Make Me Sin

by J. T. Geissinger

  “You don’t mean it.”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You’ll change your mind in the morning. You’ll regret it.”

  “I won’t regret anything.”

  “What happened to ‘I only have sex in a context of caring and love’?”

  Very softly, I answer, “Nothing.”

  He understands without me having to provide more. His eyes devour my face. He whispers, “Goddamn you.”

  “Just kiss me, A.J. You can hate me all you want tomorrow.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I already told you why not.”

  My face is getting hotter by the second. “That eight-inch steel pipe in your pants would like you to kiss me.”

  His lips twitch. “Eleven-inch.”

  I bite my lower lip, hard, because my ovaries have just fainted. Then something terrible occurs to me, and I draw a breath. “Do you . . . is there . . .”

  “What?”

  I swallow, hugely embarrassed by what I’m about to ask. In a small voice I say, “Is there a, um . . . problem with it?”

  He tilts his head, staring down at me. “What kind of a problem?”

  “Um. Maybe the kind of problem that you’d only want a . . . prostitute . . . to see?”

  He’s frowning at me in total confusion. Then his face clears as he begins to understand. “Are you asking if my dick is deformed?”

  I squeak, “Or do you have some terrible disease you don’t want me to catch?”

  Slowly, he lowers his mouth to my ear. His nose skims the outer rim, and I break out in goose bumps. He breathes, “I’m clean as a whistle, Princess. You?”

  I nod, trying not to rock my pelvis against his.

  Lightly, he takes my earlobe between his teeth. Then I get his lips, gently sucking. He murmurs, “And my cock is in perfect working order.”

  “Prove it.”

  He goes still. He’s thinking so hard I hear the gears turning inside his brain. But I’m in no mood for delay, as my ovaries have recovered and have started flinging themselves lustfully all over my lower body.

  I reach down between us, and curl my fingers around his erection.

  He hisses out a breath, but doesn’t move. We’re eye to eye, staring at each other, and I’m challenging him with a look to stop me.

  He doesn’t stop me. My ovaries cheer.

  Slowly, I stroke my hand down the length of him. I can tell he’s not wearing anything beneath his jeans, because I feel every ridge, every throbbing vein, from crown to base. And he’s huge. Thick, long, solid. I stroke my hand back up, to the tip, and rub my thumb back and forth over the rigid head. A little bead of wetness dampens his jeans.

  My entire body explodes with want. The kind of want I’ve never felt. It’s like some wild animal has just woken up inside me, ravenous, greedy, insatiable with lust.

  Looking into his eyes, I say, “I want to see it. I want to suck on it. I want it inside me.”

  My throaty voice sounds like it belongs to another woman. I feel like another woman, someone wanton and confident. Someone far more uninhibited than me.

  I squeeze his cock, and he groans. The sound thrills me, gives me even more confidence. I lean close to his ear. “I want to ride this big, beautiful cock until I come, screaming your name.”

  He pants, “Jesus, fuck, Princess, who are you right now?”

  He’s losing control. I feel it. I see it. His face is strained with the effort to hold back. His arms shake, his breath is ragged. He wants this just as badly as I do, but, for whatever reason, he won’t let himself go.

  So I do the only thing I can think of that might push him over the edge. I roll out from beneath him, rise to my knees, pull my T-shirt over my head, and toss it aside. My hair falls all around my shoulders, brushing my bare breasts.

  He’s frozen in shock. His eyes are big, drinking me in. He whispers my name.

  I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my boy shorts, and begin to slide them down over my hips.

  A.J. sits up abruptly and grabs my wrists, hard. He snaps, “Stop!”

  So this is what rejection feels like. Man does it suck. I go limp and sink to my knees, hiding my face behind my hair. He doesn’t release my wrists.

  “Look at me.”

  I shake my head. I’ve never felt such crushing shame.

  He pulls me up by my wrists, winds my arms around his neck. He hugs me, burying his face in my hair. My breasts are flattened against his chest. Beneath my cheek, his heart pounds wildly.

  “I told you I’d never fuck you.”

