by Elle Aycart
While she regained her bearings, he stroked her gently, feeling the aftereffects of her orgasms on his fingers, still deep inside her. “Wow and wow,” she whispered.
“You took the words right out of my mouth. You’re soft and dripping wet now. You’re ready for me. Unless you want my tongue again instead of my cock.”
She all but purred. “I could use some fucking now.”
He rose to his full height and got rid of his sweater and his boxers. His humongous erection bounced in front of her, and she froze. Maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea. Had it grown since yesterday? He certainly seemed bigger. All of him.
She scrabbled back as he knelt on the bed, arms bracketing her waist. What the hell had she been thinking? Bound or not, he commanded everything, even the air around him. At least yesterday he’d been blindfolded. Today was a different ballgame. He might be on his knees, but he was calling the shots, loose and on the move, getting closer and closer to her by the second. Yes, he’d kept touching to a minimum as promised, but still.
Panicking, she twisted over onto her hands and knees and wiggled her ass at him. He rammed in, which almost drove her face-first into the mattress. Bracing her arms, she withstood the plunge. As her pussy flexed madly to adjust to his huge presence deep inside her, he whispered in her ear. “What was it, boss? Was I too close? Is that why you turned around?”
Damn right. Not that she was going to admit it. His machismo was overbearing enough as it was. She went for flippant. “Nah, I like taking care of my own pleasure,” she said, one hand reaching for her clit. “It’s my responsibility.”
His arrogant chuckle rumbled through her. His dick impaled her. His body loomed over her. His nose nuzzled her ear. She could feel his presence all over. It was turning her on unbearably. “I don’t think so, boss. Your clit is my responsibility. And you’ll need both hands on the mattress while I fuck you.”
He was so right. Holding her by the waist, he set a hard rhythm that forced her to use both hands for balance—and it was precarious even then.
“Let’s see how it feels when you come while this gorgeous pussy is hugging me all the way, shall we?” he asked without slowing the tempo of his thrusts. “Last time you blew my mind and body away, and I was barely inside you and we were barely moving. Now you may kill me.”
“Less talk,” she managed to get out.
He chuckled softly. “What? Too much talk? Do you want me to fuck you with my mouth shut? Would that work better for you?”
Actually, no. Hearing his sex-roughened voice talk dirty to her worked much better. Too well, if the new rush of liquid from her pussy was anything to go by. He talked and she was putty in his hands, for Christ’s sake. That was why she’d wanted him silent that first time. No way would she have been able to pull her dominatrix trick otherwise.
And damn if he didn’t know it. “Nah, you like when I talk,” he continued. “It makes you hotter. Wetter. And you like it rough.”
Shit. He was on to her. “You think?”
“You need to scream when you come. You need to let go. For that, you need rough. Your pussy is a perfect tell, boss. Doesn’t lie. Doesn’t pretend. Only reacts. The rougher I fuck you, the more it wants.”
As if to prove his point, he not only stepped up the rhythm but reached for her clit. Checkmate. She collapsed onto her forearms and came long and hard, screaming into the mattress.
“Beautiful,” he was saying when she floated back to earth. “Now my turn.”
His turn? He hadn’t come? “I don’t think I can move,” she moaned.
“Don’t worry, boss. I’ll do all the work.”
And boy, did he. He fucked her so hard, she couldn’t keep her knees locked. It didn’t matter because he had his arm around her waist. He was holding most of her weight; her knees weren’t even touching the blanket anymore. He was groaning hard, pumping into her faster and faster, and the vibration of their bodies slapping harshly massaged her clit. Holy shit, she was going to come again.
As she was teetering on the brink, she felt him go rigid over her. He burrowed deeper inside of her, his cock growing even bigger, and with a growl, he let himself go, filling her up. So fucking hot. She would have bet good money she couldn’t come so soon after the last shattering orgasm. She would have lost.
