I shook my head. “Do you do anything besides type when you do these? What’s the harm in the video?”
She gave me a pointed look.
“My father is a professional NASCAR driver, Castiel. Do you really think that it’d be a good idea for my face to be seen at the end of a porn reel?” I asked curiously.
He winced. “I guess not. I didn’t think about it like that.”
She winked and leaned over to press pause again on the porn, freezing the frame on a guy’s cock poised for entrance into a woman’s pussy.
The words ‘Your cock head feels like it’s bigger than the bottom of a beer bottle’ were blasted in white all over the bottom of the screen.
“You want a drink?” Turner asked.
I looked at her over my shoulder and said, “Whatcha got?”
“Muscle milk, Slimfast, water and a beer that’s probably a year old,” she answered.
I felt a grin tugging up the corner of my lips. “Give the beer here. If I die, at least I’ll die from a beer.”
She placed the cool bottle in my hand, and I stared at the label.
“What kind of beer is this?” I asked curiously.
“I got my dad a beer subscription for his birthday last year. It’s imported from Belgium, Australia, Britain, and Germany. Those were the ones he didn’t like. He gave them to me to have for when my brother came over, except my brother didn’t like them either. Now they just sit in my fridge. When one gets drank, I pull another one out of the pantry and put it in there to replace it. I have an entire case,” she explained.
I twisted the cap off and peered into the dark bottle. Unfortunately, the brew was so dark that I couldn’t see it. But the smell was definitely potent.
“Why didn’t they like it?” I asked.
“My dad said that it was too dark and bitter. My brother said that it has a hint of cinnamon to it that he can’t stand,” she clarified.
I took a sip and my eyebrows rose at the taste.
It was definitely bitter. It was also the darkest brew that I’d ever tasted. But I kind of liked it.
“It’s not bad,” I said, taking another hesitant sip. “So how many people have come over here and tried one of these bad boys?”
She grabbed herself one of those baby water bottles that you’d buy at the store for kids and sat down on the sofa across from me.
“One,” she said. “My brother came over and tried it. Drank it all then declared he’d never drink one again because of the cinnamon. Though, I didn’t smell any cinnamon.”
I offered her the bottle. “Taste?”
She scrunched up her nose for a few seconds, then shrugged and reached for it.
After taking a sip, she immediately followed that sip with a disgusted face.
“No cinnamon,” she admitted. “But lots of other yuck.”
My lips twitched. “If you’re getting this brew imported, it’s going to be stout beer. But I get the feeling you’re not much of a beer drinker anyway.”
She shook her head.
“When I had my stomach surgery, they instructed me not to have any alcohol. The alcohol will affect me differently since I’ve had the surgery. The alcohol absorption is off the chain. It goes to the bloodstream hella fast. There was an article I read when I turned twenty-one. An adult male who’d had a single glass of champagne at a wedding reception two hours earlier was pulled over for being a .09 blood alcohol level. Off of one glass of champagne. The buddy who was in the car with him, who also had only one glass, was at a .001.” She shook her head as she finished. “Can you believe that?”
“I guess I hadn’t much thought about it before,” I admitted. “But I can also see how that would happen.”
“Anyway, I don’t often drink because I can’t drink the whole thing, so it’s a waste, and it’ll affect me a hell of a lot more and differently than it would a normal person,” she said. “Plus, I was too young to drink legally anyway. The only time I had any alcohol before my surgery, I had no tolerance. A few sips had me seeing doubles and stumbling.”
My eyes took in her cross-legged position.
“Why’d you have the surgery?” I asked.
I’d gotten the gist of her half explanations here and there, but I couldn’t see this woman sitting before me as being so overweight that she would need that type of surgery.
“I had a major hormone imbalance when I was a child. Bad enough that I was on medication for it. When I got into my teens, I was so overweight that I could barely walk without getting out of breath.” She shook her head as she flipped her phone and opened it. Her fingers went flying over the keyboard. “I was teased relentlessly about it. Over and over and over again until my confidence in myself was so low that I considered suicide at the age of fifteen.”
My belly clenched.
“It was that bad?” I rasped.
She nodded, then turned the phone around for me to see.
It was of a race car. A woman—very heavy—was crawling out of it in one picture. The next she was on the ground.
It was then, as I saw the pained look on the girl’s—not a woman—face that I realized the heavyset person was her.
She was on the large side.
“Wow,” I said as I looked at her now. “You’ve lost a ton of weight.”
“A hundred and fifty pounds,” she nodded. “I was at three hundred pounds when I had the surgery. All of that but fifty pounds was off within the first year post-op. The last fifty has come off since I’ve dedicated myself to being a healthier person. But saying that, I still struggle. Although I don’t have any hormonal imbalances anymore, I do have genetics that leans toward the heavier side.”
I looked at the picture again. “I have a friend that had this done. He was one of my Army buddies. He had to have the skin removed.”
Turner stood up and lifted her shirt.
