by Kade, Teagan
I turn and place my palms on the desk, pushing my ass out in wait.
I flinch again when I feel his hand, but it’s only to lift the back of my dress up, to place it in the shallow of my lower back and bare my ass for good.
“That’s a very pretty thong,” he says. “Did you choose it yourself?” I don’t have to turn around to see the smile.
The manual lands hard and flat against my right ass cheek. I yelp in surprise and shock, easing when his hand smooths over the spot. “Don’t move,” he commands.
He presses me down into the desk, but the next strike doesn’t come for quite a while. Again, he brings the manual down hard onto the other buttock. I cry out, my face burning with shame and strange emotions I haven’t felt since I was a child.
This time I feel his lips press against the burn, unable to control the moan that falls from my open mouth.
I can’t get my head around why I’m so turned on by all this, why being hurt like this can somehow feel so good, can provide so much pleasure. It’s a strange contradiction.
I wait for the next blow, shivering when I feel the hard butt of his hand sawing between my legs. Strong sensations flood through me.
“Yes,” he says. “You do like that, don’t you?”
Another blow comes unexpectedly, right in the center of my ass, the very bottom of the manual kissing my lace-covered flesh.
His hand returns, a finger snaking below the lace to press against my clit. I rise almost immediately to orgasm.
“Don’t stop,” I moan.
“It’s okay,” he coos. “You can come. Come all over my fingers, baby.”
I’m panting long and deep, reaching between my legs to hold his hand in place, his finger continuing to rub against my clit.
The climax hits me hard and fast. I shout aloud, hot desire leaking from my core, wave after wave of pleasure washing over me until I no longer see the ocean ahead but a mix of technicolor. My legs shake, new heels rattling against the floorboards.
I close my eyes and it starts over again, Archer easing up on the pressure and allowing me to slowly glide back to earth.
I turn around to look at him, see him slide his still-wet finger into his mouth and moan his approval, his tongue swirling around the tip.
He takes me by the thighs, spinning me around to face him before instructing me to lift my arms above my head.
“I want to see you,” he says, voice rough. “All of you.”
He lifts the also-new dress up and away, his heated stare boring into every inch of my exposed body. A light, cool air works its way between my thighs, desire cooling on the skin there.
With a single snap he unclips my bra, pulling it away and tossing it into the corner. My nipples are tight and needy, a tawny blue in the moonlight.
He kneels, peeling my panties away and lifting my leg. As he does so, the colder air touches the heated apex of my pussy, my folds still wet.
He spreads my legs wider apart, dipping his head to examine me. “You’re fucking soaking wet,” he comments, reaching up and dipping two joined fingers into my pussy. He draws them out and uses them to spread my need over the head of his cock, palming it into his hand. Not once do his eyes leave mine.
All I know is that I need to be filled, and now. Nothing short of his cock will do it.
“I want you,” I tell him, the deep voice that comes from my mouth unrecognizable.
“I’m yours,” he says, standing and unbuttoning his shirt.
I push the cotton to the side and find the bronzed, chiseled muscle below. I smile as his skin comes alive against my fingertips, seeking out every crevice and fold.
He presses his lips to mine, a hand moving to the back of my head and drawing me forward, fingers caught in my hair. He takes hold of my hips, grinding his length against me.
“Tell me what you want, baby.”
“I want you to…” I start, hesitating.
He places a finger on my lower lip, pulling it down to expose my gums. “Say it.”
I draw in a breath. “I want you to fuck me.”
To my surprise, it doesn’t sound corny or cliché, but instead sexy and seductive. It’s empowering.
He lifts me by the hips back onto the desk, coming up between my open legs.
I hear the ocean, louder now, in my ears, the rush and pull of it matching my labored breathing.
“Please,” I beg him, reaching for him, “put it inside me.”
“Put what inside you?”
“Your cock,” I beg. “Put your cock inside me.”
I shuffle forward, but still he holds back, finally moving forward to settle himself in my folds.
I’m so wet I know there’s going to be no resistance.
He pushes into me, sliding it until he can go no further, the full length of his cock taken from the very first stroke.
That sensation flows out and folds over itself, my head tingling with it.
I tense and release as he draws back.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he whispers, thrusting forward again. He pulls back and presses in again.
I hiss and start to shift, anything to take him deeper, to take him all and finally satiate this growing need inside me.
My left eye starts to twitch, my toes curling.
With effort, I manage to lever myself off the desk and move to the edge of it, reaching around to hold his ass. I dig my nails into the hard flesh there, beckoning him on.
His lips press against my forehead, his hips swinging forward and filling me so completely, so full I don’t know how I will ever be able to top this.
His body slides against mine. We’re on, Archer leaning on his forearms and my nails digging deeper and deeper. He fills my mouth with his tongue, my soaking pussy with his cock, his face shifting away every now and then to look down at me.
It’s not long before he’s increasing the speed of his thrusts, swinging into me like a human battering ram, each thrust inching me further and further across the desk. The manual lies discarded beside me, Principles of Advanced Resuscitation, forcing a hot flicker of need out from my core.