When she floated back from la-la land, she was lying on the bed with him on top of her. “Alec?” she exhaled. He had to move if she was to draw a deep breath. On the other hand, shallow breaths would do it too.
“Fuck. Sorry, baby.” He rolled them over without dislodging her, spreading her on top of him. As she tried to move, he wrapped his arms around her, immobilizing her.
“Are we going to discuss it?” he asked, his tone hard.
“What? There’s nothing to discuss.”
“I believe there is. Why you offered your tail to me when I asked to look into your eyes. Why you still have that camisole on. Why you squirm every time I brush against your chest.”
“I told you I don’t like being touched.”
“That’s not true,” he whispered and caressed her arm.
God, the feel of his callused hands on her skin. Too much. She barely stopped herself from moaning out loud, but he wasn’t easily fooled. “If I touch you here, you get goose bumps and your pussy grips me. Same if I kiss behind your ear. You like it. I would even dare to say you love it. It’s only if I get close to your chest that you panic. What is it? Is the skin too sensitive there? Do the scars hurt? Is that’s why you don’t want me to touch you?”
She shook her head and tried to wrench away. Fat chance.
“What is it, boss?”
She was going to keep her mouth shut. No way was she discussing this. Too bad her mouth had other plans. “I lost my breasts.”
“I know, baby. There are much worse things to lose, though.”
“I feel like less of a woman without breasts. It was such a big milestone, growing up, when I graduated from a training bra and could fill out the clothes I liked. Or when I shopped with my friends at Victoria’s Secret.”
“Breasts… don’t define you,” he said slowly.
Her snort sounded bitter, even to herself. “I’m not so sure about that. I lost so much of my sense of self when I lost them.”
“Sorry to break it to you, but you didn’t have any boobs when I met you.”
She let out a laugh. It was amazing that he could still amuse her in the current situation. “Asshole. I was a late bloomer. Of course I didn’t have boobs, but for your information, they developed just fine. I have pics. I can prove it.”
He kissed her temple. “Calm down, boss. I believe you. When I first met you, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I still do. Boobs or no boobs—that doesn’t matter to me. It didn’t then and it doesn’t now.”
“Then you were a boy. Now you’re a man.”
He pressed his cock deep inside her. “Do you feel that? I just came and I’m still hard. You do this to me. You. A man can’t fake that kind of reaction. Just like you can’t fake how you react to me.” He cupped her pussy, ripping a throaty gasp from her when he pressed against her clit. “Told you. A total tell. You melt at my touch. You purr, inside and out. Stop squirming every time I get close to your chest. I want to kiss you while I make love to you. And I want to caress you too. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, is it?”
She wasn’t sure she could do that. “Let me go.”
“So you can put up your walls again? I don’t think so. And for your information, you are done hiding behind camisoles. Or offering me your tail so the rest of you can keep your distance. If you want me to fuck you from behind, I’ll happily oblige, but only because you want it, not to ensure I can’t see or touch your chest. Are we clear?”
“You said I could trust you. That you didn’t need to be tied up. That you would follow orders.”
“You can trust me, boss. I haven’t touched you except to hold you in place and fuck you. I don’t
recall agreeing to follow orders, though.”
She harrumphed. “So typical.”
“You want to tie me up, I’ll oblige with that too. For fun—definitely not so you can hide that beautiful body under clothes.”
“Does that mean if I get naked, I can tie you up?”
His body shook with his chuckle. Hers too. “Well… I don’t know if I trust you right now. You’re too pissed. I bet you’d let me rot in bed, just to teach me a lesson.”
“What gave me away?” she muttered, trying to get up again.
His hold tightened. “Where do you think you’re going, boss? I haven’t heard you agree to my conditions yet. I want a clear answer.”
She breathed out slowly. Damn military men. Always covering their bases. “Don’t touch the area where my breasts… used to be. About the rest… I’ll try.” That was the best she could do. Any other promise would be a lie.
He must have understood that, because he kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Meg.”