  I don’t say anything. What is there to say? He did tell me that, and, like a class A moron, I tried to change his mind.

  He breathes me in, inhaling deeply into my hair, nuzzling his face into my neck. His fingers grip hard into my sides, and they’re twitching.

  I don’t speak. Something is happening with him, and, selfish slut I’ve suddenly become, I don’t want to interfere if it’s going to wind up with me on my back, pinned beneath his hard, gorgeous body. Hoping against hope, I clamp my mouth shut, determined not to say a word.

  I feel his mouth on my neck. His lips open over the pulse in my throat, he sucks, and I can’t stop the low, breathy moan that escapes me. My head falls back, into his open hand. His other hand slides up my waist and stops just beneath my breast, gently squeezing. I arch against him, mewing like a cat.

  “God, Chloe. The sounds you make . . .”

  His voice throbs with desire. Heat sizzles through my limbs. My fingers sink into his hair, and I pull, lost in sensation.

  When his thumb brushes over the hard, peaked nub of my nipple, I gasp and jerk. I’m about to unravel, all with the slightest touch of his fingers and lips.

  “You need to come, don’t you, baby?” His voice is low and harsh at my ear.

  It’s the first time he’s called me baby. For some unthinkable reason, it makes me so wet and desperate, I moan again, grinding my pelvis against his.

  It’s that moan that finally breaks through his resistance. With a snarled oath, he pushes me onto my back, rips my boy shorts off my body, and buries his face between my legs.

  I cry out, delirious, writhing as he grips my ass in his hands and sucks hard where I most need it. Every time I make a sound of pleasure, he makes a low noise in his throat that sends a pulse of vibration through my core. It makes me moan louder, which makes him suck harder. He slides two fingers inside me and I buck, crying out. I quickly build to a peak so hot and bright my entire body bows. My back lifts off the bed. My hands, clenched in his hair, shake.

  In what feels like a nuclear detonation, I come. His name rips from my lips in a long, wavering scream.

  Upstairs, my neighbor pounds on the wall, shouting for me to shut up.

  Panting, I collapse against the mattress. The entire process from nipple flick to orgasm has taken approximately thirty seconds.

  He crawls up my body, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me, deep and hard. I taste myself on him and nearly come again.

  “Off!” I claw at the waistband of his jeans. I want him inside me so badly I can’t wait one second longer.

  Unfortunately, I’ll be waiting a hell of a lot longer than one second, because A.J. says, “No.”

  I freeze, hoping I’ve misheard him. “Excuse me?”

  “I said no.”

  My heart stalls, then reboots with a painful thud. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Chloe—”

  “You have GOT to be KIDDING!” I try pushing at the mountains of his shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. He rises up on his elbows, and pins my wrists to the pillow above my head.

  “Listen to me.”

  I can already hear the excuses in his voice, all the I’m so sorrys and the It’s for the bests. I groan, turn my face away, and squeeze shut my eyes.

  “I already told you I wouldn’t—”r />
  “You jerk! What is this to you, some kind of game? Do you think this is funny, making me beg you for it? Watching me lose control and be completely pathetic—is that what gets you off?”

  “Yes, watching you lose control gets me off! So does listening to you lose control, and hearing that perfect mouth tell me all the filthy things you want, and tasting your beautiful sweet pussy, and hearing you beg for my cock! It all gets me off and it’s taking every fucking crumb of self-control I have not to bury myself balls-deep inside you right now!”

  He roars the last part into my face. I lie there panting and livid under him, my eyes filling with tears.

  “Then tell me why not. You’ve said you won’t, but you haven’t said why not. At least give me that.”

  He closes his eyes and drops his forehead to my shoulder. “Because you can’t be mine. You can never be mine. And if I fuck you, baby, you’ll be mine forever.”

  There’s pain in his voice, pain, longing, and sorrow. I turn my head, press my lips to his temple. “What if I want to be yours?”

  He shakes his head. “I told you. I’m not that selfish.”

  I whisper, “Please, A.J. Please help me understand. I don’t understand.”