That deep ache inside my core starts to intensify, sensation building and building as I beg him loudly for more, to go harder, faster…
I move with him, lifting my hips to meet his, heels dropping to the floor as I lock my ankles at the base of his spine so he can bottom out inside me. The slight adjustment of angle provides a whole new wealth of pleasure, better than anything I’ve felt in my entire life by my own hand, better than our first time.
It’s different. We’re not making love. No, this is sex, fucking, hard and fast just like in the movies, raw and primal.
With every thrust he pushes me closer and closer to the brink, fucking me full until he scoops me from the desk completely, holding me afloat in the air by my ass, letting me lift and drop onto his cock.
I gasp against his shoulder, nipples tight against the hard plane of his upper chest. I can feel the tension in his biceps as he holds me there, the strain of it.
When a finger slides between the cheeks of my ass, when it finds the tight knot of my taint and presses there, so taboo, I explode.
I bite down on his shoulder and scream out a loud and profane release.
“Fuck, I’m going to…” but he can’t get the rest of the words out.
Holding me with one hand I feel him reach down and pull himself free, his cock jerking against the bottom of my ass in release, ribbons of heated desire falling to the floor.
He jerks again, lifting me up and down with the motion, my own climax refusing to release me.
Groaning, he stumbles back, collapsing us onto the sofa to the side of the room. I sit there straddling him, his still-convulsing cock caught between my ass cheeks.
We regulate our breathing together, doing our best to gather oxygen again and find some sense of normality.
At any moment I expect the door to open, for a flashlight to expose us, but it never comes.
I
can feel his heartbeat against my ribcage—solid and strong.
Place my head against his shoulder, my hair matted against it, and look towards the floorboards where we were just standing. “Quite the mess you made there.”
He simply smiles, running a hand through my hair. “Speak for yourself.”
A solemn quiet fills the space and I feel compelled to dismiss it.
“I’m still scared,” I tell him. Whatever was holding me back from truly expressing myself is gone. I’m completely open around him, feel like I can tell him absolutely anything.
“You don’t have to be,” he replies, “and tomorrow I’m going to prove it—prove you can do damn near anything.”
Curiosity builds. “Why, what are we doing?”
His only reply is a wide, sheepish grin I know is going to be the undoing of me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ARCHER
We arrive at the airfield just after noon. The sun’s high in the sky, the humidity like walking into a brick wall, but the wind’s low and heavens clear.
Oh, yes. Conditions are perfect for flying.
Getting out of the car, Winter sees the planes, looking over the roof of the truck at me with a questioning expression on her face. “You want to take me on a plane?”
I look up at the sky, smiling with my hands on my hips. “No. I want you to jump from a plane.”
Her eyes go wide. “No. Absolutely no way.”
She goes to get back into the car, almost closing the door before I grab it with my hand and crouch down beside her. I place a reassuring hand on her upper thigh, momentarily consider ditching this idea and taking her somewhere a little private for a flight of a different kind, but I know this will be good for her. There’s no better way to face your fear, whatever it may be, than throwing yourself out of a plane, letting go of everything.
I’m not going to tell her the first time I skydived I was pretty much pissing my pants, or that I had trouble with my ’chute, or that I ran off course and almost ended up in powerlines. No, think I’ll keep those details to myself.
“You have been flying before, haven’t you?”
She shakes her head.
Oh.
“Well, there’s nothing to be afraid of, and as for the skydiving, you’ll be strapped to me, safe as a teddy bear. All you have to do is enjoy the ride.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“Look,” I inch closer, pointing up at the sky, “you get up there, you jump, and trust me, you’re going to feel a hell of a lot better. You’ll be untouchable, a real badass.”
And finally I’m rewarded with a small smile. “Like you?”
I slap my chest. “Fuck yeah like me. These idiots who took you, all that shit? Gone. You’ll walk out of here a foot taller with actual balls swinging between your legs.”
“I don’t, ah, think I want balls.”
“Yeah, kind of a bad analogy, but you know what I mean. At least come inside and meet the guys. They don’t bite. I promise.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll come in, but I’m not saying I’ll do it.”
A yes is always better than a no. Any salesman will tell you that. Keep them saying yes and they’ll agree to anything. “That’s my girl.”
She eyes me curiously. “I’m your girl now, am I?”
I look around. “I don’t see any other burly, handsome guys trying to claim you.”
Another ex-Army buddy of mine, Gary, meets us inside, coming around the desk to take my hand. “Archer, my boy. Haven’t seen you around here in a while.”
“He’s brought girls here before?” Winter asks, much to my surprise.
Gary shakes his head. “Actually, you’re the first,” he says, looking to me, “which means you must be all kinds of special.”
“How much is he paying you to say that?” she queries.
Gary laughs, deep and gravelly owing to the bullet he took to the neck in Afghanistan. “On what they’re paying lifeguards these days? He’d be lucky to have two dimes to rub together.”
“Hey, hey,” I butt in, “I’ll have you know I’ve got plenty of savings.”
Gary just smiles. “What do they say? A bag of pennies does not a fortune make?”
