by C. M. Albert
“Like what?” I asked, pressing my thumb inside her hot opening. She groaned, pressing forward into my hand. As hot as this was, I wanted more. I pulled my thumb out and turned my hand, easing one finger, then two, into her tight pussy. “Sweet Jesus you’re so fucking tight.”
“Is that good thing? Doesn’t it make it harder?”
“Oh, it makes it harder all right,” I said, sliding my fingers back and forth. “Presley, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
She shook her head, her hips wriggling against the counter to match the stroke of my hand.
“And for the record—no, it’s not always like this.”
She stilled.
“Is that because I’m so new at it? Was it . . . bad?”
I pulled back, looking her directly in the eyes. “God no. It’s because I’ve never wanted so badly to fuck the same woman so many times in one night. It’s because I went to bed with the smell of your pussy on my face, and all I dreamed about was getting my tongue back on you.”
Presley moaned, her head falling back as she rode the sensation of my busy fingers.
“And because no one has ever felt so fucking amazing wrapped around my cock before. No one,” I said. I bent over, pulling Presley’s legs over my shoulders. “And that fucking scares me, P. Because I can’t stop going back for more.”
I pressed my face between her thighs, inhaling her musky, aroused scent. Then my tongue found its way home, flicking her sex lightly, and getting the response that drove me absolutely wild—the shaky thighs, her hands clinging to my hair. That delicious, soft whimper that made my cock kick even harder.
Her noises let me know she was close to climaxing. I stood up, sliding my fingers back inside her slick opening. I found her lips, melting as her arms snaked around my neck and she kissed me back hard. It was half pant, half moan as her tongue swirled with mine. I was so fucking hungry for more, but I wanted her to come first. I found I was living for the sound of her orgasms.
“Yes,” she said as we kissed.
“Yes what?”
“I’m—I’m so close,” she cried out.
“You like this?” I asked, driving my fingers in as deeply as they’d go and curling them.
“Oh!” she screamed out. “Oh my god!”
“That’s it, princess,” I coaxed, knowing exactly where I was stroking her and how fast it would make her come. Her body shook, her thighs tightening around my hand. She buried her face in my shoulder and cried out as her orgasm ripped through her. My hands didn’t slow until her thighs relaxed and she chuckled softly.
“So much for me playing it cool this morning,” she said, her voice shaking.
I pulled my fingers out, then helped her off the counter. “There’s no need to ever play games with me. Okay, P?”
She nodded, almost shy to meet my eyes.
“Hey,” I said, lifting her chin.
She glanced back at me, as if not knowing what to do with herself now that she’d come all over my kitchen counter.
“There’s no need to play it cool with me. I meant what I said earlier. I don’t care that you’re new to all this. In fact,” I stood back, letting my eyes graze down her body, “it turns me on way more than I would’ve imagined. You asked if this is normal? I don’t know, Presley. But it’s not for me. This is anything but normal. But normal’s fucking boring.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding. “I just—I didn’t know that once I did it, I wouldn’t be able to get enough. You know? I can’t stop thinking about everything you did to my body last night. And . . .”
She twirled that damn hair of hers.
“And what, princess?” I demanded, my hands going to her hips and fisting them.
“Am I going to turn into a nympho or something?”
I burst out laughing.
“A nympho?”
She nodded, as if this were a real concern of hers.
“First of all, no one really says ‘nympho’ anymore. Second of all, god I hope so.”
She laughed, looking up at me with those huge, green eyes of hers. “I’m serious, Carter.”
“Are you saying I’ve ruined you for all others, already?” Why did the thought of that excite me so damn much?
“I don’t know since I don’t have anything to compare it to. Maybe I should find out?” she teased.
“Like hell you will,” I said, lifting her into my arms. She squealed, then held on tight as I walked back to my bedroom.
“Carter! Put me down! I need to get dressed and head home. I have to work today!”
I tossed her onto my bed, then lowered my jeans, showing her just how much she turned me on. Her eyes trailed down my stomach and saw the bulge in my boxer shorts. She bit her lower lip.
