by JJ Knight
“You’re more beautiful than I remember,” he says, and tosses the dress across the room. “And I am going to feast on it.”
His hands cup my breasts as his mouth captures one, then the other. He continues exploring, feathering kisses along the side of my waist, across my belly button, and dipping his tongue inside.
I arch my hips to him as his fingers grasp the edge of my lace panties and peel them down.
His mouth follows their descent, skipping along my hipbone, and down my thigh, to the inside of my knee.
When the panties are lying next to my dress, he begins to work his way back up.
I clutch one of the pillows, feeling the wetness between my thighs.
His mouth finds its way to that heat, and his fingers spread me wide.
When his tongue slides inside, I arch to him again, letting out a long groan of need.
One of his hands goes beneath me, lifting my body to his mouth.
He plunges there, working me, a thumb quickly circling my nub.
I can barely catch my breath, it’s so fast, so hard, so intense.
His tongue laps at me, matching the rhythmic movements of my body, feeding them, pushing them higher.
He squeezes me, sliding his tongue more deeply inside. When his mouth sucks my nub, the lightning that has been sparking through my body focuses its energy where he works me.
The pulse of the orgasm begins, slowly, heavy, then suddenly bursts out.
I shriek, my entire body a crashing wave.
He holds me in place, not letting me go, drawing the orgasm out until I feel like I might collapse.
At last, he slows it down, and I sink into the cushions.
He spreads wet kisses along my thighs to my knee and down my shin. He nips at my calf, making me laugh.
“That tickles,” I say.
“You’re still with us?”
“I might’ve died. But I am resurrected.”
He shifts forward over my body, propping his head over me. He’s still fully dressed.
“I like this change,” he says. “You naked. Me fully clothed.”
I reach up and rub my hand along the back of his hair. “I do, too.”
He kisses my neck and works his way back down to a breast. “I will never get tired of the view.”
“You always get naked behind the screen,” I say. “Maybe I’d like to undress you myself for once.
“Feel free.”
He kneels on the floor next to the pile of pillows. I sit in front of him and grasp the bottom of his shirt to pull it over that incredibly developed chest.
I’ve touched him a thousand ways, with solutions, tanning creams, and loofahs.
But now I can touch him how I want, with a caress, followed with the soft press of my lips on all the places I’ve admired for weeks.
I reach for his belt, sliding the leather through the loops, revealing the button to his fly.
He stands up, and I kneel, lowering the zipper, pulling the waistband away and pushing the jeans down.
His boxers are black and silky, and there is no missing the erection filling out the front.
I’ve touched it before, shifting it aside while tanning, and once, pressing it between my breasts.
But I want so much more.
I wrap my hand around it, sheathed in the black silk, and stroke up and down.
Max lets out a long groan.
I lift the elastic waistband away from his skin and peel it down, allowing his cock to come free.
It’s finally mine to hold onto, admire, and taste.
I push the boxers down and cup his balls the way I did at the naked tanning session.
And at long last, I get to slide that glorious cock into my mouth.
His hands tangle in my hair, gripping my head. I take him in, my tongue licking his length. He smells of soap and tastes of pure, clean skin. I grip the base with both hands while my mouth slides up and down the tip.
He presses my face more tightly against his body, his hips moving with my motions.
“Camryn,” he breathes.
I slow down a notch, not wanting to move too fast. I ease up the pressure and slide my tongue along to the end.
When I pull away, he stands up, kicking off his shoes and shoving the jeans and boxers out of his way.
“Should we try a bed this time?” I ask.
He picks me up from the floor and cradles me in his arms. “Show me the way.”
“Through the beads and down the hall.”
When we arrive in the bedroom, he lays me down on the bed like I’m something precious.
“I have longed for this day,” he whispers against my neck as he positions his body over mine. “I have a condom.”
“Unless there’s a reason for it, I’d rather rely on my pills.”
“Done.” His mouth captures a breast again as fingers slip inside my body.
I can scarcely catch my breath as he moves me back into that airy space of oblivion, ready for him.
He shifts, nudging his cock against the entrance as his fingers continue to circle my nub.
When he thrusts inside, I arch to him and cry out. I feel split wide, a thousand flashes of fire darting through my body like a sparkler has been lit.
He kisses my ear, my cheek, my mouth, consuming me with his lips.
His body moves over me gently, easily, until I press against his back to quicken the pace.
His arms come around my waist to pull me up to him, away from the bed, and he thrusts into me with all the pent-up need we’ve both suppressed since that first day in the dressing room at the arena.
All those moments flash through my mind. His body. My hands on him. Lotion. Spray. His erections. Toying with each other.
All leading to this.
He pulls me closer until we’ve shifted, and I’m sitting in his lap, my legs driving our speed, his hands clasping my waist and giving me lift, then I crash down on his cock, shuddering with pleasure.
I never want it to end, and move and move and move, up and down, clutching, burying my face in his neck.
“Camryn, Camryn, Camryn,” he whispers against my ear.
The tightness begins, clenching around him with a fiery grip. I slam down, once, twice and then I know it’s coming, and a careening cry starts low in my throat.
The pulsing has already begun when suddenly everything clenches down even harder. The orgasm billows out like an ocean wave. I am consumed, rocking against him, sweating, exhausted, exhilarated, so high.
He clutches my back and pounds upward until I feel his belly tighten, and the warmth spreads into me.
I remember it spurting on my body, and a second wave of orgasm in my body spasms around his cock.
He clutches me tight, pulsing inside me, refusing to let go.
We’re both breathing hard, clutching each other like we’re drowning.
He falls back on the bed, bringing me with him. We roll until I’m curled up against his chest, one leg thrown over his thighs.
He pushes the hair away from my face and gazes at me.
There are no words.
“I am never going to get enough of you,” he says.