I shove him in the chest. “Thanks for that, Socrates. Now, you going to get us up in the air or what?”
Gary looks to Winter. “You know what you’re getting yourself into here, love?”
She shakes her head.
“Yeah, thought as much.”
*
We run through the practice, the briefing, Winter still unsure about the whole thing. Thankfully, Gary’s you-can-do-it attitude wins her over. Even I’m surprised when, suited up, she steps towards me beside the plane.
“You look adorable,” I tell her, and she does in her red-and-white striped jumpsuit, a sexy candy cane come to life.
She holds the side of the jumpsuit, pulling it out like a bird’s wing. “I look like I’m wearing a diaper.”
“You want one?” I joke. “It can be arranged.”
She rolls her eyes again, looking past me to the plane. “We’re going up in that?”
Gary walks past us on his way to the cockpit. “Come on. That’s no way to talk about ol’ Lucifer here.”
“O-kay,” she says to me, waiting until Gary is inside the plane, “so he just called the plane ‘old’ and it’s named Lucifer for crying out loud, and again, you want my first flying experience to be in an oversized tin can literally named after Satan?”
“Hey, he was an angel once,” I note.
“Right before he lost his wings and crashed down to earth, yes. I’m familiar.”
I take hold of her, nipping off her next words with a deep kiss. I lean into her ear. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she sighs.
“So trust me when I say you won’t regret this.”
She exhales long and deep. “Okay, but if we die I’m going to come back as a ghost and haunt the crap out of you.”
I take her hand. “Alright then, but I’d rather you stayed corporal. You know, for later.”
It’s a short flight up to the jump altitude of twelve-thousand feet. It’s loud, cold, and certainly not the most comfortable way to fly, but Winter’s here strapped onto the front of me. That’s honestly further than I thought she’d get once I discovered she’d never flown before.
She is unusually quiet on the way up, slightly pale, but I dismiss it as nerves more than anything else.
Gary turns around and gives me the thumbs up from the cockpit.
Waddling, I shift us to the open door and set us up to jump. “Are you ready?” I shout, the green go light blinking on and buzzer sounding.
“No,” she squeaks back, her voice breaking.
“Good,” I shout back, and jump.
It’s been a while since I dived, but that first hit of freefall gets you every time. The wind rushes up into your face, your body sending warning signals left, right and center, adrenaline pumping hard.
Winter gets her arms out, as instructed, her dark hair whipping past me.
I expect her to remain silent, but she’s definitely vocal. At first I think she’s screaming until I realize she’s actually whooping and hollering, loving every minute. That shy, caged-up girl is gone—at least up here in the sky. She’s free as a fucking bird.
Below you can see all the way from Bills Baggs to Surfside, the full stretch of coast and the ocean cutting into it bright and blue.
Before I know it I’m pulling the ’chute and guiding us back to earth, Winter squirming against me and provoking one of the weirdest erections I’ve had in my life.
“You good?” I ask, raising my voice to be heard over the wind.
“That was…”
She’s breathing hard, trying to find the voice. “It’s… I…”
“It’s awesome, right?”
“Yes.”
She sounds like a kid at Christmas, all bubbled-up joy and uncontrollable emotion. It’s beau
tiful seeing her this way, seeing that look of pensive fear give way to something greater.
We land a little harder than expected in the drop zone, a skip and a jump finally putting us onto land.
We collapse together onto the parachute laughing. That joy I see on her face is fucking addictive, pure and unbridled. This could have gone much differently, but I’m ecstatic she’s enjoying herself.
“Wow,” she says, leaning forward to kiss me, looking at me sideways, half her face tinted red from the color of the parachute below.
“That was…” She shakes her head, still unsure how to summarize it. “The fall, the flying… I didn’t think I’d enjoy it. I was scared at first, but when we jumped…”
“Tell me, are you a badass?”
Her entire demeanor has changed. “Yes,” she says, voice firm. “I am a badass.”
“Say it again,” I demand. “Fucking sing it. Shout it out loud so all of Miami can hear.”
She jumps up onto her feet, cupping her hands around her mouth. “I AM A BADASS!” she yells, laughing.
“Good to know,” says Gary, walking over from the main building.
He stops, standing over me, the view up at his crotch an instant boner-killer. He reaches down to help me up. “Things went well, I take it?”
I wink at Winter, smiling wide. “As they say, if you want to experience the elements, get the fuck out of the vehicle.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WINTER
My adrenaline is still pumping an hour later. I feel like I could conquer the world, that not even the stupid cartel can touch me. I mean, I jumped out of a freaking plane today. Archer is right: I am a badass.
We stop at a corner shop restaurant called La Sandwicherie, a popular spot owing to the line near the counter, a strange collection of cars parked out front—a fire engine red Lamborghini right next to a period-correct Kombi.
Archer shows me how to order. I opt for saucisson sec, or French salami, on wheat with lettuce, tomato, peppers, French pickles and mayonnaise. Archer goes for something far more manly—a sandwich stuffed with so much meat it’s basically a butcher shop.
We sit on two stools outside watching the flow of people and eating our sandwiches.