  Instead of answering, he rolls to his back and flips me on top of him, so my naked body is flush against his. He tucks my head into the crook of his neck, cradling it with one big hand, and smooths the other hand over my hair. He begins to rub my back, gently, his palm warm and rough against my skin.

  I exhale, shuddering. He’s not going to tell me anything more. He’s given all he’s going to give.

  “I should tell you to leave.”

  His deep inhalation makes his chest rise beneath my cheek. “You don’t want me to leave. And I wouldn’t, anyway.”

  My nose is pressed against the tattoos of the crosses on his neck. I close my eyes to block the sight of them, because I know I’ll never find out what they mean. I’ve come up against the brick wall of A.J.’s will, reached the sheer cliff of his sharing. There will be nothing beyond what I already have.

  As he pets and strokes my naked back, his hands so tender and cherishing, somehow I begin to relax. The steady beat of his heart against mine soothes me, as does his breathing, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his strong chest. I’m more confused than ever, but, lying in his arms, I still feel safe.

  I sigh, wind my arms around his shoulders, and snuggle closer to his body, as close as I can get.

  He presses his lips against my hair. So, so quietly, he says, “You make me think there might be a God after all.”

  My face crumples. My heart feels like someone is stabbing it over and over with scissors. “I thought I made you want to die.”

  His hand drops to my bottom, and he squeezes. “Well, this ass could kill a man.”

  I raise my head and look at him. His face is solemn, but his eyes are sparkling. He’s making a joke.

  “Oh, it’s time for funny A.J. to come out and play? Thanks for the heads-up. Let me just look around for my neck brace because I’ve got a nasty case of whiplash from all your prior mood swings.”

  He grins. “I love it when you give me shit.”

  “Really? Because I hate it when you give me shit.”

  His amused look turns smoldering. “Don’t lie to me. You love it just as much as I do.”

  That heated stare of his sets off fireworks in my body. It’s as if my hormones are just waiting around for him to do something sexy, and the minute he does, they all leap to their feet and run around like kindergartners on a sugar high.

  He firmly cups my jaw in his hand and growls, “Look at that fucking look you’re giving me. How am I supposed to maintain my sanity when the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met is staring at me with big eyes that beg, ‘Please fuck me’?”

  The most beautiful woman he’s ever met.

  My hormones graduate from kindergarten and go straight to college, where they throw a toga party of epic proportions and burn down the dorm.

  I moisten my lips. A.J. watches the motion of my tongue, and I feel his heartbeat kick up a notch. I also notice that his erection hasn’t flagged at all since he arrived. His mind might not be on board with whatever’s happening between us, but his body definitely is.

  And oh, do I have plans for that body.

  “Thank you for the compliment. I’ll assume that’s a rhetorical question. But I do have an idea.”

  He watches me warily, his hand still firm around my jaw.

  “How exactly would you define fucking?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said you’d never fuck me. But you just went down on me, and I’m lying here butt naked on top of you, so I’m trying to get a better grasp of the exact parameters of our little . . . situation.”

  One side of his mouth curves upward. His lids lower so his eyes are practically slits. “You trying to negotiate with me, Princess?”

  I wrinkle my nose. The word “negotiate” makes me feel a little gross, especially in light of how his dates usually begin.

  “No. I’m trying to determine if this, for instance, is allowed.” I press my lips against his, softly, no tongue.

  He watches me from beneath his lowered lids. “That’s allowed.” His voice is husky. His hand drifts down from my jaw to my neck. For some reason, I find his light grip around my throat unbearably sexy.

  “Okay. And this?” I kiss him again, but this time suck his lower lip into my mouth. He doesn’t resist, so I kiss him deeper, exploring his mouth with my tongue. His fingers tighten around my neck.

  “That’s allowed, too,” he breathes when I pull away and look at him.

  I nod. Without breaking eye contact with him, I lower my head and press a kiss to his chest. It’s feather light, right above his heart. I wait for his answer, my heart beginning to pound.

  “Allowed.” He swallows. His voice is getting lower and lower.

  Trying not to make any sudden moves, I ease myself down his body a foot or so, careful to balance my weight on my hands on the mattress on either side of his waist. As I move, my breasts skim against his chest. He inhales sharply, and I freeze.