“As do I,” I said, low and heated, “but it can wait.”
I slid my boxer briefs down my hips and grabbed a condom from the bedside table. She watched as I rolled it with one hand down my long, thick shaft.
“Time for something new,” I said, lying on the bed next to her, on my back. “Come here.”
She rolled onto her side and curled up next to me, trailing her fingers over my torso and playing with the dark curls that surrounded the base of my cock. “Are all men this big?” she asked.
“God damn, you’re good for the ego, Presley.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious.”
“I don’t want to talk about the size of my cock, princess. I want you to feel it.”
I pulled her up so she was lying on top of me. She was breathing heavy, and her hooded, lust-filled gaze told me everything I needed to know. “Bring your pussy up here and sit on my cock.”
She pressed into a sitting position on my upper thighs. Presley wrapped a hand around me and squeezed, before slowly stroking up and down. I didn’t think I could get any harder, but seeing her spread open like that, over my thighs, her wetness slicking my bare legs . . . I was about to lose it.
“Shouldn’t I wet it first?” she asked innocently.
Dear Lord.
“I think you’re wet enough for the both of us, Presley,” I said, lifting her hips and positioning her right above the tip of my cock. “All you have to do is slide down it.”
She didn’t hesitate. Her green eyes were locked onto mine as she slowly lowered her bottom. My head pressed in, and yeah—I was right. She was soaked from coming earlier. Presley gasped though when she was just halfway down. It would feel bigger like this, I knew. But I also knew once she got the hang of it, Miss Bossy Pants would love the energy that came with being in control. And god did I want to see her take control over my cock.
“It’s okay,” I said quietly. “Just take it slow. Pull back up a little, then ease back down. Keep doing that until I’m all the way in, and it gets easier to move.”
She nodded, following my directions. I wanted nothing more than to grab her hips and slam my cock straight up inside her, bottoming her out. But that could wait until she was ready. Little by little, she eased her way down. She groaned when she reached the bottom, shifting her hips against my stomach.
“Oh my god!” she cried out softly. “Why does it feel so much bigger like this?”
“Remember what I told you last night? Every position feels a little bit different. Different angles have different advantages.”
“Ooh! Can we try them all?” she purred, rolling her hips and sliding against me.
I laughed. “Yeah, Presley, we can if you want. It might take a while though.”
“I didn’t mean today!” she said, laughing.
“No time like the present,” I said, gripping her hips. “Now ride me, princess.”
Her body’s natural instincts took over, and she began rocking her hips back and forth on my stomach, her body arching with the movement. The pure ecstasy that was written all over her gyra
tions had me on edge. Watching Presley fuck me was like observing living art. She was a goddess on my cock. A real-life Lady Godiva. I couldn’t take it anymore.
I gripped her hips harder, holding her still. She glanced down at me, and I could see the worry flash over her eyes. “Don’t worry, P. You were doing everything right. Too right. But now it’s my turn,” I said, flexing my cock inside her tight channel .
“Do you want me to get off?” she asked.
“Don’t move a muscle,” I ground out between clenched teeth as I slammed up inside her.
She moaned, then let me continue setting the pace as I lifted and lowered her ass over my cock, meeting her each time I slammed my hips up, pressing deep inside her. She cried out in unrestrained pleasure with every thrust, and I knew I wasn’t going to last long like this, listening to her.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I cried out, my pace quickening. Presley’s head fell back in pure abandonment, and her small tits bounced with every thrust. She had no idea just how fucking sexy she was, which just made it even more torturous.
As soon as a guttural cry tore through Presley and her insides clenched my cock in release, I let go, too. I pressed my hips up, and stiffened, my body arching back against the bed as I exploded inside her. When my balls were finally empty, I lowered my hips, pulling Presley down on top of me.
We lay pressed together, our bodies sweaty and worn out, as we caught our breath. I ran my hand over her hair, trying to figure out how to get more time with her.
