stop, that he's going to step away from the baggy cotton shaking his head and mumbling under his breath.
“You silly girl, you,” he laughs and then he's tugging them back forcefully and letting them drop to the floor where they tangle around my ankles. Once again, I use my reading knowledge to keep the moment as hot and seamless as possible. After all, Sali Bend once said to her equally sex starved friend, Brandi Waters, “When the panties drop, dear God, girl, make sure you unhook at least one ankle or when he gets to that epic moment where he wants to kick your legs apart and ram you, you're not gonna be ready!”
I lift one of my white heels (my mother bought them for me for Easter last year, if you must know) out of the leg hole and set it back on the floor, bracing myself for what I'm sure is going to be a life changing experience. After all, this is the night of my first kiss, my first time, and my new life because whether Austin lets me join his motorcycle club or not, I'm leaving. I can't really say what it is that's gotten into me, but it's too late to put a lid on it now. The possibility of change has risen its head, and I can't look away from that penetrating gaze.
I feel warmth pressing against me, and I can't help the butterflies that take off of in my stomach, leaving me a knotted mess of anticipation. This better be a
s good in real life as it is in my books, or I'm going to be quite upset. I close my eyes and gasp as something pushes inside of me, sliding deep into a place even I've never been. It doesn't feel like a … cock … so I glance back at Austin and see that he's teasing me with his hand, caressing me in ways that make my toes curl and my lips part with soft sighs of pleasure.
I try to take it easy with Amy, but it isn't something that comes naturally. I'm fighting every instinct in my damn body that's begging me to thrust inside of her warmth and make her mine. Instead, I caress her slick pussy with two fingers, sliding them in and out as gently as possible while my muscles quiver and my lip twitches with my repressed desire.
“Austin,” Amy whimpers and I have to close my eyes to keep from forcing myself inside of her. I've been with virgins a handful of times before, and I know that most of them can't take it all right off the bat. Never bothered me before, but with Amy, I can't help but wanting to take it slow, show her a good time. Sounds like she put a spell on you, Austin Sparks, my mind whispers, but I ignore the thought, focused wholly on the gentle pulse of Amy's body and the throbbing sensation from down under. Hot damn, I'll be lucky if I survive this, I think as I slide my fingers out and touch them to her clit, smiling as she shivers and wiggles against me. “Shit,” she says and the word sounds foreign coming from that soft mouth, those rounded lips.
“You like that?” I ask her quietly, working hard to keep my voice pitched low. There's nothing I want more than to dirty talk Miss Amy until even her ass blushes red, but the thought of Mireya or Beck or Gaine coming through those doors and finding us convinces me that I better get this over with quick. How long till somebody gets in their mind that they wanna play a game o' pool? I have a pretty good feeling that if another man walks in here and sees Cross bent over this table, that I'm going to go buck wild and deck his ass. “Then I think you'll like this even better.”
Austin slides his fingers slowly out of me, drawing my breath along with them until I'm left feeling tight and empty all at the same time. There's this brief moment of hesitation where my conservative upbringing rings loudly in my ears and promises eternal damnation for what I'm about to do. But then Austin is pressing his warm hips against me, grabbing me with both hands in a bruising grip and thrusting the hot, long fullness of his body inside of mine.
Eternal damnation? This is so worth it.
I try to stay quiet, but Austin's heat is searing through me, spreading me open, breaking down walls both physical and mental, and I just can't stop the sounds that burst from my lips as he cuts through me with this horribly delicious dichotomy of pleasure and pain. His fingers wrap in my hair and pull my head back as a scream threatens to break from my throat, stopped only by the warmth of his hand cupping my lips and silencing me as he pulls out just enough that I swear on all that is holy that I'm going to die. Just when I'm starting to think about casket colors, he comes rushing back, filling me and slamming me so hard into the pool table that it shakes and screeches across the floor.
Austin releases my hair and mouth and grabs onto the edges of the table for support, cursing heavily under his breath, voice husky and thick.
“Fucking Jesus H. Christ,” he whispers as he slams into me again, hitting something deep inside that sends tingles up my spine and causes my fingers to curl violently around the edges of the wood. Austin moves his hands over the top of mine and grabs on with force, grunting as he pulls out and slides in, teasing me with this horrible give and take that I've read about but never understood. Not really. Not until now. Not until him.
Austin Sparks.
Being with Amy is like nothing and nobody I've experienced. I don't just want to fuck her once and call it a good time. No, I want her to be mine, wholly and completely. It is a weird as fuck experience that makes me question my own sanity. All of a sudden you want to run off to some church and marry the girl? But no. That isn't it either. Some shitty piece of paper is not going to give me what I need; I think about the only thing that'll soothe this ache is having Amy's hot, tight body pressed up against mine.
I close my eyes and try to move past the thoughts. I've never once had an emotional breakthrough and a life changing experience in the middle of sex, and I'm not about to start doing it now. No asshole in his right mind would want to have a conversation with himself with Amy Cross wrapped slick and wet around 'im. 'Specially not me.