“I had a breast augmentation, a tummy tuck, skin removed over almost every inch of my body except for my feet.” She pointed out her surgery lines as she talked. Two underneath her breasts. One at her bikini line. One at her hip. Another one at her inner thigh. Arms. Upper back.
Holy shit.
“Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “I never would’ve even known had you not shown me.”
She nodded her head. “I’ve never actually shown anybody.”
My smile was fierce. “You like me.”
She scoffed. “I don’t like you. You’re annoying.”
I sat back and chuckled, then set the nearly finished beer down on the coffee table.
“Come here,” I ordered, holding out my hands to her.
She lowered her shirt and headed in my direction, crawling into my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Is it bad that I want to fuck you right now?” I asked, digging my cock into her crease.
She shifted restlessly.
“You weren’t disgusted?” she asked hesitantly.
I shifted again, this time really letting her feel the length of my cock against her.
“Does it feel like I was disgusted?” I asked.
She turned her face so that it was in the crook of my neck, and then pressed a kiss to it.
“You’re not like any man that I’ve ever met,” she whispered.
I skimmed my hands up underneath her overly large t-shirt, all the way up until I encountered her bra. Once I reached the latch, I adeptly removed it until her breasts popped free of their confines.
She shivered in my arms and pressed farther into me.
“I’m not like any man you’ve ever met,” I agreed. “I’m entirely different. I’m unique. And I’m also not a boy making fun of a girl. I’m a man that finds his woman highly attractive.”
Her breathing hitched.
“You really mean that?” she asked.
I rolled suddenly until she was lying down lengthwise on the sofa, me hovering over her, my face only inches away from her own.
It was the way her breathing had hitched that had my h
eart turning over in my chest.
She’d really been put through the wringer.
She hadn’t told me but one single story of her torture when she was younger, but somehow, I knew that she was scarred.
So scarred that she likely pushed everyone away from her before she allowed them to ever get close enough to hurt her.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” I informed her, pushing her shirt up her belly as I said that. “You’re a little prickly on the outside,” I teased as I pressed my mouth against hers once more. “But once you get past that, you’re kind of like a teddy bear.”
She rolled her eyes and I used her attempted disinterest to move down her body to the first scar that I could see. The one bisecting her abdomen.
“These are beautiful,” I informed her. “Because they’re a part of who you are.”
Her hands went to my shoulders, then to my cheeks, as she clenched her fingers in my beard.
I allowed the small pinch as I traveled my mouth up the length of her belly, following the line until it split off two ways under her breast.
I chose left and circled my lips across the scar, up and over the swell of her breast, until I got to her nipples.
They were dark little discs of perfect topped with a perky nipple that I couldn’t help biting slightly.
She gasped and pulled me closer by my beard.
“Feisty,” I teased as I gave my head a shake. She held on tight. “Tonight, you can enjoy holding the reins. Take off your shirt.”
Her hands left my beard and went to my shirt instead, causing me to laugh.
I disentangled myself from her for a few seconds and allowed her to tug the shirt up and off my head, then grinned wickedly when she started for her own shirt.
“Your pants,” she whispered, gesturing for me to get with the program. “Your gun’s digging into my thigh, and it’s got rough grips.”
I looked down at where I carried my gun appendix carry and pulled it free with one expert tug.
Setting it on the counter, I moved to the button of my jeans and started pushing them off, kicking my boots off as I did.
The next thing to go was my underwear.
“You’re behind.” I gestured toward her with my chin.
She bit her lip as if she was scared for me to see the rest, and I felt my belly clench.
I fisted my cock and started to pump it, soft and slow, as I waited for her to make the decision.
She watched me work my dick, licked her lips, and then closed her eyes tightly shut as she arched up off the couch, shoved her pants down her thighs, and then kicked them off.
She wasn’t wearing any underwear.
And the first thing I saw wasn’t the scars on her body, but the curviness of it. Her full hips and hourglass shape. Her breasts were utterly perfect, and I couldn’t help but clench my hand on my cock as I got a look at the full package for the first time.
She flushed bright red and started to turn her head away, but before she could get it fully in the side of the couch, I put a knee into the plush fabric between her thighs and situated myself once again between her legs.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” I whispered.
She did, her face flaming.
“You’re beautiful,” I told her. “Everything about you. You’re beautiful. No matter what anybody says, thinks or does, you’re beautiful. Don’t let anybody else dictate what you think of yourself. The only opinion that matters right now is mine, and I think that you’re perfect.”
That’s about when she went wild.
Her hands once again went to my beard, and her mouth was on mine seconds later.
“Please tell me you have a condom this time,” she whispered, her voice shaky.
I reached blindly for my wallet, finding it on the floor next to the couch still in the pocket of my jeans, and tugged it out.
Without taking my mouth from hers, I expertly located the condom in the front pocket, pulled it out, and laid it on her chest between her breasts.
“Thank God,” she breathed. “Put it on.”