“What if you worked from here today?” I suggested, laughing.
She climbed off the bed and sauntered to the shower. I wasn’t sure I had the energy to follow her. Didn’t matter. The view was phenomenal. At the last minute before she crossed the threshold to my bathroom, she turned and met my heated gaze.
“I might be able to swing that,” she teased, her eyes bright from our morning tryst, “only if you agree to take a few breaks and show me some more of these positions you promised me?”
God damn.
“I’ve never had sex in a shower before,” she said playfully before disappearing into my bathroom.
My feet had never hit the floor so fast. I think we both knew work was a euphemism. At least, I hoped it was.
I had at a minimum of five more ways I wanted to be a first for Presley, and she was a very quick learner. My cock was already hard again before I closed the shower door behind me and melted into Presley’s giggle as she began to roll my balls with her fingers.
This woman had no idea what was in store for her. Or maybe she did. She literally had me in the palm of her hands, ready to give her whatever the hell she asked of me.
But it wasn’t me who gave this time. It was my sexy, little nympho princess. How in the hell had I gotten so lucky?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Presley
THE DAY FLEW by so fast I could hardly believe it. Shower sex led to kitchen sex, which led to library sex, before we finally had a late lunch/early dinner. Carter drove me home so I could grab my laptop, shower alone, pack an overnight bag, and add more food to Jar Jar’s automatic feeder. He nearly choked on his coffee that we’d stopped and grabbed on the way over when I told him my cat’s name. Turns out the rescue dog he walks was affectionately nicknamed Baby Yoda, and it kinda stuck.
I’d snuck in a text to Willa with about ten exclamation points, but I wanted to tell her the BIG news in person if I could. It wasn’t every day a girl lost her virginity.
We were back at Carter’s place, and he was busy cooking something sinful on an indoor grill that was built into his large, commercial-grade stove that I swear was nicer than mine. I was supposed to be doing background research—on Carter no less—in prep for the upcoming article. I felt like a little sneak. I could probably ask him directly, but that would be hard to explain to Sylvia, and this wasn’t supposed to be the interview itself, just context I needed to turn in so she could help shape the direction she wanted the story to take.
As I looked around Carter’s spacious, open condo, I was in awe of the man he’d become. I thought back to the scrappy teenager I’d crushed on and realized he’d been right not to kiss me back then. I could finally see that now. Beyond our age difference, I couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if he had, and neither of us liked it. Would I be sitting here today? Fate has a funny way of pulling strings and working on her own damn fickle timeline.
I grinned. Carter Wright.
I couldn’t believe I’d given my virginity to the same man who turned down my first kiss. Never in a million years could I have seen this coming a week ago. And those fucking butterflies? Never mind those. I didn’t even have words to describe the fluttery feelings I had when Carter kissed me. Or the way he made my toes curl. Hell, I didn’t even know I could have multiple orgasms, because in all the times I’d pleasured myself, I’d mostly stuck to the outside surface. And oh my god! The things I’d been missing out on!
But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. As sore as I was today, and for as long as I’d waited, it had been worth it. Even if this—whatever the heck this is between Carter and me—is temporary, it will have been worth it. Because now I knew those feelings existed, and not just in Willa’s romance novels either.
Willa: What’s up, girl?
Pres: OMG! Willa! I went out with Carter last night!
Willa: Can you call? I want the dirt!
Pres: I can’t actually.
Willa: Because?
Pres: Because I’m kinda still with him?
Willa: Shut your face!
Pres: I know! I can’t wait to tell you everything.
Willa: Just one question.
Pres: Yeah?
Willa: You still pure as the winter snow?
Pres: . . .
Willa: . . .
Pres: Well, I mean, how do I answer that? Our snow here in NYC is kinda dirty, isn’t it?
Willa: You telling me you’re DIRTY now?
Pres: Maaaaybe . . .
Willa: HOLY SHIT! The man has corrupted you already! Go, Carter!
Pres: Hey . . . what about Go, Presley!