“You close, baby?” I ask her as she tenses around me and arches her back, throwing that cinnamon hair over her shoulder as she lifts her chin up and shakes her head violently like she has no idea what I'm talking about. The sight's about enough to make me go, and it takes all I got to hold back and keep going, thrusting in and out with slow, controlled strokes while my thigh muscles start to cramp and my fingers twitch. And then I'm getting all pissed off at the friggin' condom, wishing I could tear it off my dick and spill myself inside of her.
“You're going to kill me,” she groans, too loud maybe since I swear to God, it feels like we're being watched. When I glance over my shoulder, there's nobody there that I can see. “I'm going to die.” I try to slow down, leaning forward, so I can run my hands up her sides, wishing I had time to tear off every inch of clothing and explore her breasts, her soft belly, her thighs. Except for Mireya, I usually don't get to sleep with the same girl twice, so I'm getting anxious, wondering how I'll feel if I let Cross get away from me before I'm done with her.
“Relax there, sugar,” I tell her as she bites down hard on her lower lip and squeezes her eyes closed, clamping down around me so tight, I can hardly move my hips. “Relax and let it happen.”
There are some things that translate perfectly from real life to writing, that dance from the author's fingertips like petals on the wind, spinning a bit of prose that is just as good, if not better than seeing it with one's own eyes.
Orgasms are not one of them.
Oh, believe you me when I tell you that I've read lots, hundreds, thousands maybe. I've read explosions of light and sound, convulsions, fireworks, pleasurable bursts of unstoppable energy that transcend this very realm of existence as we know it. None of those are accurate. I believe the French are most on point with the term la petite mort – the little death.
“Stop,” I tell Austin with force, trying to cull this building feeling in my belly. With every thrust of his Austin's hips, I feel it spiral up from down below and infuse my body with this sense of urgency, like if I don't stop now, I'll really, truly be done for. “I said stop,” I repeat, but my voice only comes out in a weak whisper. “Please.”
“I can't,” Austin groans through clenched teeth, letting his head fall back while his hands tighten so much around mine that they hurt, trapping me like steel cuffs against the table as his body slams into mine, erasing twenty-one ridiculous years of pious virginity and countless hours of reading romance novels by the truckload.
I'm sore and I'm aching and I'm wanting all at once, but I can't make him stop. I'm trapped, and I want to be trapped. I like the feel of Austin's hot, sweaty body against mine, owning me, opening me, burning me. It feels good, and it's likely one of only a handful of things I've decided to do all on my own, against everyone else's wishes, just for me. But I say it again because it's the only thing I can think to say, and I'm pretty fucking (wow, that feels good to say) sure that I'm just about at the end of my rope. “Austin, stop!” I think I'm shouting, but I'm not really sure because my body chooses that exact moment for the wave of pleasure to crest and knock me silly, dropping my body flat against the felt, burning the soft skin of my stomach against the green fibers as Austin continues to move inside of me until my eyes tear up and my heart stops beating for one, small, infinitesimal second.
I think I could fall in love.
And then a second thought, just as quick, much more practical.
With this man? That, that would be a very bad idea, Amy.
I choke back my own scream, dig my fingernails into the wood of the pool table and wait until it's over, until
I've died a bit and come back to life with this strange rush of endorphins and hormones poisoning my blood in the best way possible, leaving me both a wreck and a solid statue at the same time. I know then that I'm going to need time to figure this out. A little might be okay, or a lot, I'm not sure, but in all reality, I have no idea what it is that I've just done.
And then Austin is pulling away from me and stepping back, leaving this cool rush of air that's as uncomfortable as it is embarrassing, leaving me open and exposed to the (as of now) empty room. I hear a zipper being pulled and then Austin's rough fingers are grazing my skin, tugging my skirt back into place and spinning me around to face him.
I choke on words that won't come, standing there with my back ramrod straight and my nails still gouging the wood. I know that my eyes must be round as marbles and my lips pursed. I can't seem to move at all anymore, not even to pick up my panties. I watch as my chest rises and falls quickly, like I've just run a marathon or something.
Austin grins at me with his big, white teeth and reaches out to brush away some hair that's gotten stuck to my lips.
Literally, a second later, the doors swing inward and Christy's blonde head appears, mouth set in a questioning 'O'. I try to smile at her, but I can't. I can't even move. All I can do is look at Austin and try not to notice the sheen of sweat on his muscles, the way his sandy hair complements the sun weathered bronze of his skin. I feel … electrified, like maybe I could conduct a whole symphony of energy with my fingers right now. Surreptitiously, I kick my panties under the pool table. Let somebody else find them later and wonder why someone with very tasteful, very dull, laceless, nude panties was back here doing something even G-string wearers rarely do. As the British might say – shagging. In public. Oh bloody hell.
Losing Me, Finding You Page 5