As he loosened his grip, she scrambled to get up. Being interrogated with that big thing inside of her had been a totally new experience. It might have been pleasant if she hadn’t found out her pussy was a frigging lie detector. On still-shaky legs, she walked to the bathroom.
“My cum dripping off you is a sight to behold. Now, if I could look into your eyes when you come next time, I could die a happy man.”
“Getting demanding, huh?”
“Yes. Everything about you turns me on,” he said. “I want to experience it all.” He got up and followed her to the bathroom, leaning against the door frame and looking intently at her while she cleaned herself. Damned unnerving. She should have closed the door.
“Everything about me turns you on?” She looked up at him, daring him to lie.
“You’re fucking beautiful. You were a gorgeous girl; you are a stunning woman now.”
“Even after the doc played slice and dice with me?”
He didn’t even flinch. “If it bothers you so much, why didn’t you do reconstruction?”
She shrugged. The surgeon had removed a lot of tissue; reconstruction would have been difficult. Not impossible, but complex and time-consuming. “It doesn’t bother me, not always. I’m proud of my body, and I know I am more than my breasts, but I still have my moments. It’s difficult to let go of a part of your body, you know? Not to mention the anger that goes along with that loss.” God, she couldn’t believe she was talking with him about this so matter-of-factly—and while half-naked in the bathroom. Not to mention he was stark naked, with a cock at full salute. “Breast implants weren’t for me. I respect people who have reconstructive surgery. It’s an individual choice, and everyone should do what feels right for them. Reconstruction didn’t feel right. This is me. Without cancer and all the shit it brought, I would have become a different person—not better, not worse, just different. Whether I want to admit it or not, I am who I am because of cancer, or in spite of it. And I’m not hiding. Anyone who doesn’t like it is welcome to look the other way.”
“And yet you hide from me,” he stated.
“I told you, I still have my moments. In intimate circumstances, I’m self-conscious. I blame all the porn flicks starring women with F-cup breasts and men sucking at them.”
Alec laughed—and there it went, his gorgeous smile lines disarming her again. “You are impossible.” He straightened up and moved to stand behind her, spanning her waist with his hands. Meeting her gaze in the mirror, his eyes now serious, he asked, “What exactly did you mean the other day when you said, ‘It’s a good thing I’m done with medical procedures?’ What’s the situation now?”
“Didn’t you say we didn’t need to talk about cancer?”
“Unless it was totally necessary. I think at this stage of our relationship, it is.”
She was taken aback at the word “relationship,” but she filed that away to discuss another time. Her plate was full at the moment. “You want it in medical jargon or layman’s terms?”
“In plain English.”
She held his stare in the mirror. “We’re done with the slicing and dicing. Cancer won. I lost.”
He stilled. “Are you sure? Did you get a second opinion?”
“I got many second opinions.” Which was not technically true, since she hadn’t been evaluated by a second facility, but her oncologist was an eminent one, and he worked with an expert team. They had all agreed. “Soon after I recovered from the double mastectomy, they found cancerous cells in the lymph nodes under both arms. Then in my abdomen. The motherfucker was popping up all over, as if we were playing whack-a-mole. No sooner did we poison it in one place than it appeared somewhere else. It decided to conquer distant lands, so it spread to the bone marrow. After the bone marrow transplant, it seemed like everything was under control. I was told I was in remission. And I was. Until I wasn’t. A couple months ago, we found out the motherfucker had gotten ambitious and spread all over—lungs, spinal cord, and liver included this time.” She plastered a smile on her face. “And there you have it, the story of my life for the last decade. In plain English.”
She could tell he was trying to hide his reaction, but it still came through in the rigidness of his body. “How long do you have?”
She shrugged again. Didn’t answer. She couldn’t. No one knew for sure. Months? Half a year?