Willa: Go, Presley!
Pres: Thanks, I think?
Willa: I can’t wait to hear all the deets. When?
Pres: Well . . . I’m kinda staying over again tonight.
Willa: Wait—what? How many times did you do it, girl?
Pres: Um . . .
Willa: I mean, are we talking you can count the number on one hand? Two?
Pres: I don’t know. I mean, I kinda lost count?
Willa: Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be living vicariously through you!
Pres: Right?
Willa: Just tell me . . . was it worth all that damn waiting?
Pres: A thousand percent.
Willa:
Pres: Let’s meet for dinner tomorrow. I need my BFF!
Willa: Sounds good, doll. And P?
Pres: Yeah?
Willa: I’m happy for you. For realz.
Pres: Thanks, Willa. Me too.
Willa: Just don’t go getting your heart broken, okay?
Pres: Don’t worry. I’m not pretending it’s anything more than just hot sex at this point.
Willa: And you’re okay with that?
Pres: Am I ever!!!
Willa: Hahaha!
Pres: Later, gator.
Willa: In a while, crocodile.
Pres: I love you.
Willa: I know.
What could I say? That was our thing. The way we always signed off with each other. We’d been best friends for a long, long time—since our freshman year at Brearley, a private, all-girls high school. I couldn’t wait to talk with her tomorrow night. I had so many questions—and they were questions I couldn’t ask Carter, no matter how comfortable I felt
with him.
I stood up and paced the room. That was part of the problem. I was already too comfortable with him. A week and a half ago, I was bickering with him at the rehearsal dinner. This week, I was riding naked, cowgirl style on him. And I unabashedly wanted more.
I looked at the pictures Carter had set up around the living room. They were all in black and white, even recent ones. It was hard to tell when they were taken. My favorite was a picture of Carter standing with his dad as adults, their arms around each other in front of The Grove’s main resort. There were other free-standing cottages around the island that you could rent for more privacy, but if you wanted to be seen, you stayed at the resort.
The front entrance was grand, with a dual staircase sweeping up to the main landing, which was a giant balcony leading to massive double doors. It was the resort’s signature showstopper piece, and anyone who stayed there knew those stairs. They’d probably even had family pictures taken on them at some point like we had.
There was also a picture of Carter when he was younger with his dad. That was the Mister Bob I knew! He’d been the nicest man. He always gave us kids tokens for the ice cream parlor on the pier. You could only get them from Mister Bob—your parents couldn’t buy them for you. He wasn’t stingy with them though. He loved seeing the kids and passing them out. Sometimes he’d make me “work” for one—something easy like feed the fish in the koi pond or sit up all the chair backs on the pool loungers. I did that in the early morning before anyone else was up. Sometimes I’d help him put out a rolled towel on each chair, too, or he’d let me help him weed the entrance when no one was looking.
One time, he even let me go on rounds with him on the golf course. He talked to me about the island’s history, and all the secrets it held. It always fascinated me when I was younger. I didn’t know if there was buried treasure there, or what. But I’d always ask more questions, trying to sleuth out the truth. He’d just smile and say, “Someday, Miss Presley, someday. Today’s not the day.”
I grinned, moving on to the next picture. Hmmm . . . that was interesting. It was an older one. Despite it, too, being in black and white, the clothes were clearly from a different era. It appeared to be a reprint from a newspaper clipping. I didn’t know who all was in the picture. There were two young men in their late twenties, early thirties, I’d guess. They were standing in front of what looked like The Grove’s front entrance—recognizable only by the start of that grand staircase behind them. It was an active construction zone, but there was a ribbon in front of them, and one of the bored boys at their side was holding a giant set of scissors to do the ribbon cutting. Behind them was a sign that caught my attention. It looked like a builder’s sign—large, wooden, proud. I couldn’t make out the name on it. It was longer than “Truitt” though, and Dex’s family owned both the resort and island. Maybe they’d contracted out the construction back then. Montague Enterprises wasn’t in the business of building real estate anyway.