  He doesn’t do anything, so I press my lips to his abdomen. It’s as hard as rock, without an ounce of fat, tattooed and so sexy I just want to bite it. In fact, I want to sink my teeth into his biceps, his shoulders, his thighs, everywhere. I’m starving for him. I want to gobble him up. I want to taste every part of his body, every inch of his skin.

  I lick a languid circle around his belly button, dip my tongue into the little depression, and suck.

  Beneath my mouth, his muscles contract, quivering. His hands settle on either side of my head. They’re trembling. I fall still, waiting.

  After a moment, he whispers, “Allowed.”

  The feeling of power that surges through me is heady. When I glance up, he’s staring at me, eyes hooded. All the humor is gone. Now there’s only need.

  Holding his gaze, I move my lips to a spot about half an inch above the waistband of his jeans. I press my mouth to his skin. His lips part, but he doesn’t make a sound. So, still looking into his eyes, I kiss a soft, slow path right down to the denim, then slide my tongue just under the waistband.

  He’s frozen. I’m not even sure if he’s breathing.

  I lay my hand over the bulge in his jeans. Slowly, I stroke my hand up and down its twitching, hard length. I move my mouth to the pulsing crown at its tip, and suck, right through the denim.

  A.J.’s groan is ragged.

  “Allowed?” I ask, watching him. I give his erection a squeeze, and the muscles in his stomach contract.

  “Chloe, fuck, Princess—”

  “Say yes, A.J.,” I softly demand, rubbing my hand up and down, squeezing and stroking.

  He lies there, tense, panting, the occasional moan working from his throat as I continue my torture. But I won’t go any further without his permission. I won’t push him more than this.

  He has to ask me for it.


  He drops his head against the pillow, closes his eyes, and utters a soft, surrendering cry. “Yes please God please Chloe give me your mouth baby I need you so fucking bad—”

  I rip open the fly of his jeans, and he’s free.

  His cock springs out into my hands. I gasp, astonished at the size, at how beautiful it is.

  It’s a masterpiece. It deserves a painting, or at least a commemorative statue carved in marble, set out in a public square. If I wasn’t so stricken by lust, I’d want to grab a pencil and paper and sketch it, that’s how fantastic I think it is.

  I wrap a hand around the thick base. I wrap the other hand above the first. Even with two fists around it, there’s still plenty of bare acreage on this baby. With a moan, I pounce on it. I take the crown into my mouth and suck.

  The sound A.J. makes is so erotic I suck harder.

  He shudders. His hips start to move. He says my name, his hands reaching for my head. His fingers settle lightly against my face, and he pushes my hair aside so he can watch me.

  I take him as far into my throat as I can without gagging. Both my hands stroke him as he flexes his hips up and down, slowly fucking my mouth. His hips start to move faster. His eyes are glazed with lust and pleasure. He’s making soft, helpless moans, watching my mouth and hands, my face.

  He whispers, “You’re so beautiful. My beautiful little songbird. My angel.”

  Thrilled by his words, I hum, and it makes him groan.

  His eyes slide shut. His chest heaves as he pants, and he starts to buck against my hands and mouth. He’s close already.

  I keep one hand wrapped around him, but take the other and gently cup his balls. They’re heavy in my palm, velvet soft. I fondle them as I continue to suck his head and shaft, my hand slipping up and down his throbbing length, squeezing and stroking.

  His hands tighten on either side of my head. He hisses, “Fuck baby yes baby feels so goddamn good.”

  I open my throat and slide his cock as far down it as it can go, which is about half of his length. His entire body stiffens. He jerks and comes into my mouth, groaning and swearing, roaring like an animal.

  The neighbors upstairs pound on the wall again.

  He’s still coming hard, grunting and twitching, his breath hissing in and out between his clenched teeth, all the muscles of his abdomen and arms flexed, his head tipped back into the pillow. I watch him, euphoric, feeling powerful and ridiculously self-satisfied and accomplished, as if I’ve just invented cold fusion or facilitated world peace.