The pain in his eyes was so overwhelming, she had to lower her gaze. “You can leave now if you want to. The C-word sends people running for the hills. I get it. I’m used to it.” As if cancer were contagious. Then again, who could blame them? She was a weapon of emotional mass destruction, bound to level everyone around her at any moment. Illness was the great equalizer; it put everyone on their knees. Loved ones included.
“I’m not running,” he said defiantly, still gripping her waist, his gaze resolute. She couldn’t stand the tension in the air.
He probably noticed it, because he added, “Now, do you think I could come looking in your eyes next time?”
She turned around. Talk about a one-track mind. “Did you hear a word I said?”
“I heard you. Nothing you said has changed my mind. I got imprinted on you all those years ago.”
“Imprinted?” What was he talking about?
“I read once that you never forget anything you experience as a child,” he said, brushing his thumb over her lips, distracting the living shit out of her. “What you see, what you feel—it stays with you forever. What can I say, boss? You made a hell of an impression on me.”
“You were no child, Bonehead. You were fifteen.”
He shrugged off that detail. “Emotionally speaking, I was just a toddler.”
She couldn’t argue that one. She crossed her arms. “You mean you got imprinted on perky thirteen-year-old me because I brought you sandwiches and stubbornly made you eat them? The innocent kid who forced you to learn to fish and listen to music for hours on end, sitting still? I’m not that girl anymore.”
“I know. You’re harder now, and I’m okay with that too. Your scars don’t turn me off. Do mine turn you off? Because I have plenty.” He gestured across an array of healed injuries. “There’s more in the back. Mainly from the military. Some from my misspent youth.”
They didn’t turn her off, not at all. She touched a mark on his chest—a knife wound, maybe. It had probably needed stitches at the time and hadn’t gotten them. The scar was jagged. “What happened here?”
“Let’s go back to bed. We’ll turn a light on and crack open some beers, and I’ll tell you everything about my scars.” He moved to the door, stretched his hand out to her, and waited. “Coming?”
It would be much safer to send him packing. Too bad she couldn’t.
It was almost dawn when Alec kissed Megan on the forehead, tucked her in tightly, and left her sound asleep. It had been nearly impossible to keep his hard-on in check while they talked and she’d been inspecting his scars. All he’d wanted was to be inside her, reassuring her,
but he’d refrained. She needed to familiarize herself with his body to be comfortable. She was his priority, not his cock or what it wanted.
His roaring need had kept his mind distracted from the bigger issue. Not anymore. There was not a chance in hell he could sleep unless he downed a hefty dose of the home-made liquor Jacob kept for emergencies the likes of World War III. In Alec’s mind, this situation ranked. There was no other way to stop his churning brain or loosen the knot around his heart. He punched the left side of his chest, hoping to numb some of the pain. No luck.
Not sure which direction he was headed, he got into his truck and immediately discarded the booze idea. He needed to be back before Megan woke up, and he needed to be sober by then. Gripping the steering wheel tight, he rested his forehead on his hands. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’d never been the type to believe that everything happened according to some cosmic plan. He’d seen firsthand that the world was an unfair bitch. Still, this was way too much. This was fucking unacceptable. He’d just found her again.
He wanted her wearing his T-shirt, hanging out in his place, forever. Smiling at him. Hell, even yelling at him for whatever shit he’d done, which he’d fix it on his knees, eating her out. They could adopt kids or raise dogs or whatever she wanted, and they would grow old together.
But that fantasy was going nowhere, because she was dying and they were running out of time. Fucking ironic—he’d been prepping for the end of the world, and now that the end of his world was here, he could do nothing about it.
Before he realized it, he found himself in front of Heather’s place. Well, he might as well chop some wood and restock her pile. Kill two birds with one stone. God knew he needed an outlet for his rage.
He’d figured from the references Megan had made all along that her cancer battle had been long and hard, and it wasn’t over. He’d assumed it was… on standby somehow. Fuck it, he wasn’t sure what he’d assumed. But he sure as hell hadn’t assumed everything was over.