I did, pulling back slightly to reach my dick, and then once again palmed the condom.
Ripping the package open with my teeth, I rolled the condom down over my cock one-handed, keeping my other one planted in the couch so I kept my entire bodyweight off of her.
Once it was in place, I moved back over her and rolled my hips, dragging my cock along her sensitive pussy.
“Put it in me,” she ordered, her nails digging into my shoulder blades.
I ignored her and went back to kissing her while also rubbing myself along the length of her. Ass to clit, over and over again, coating myself in her wetness.
One hand came up to her breast and I kneaded it, pinching the tip of her nipple lightly with each squeeze.
She shivered and wrapped her short legs around my waist.
The new position had my cock notching at her entrance.
Taking it as a sign, I angled my hips so that I could sink inside.
She moaned as I filled her, her fingers twitching.
A gasp left her mouth, and she arched so completely that I was concerned for her spine.
Grinning, I moved my attention over to her other breast, paying closer mind to the way she tightened on me each time I’d pinch her nipple and cause her the slightest bit of pain.
“Oh, God.” Her voice quivered. “I don’t know where to focus.”
That’s exactly how I wanted her.
“Focus on whatever you want,” I told her. “I’ll get you there.”
Pulling all the way out, I slowly sank back inside, keeping this session slow and sweet instead of the pounding that I couldn’t help myself from giving her last time.
In and out. In and out.
The slide of my flesh along hers was almost unbearable.
I couldn’t imagine what she would feel like if I was inside of her without a condom.
“I want you bare,” I growled against her throat. “I want to come inside of you and watch as I leak out of you when I pull out.”
Her nipple tightened even farther.
Seemed like she liked the idea of that, too.
“Birth control,” I told her. “Tests. We’ll do those next week.”
I’d have to do it during a lunch break, but I’d make it happen.
If I could feel her with nothing between us? That would be the highlight of my life.
Her mouth went to my throat, and she started to suck, more than likely giving me a hickey for all to see tomorrow.
Not that I cared.
I wasn’t a stranger to hickeys, and I’d never minded them.
But having one from Turner felt different. Felt like I should cherish it.
“Harder,” she pleaded. “Just a little bit harder. I’m so close.”
I hooked one of her legs in the crook of my elbow and gave it to her harder, but not faster.
Then I ground myself into her at the end of each thrust, adding a twist of my hips that had her screaming at the top of her lungs.
Seconds later, ears still ringing, she started to pulse around me, coming so hard that I could feel it in every inch of my cock as she contracted around me like I’d never been squeezed before.
I grunted and felt my balls draw up, hating that I’d be coming into a condom instead of her tight heat.
I closed my eyes and imagined filling her anyway, causing my rhythm to finally slip.
It turned jerky and fast as I took her, trying hard to make myself remain in a little bit of control.
It was no use, though.
I had no control.
And I didn’t want it, either.
My body pulsed as my release hit me. Spurts of cum filled the tip of the condom, and the breathing in my chest stalled out as my eyes closed and my mouth went tight.
“Fuuuuck,” I growled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Her arms tightened around my neck as she saw me through my own release, her breath just as fast and choppy as mine.
>
And when I finally came around enough to realize that I’d given her all of my body weight, I found the energy to hook her around the hips and reverse our positions.
It was a tough task seeing as the couch wasn’t made for such acrobatics, but eventually I accomplished my task and had her exactly where I wanted her.
She laid her face against my chest and panted softly.
I moved one hand up to curl around the back of her neck. The other went to her back, slowly trailing the tips of my fingers down her spine.
There was no telling how long we stayed like that.
Too long, likely, since I could feel my cock losing mass.
I pulled out of her and reached for the condom as I did, yanking it off and tying it at the end before dropping it over the side of the couch.
She didn’t say a word for long seconds, and neither did I.
But eventually reality rolled in, and I was left being responsible.
“I can’t stay,” I muttered as I pressed one last kiss to her throat. “I have to get to work early in the morning, and the cat needs food.”
She frowned. “What cat?”
I grinned. “The one that lives in my house. I was out of food yesterday and had to feed it slices of ham. I have to run by the store on the way home, too. Which is another reason I really need to go.”
She shook her head and brushed her hair out of her face. “Okay.”
She looked sad, and I felt my heart squeeze.
“Come back with me,” I offered.
She shook her head and pushed up off me.
“I need to stay here,” she said. “I have to do it sometime.”
I brushed some of her hair out of her face and said, “Did you talk to your dad today?”
She nodded.
“He calls me every day,” she admitted. “I think he’s lost.”
“You have something for thirty-one years like he did, someone that’s always there no matter what you do, it’s hard to function without that,” I admitted. “I watched my grandfather try to function without my grandmother for a year before he finally got the hang of it.”
She smoothed her hair back once again, and I grinned at the exasperated look that crossed her face.
Keep It Classy (The Bear Bottom Guardians MC Book 7) Page 12