I know exactly how he feels.
23
Max
When I wake up the next morning in Camryn’s bed, she’s asleep.
The dull gray light outside the windows tells me dawn has barely broken. I’m used to getting up early.
I’m not in a rush, though. I don’t have to work out before I head to the deli, since I took care of that last night with Franklin.
Franklin.
If he could see the two of us right now, he’d bust an artery.
I think it should fall to me to tell him, when we do. I’d rather him take out his anger on me, not Camryn.
Camryn.
She’s really something.
A long loose tendril of her hair falls across the pillow. I aimlessly twirl it in my finger.
The scenario has definitely flippe
d.
Before I was concerned about losing my training buddy.
No longer.
Now it’s her.
I wonder how much trouble Franklin can make for his sister in the bodybuilding circuit. He interfered last season, clocking a competitor who wanted to date her.
And then there’s this mysterious past relationship.
Camryn seems to have come through those incidents fine, as popular as ever with her services.
So hopefully Franklin doesn’t exercise any influence there. Or, if he does, he knows not to use it against his own flesh and blood.
Me, on the other hand, he might destroy.
Would that be such a bad thing? Camryn comes first. I’d trade any time on the stage for these hours with her.
I prop myself up on my elbow to watch her sleep. She must sense me staring at her, because she shifts beneath the sheets until she faces me.
“I’m sure you’re used to getting up early,” she says sleepily.
I smooth more hair away from her face. It’s everywhere, glorious in reds and browns.
“Every day,” I say.
“I’m not a morning person.” She buries her head back in the pillow.
“How about I go make us some coffee?”
Her head pops up. “Can you drink any?”
“A little. The next competition isn’t until Saturday.”
She reaches out and pokes my arm muscles. “How long does it take to dehydrate?”
“A few days. I won’t overindulge.”
“Crazy life, isn’t it?”
“It brought me to you.”
Her smile is everything. “Go fetch my coffee, peasant.”
I tweak her nose and slide out of the sheets.
Her kitchen is small and tidy. I spot the coffee pot easily enough and find the bag of ground beans in the cabinet above. Soon, the smell of percolating fills the room.
I pause by her refrigerator. It’s covered in magnets, notes, and old ticket stubs.
She likes pop music. She’s seen Taylor Swift and Katy Perry. Or maybe she has some connection for tickets. Both appear to be comp passes. I wouldn’t doubt that someone like Camryn knows all the right people.
I want to learn everything about her.
I pause on a photo of her and Franklin. It’s from a few years ago, as I remember this haircut of Franklin’s from our college days. It’s one of their birthdays, although it isn’t clear whose as they’re both by the cake.
I wonder again what makes Franklin so overbearing with her. It’s a question I hope I can broach with her soon. We’ll need a game plan for how to break it to him that we’ve become a couple.
Several other images show Camryn and another woman with long black hair. They hold champagne glasses in a shadowy bar. In another, they laugh as they eat tacos in someone’s backyard. Clearly a good friend.
“That’s Sofia,” Camryn says with a yawn. She rubs the heel of her hand into her eye. “She knows about you. I had drinks with her a week or so ago.”
Camryn has slipped on a thin pajama tank top and adorable pink shorts. But the outline of those nipples I feasted on last night are visible.
Her gaze takes me in, stark naked. As usual.
“Someone’s awake this morning,” she says.
I glance down. The morning wood is rising and shining. “It’s my perpetual state around you.”
“Let me get some coffee in me, and maybe we can do something with that.”
Now he’s standing at full attention.
Her hair is glorious chaos, red and brown strands tangled around her face and down her back.
As she pours herself a cup and sips it black, I run my fingers through the long strands to tame them.
“That’s nice,” she says.
When the bulk of her hair is more or less straightened out, I divide it into three sections and begin to braid.
As the plait lengthens, Camryn turns to look at the piece on her shoulder. “Nice work. Where did you pick up that skill?”
“I had an entrepreneurial phase in about fourth grade. I made friendship bracelets and sold them on the playground.”
“A business owner from way back.”
“I think I would’ve gone in the hole on supplies if Mom hadn’t kept me in thread.”
“What was she like?”
My throat tightens involuntarily, as it always does. “Perfect. The kind who made cookies after school. Who asked questions and made you answer. She wanted to know everything.”
“Do you talk about what happened to her?”
“Ovarian cancer. It was quick.”
Camryn turns and I pinch the end of her braid.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. She was a great lady.”
“And your brothers?”
“My youngest brother Anthony is taking over the main Pickle deli in Manhattan, as well as the overall franchise. Dad put us up to a competition last year. Anthony won.”
Camryn’s grin is mischievous. “And not you? You weren’t feeling competitive?”
“I was already tied up in these workouts. And no, controlling the franchise was something I felt Anthony would do best. I came in dead last, anyway.”
“The underachiever. Somehow I don’t believe that.”
“It was competitive. We all thought I would skunk my brother Jason, but he came from behind.”
She sips her coffee, and then sets the mug on the counter.
“Well, you did an excellent job on the braid. I assume you wanted my hair out of the way?” She deftly opens a drawer behind her and pulls out a twist tie. She wraps it around the base of the braid and pinches to lock it in tight.
“Now what about this?” Her eyes dropped meaningfully to my crotch.
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I grasp the bottom of her tank top and yank it overhead.
I feast on her mouth, tasting the hazelnut coffee, and a hint of toothpaste she must’ve used before coming out.
I quickly work my way down her body. The sun streams through the kitchen window, and lights her up like she is dawn itself.
Both breasts fit neatly in my palms, and I lift one to capture a nipple in my mouth.
She arches her back and hangs onto the counter. Her braid falls back and dips into the sink.
My mouth works its way down the center between her ribs to her belly button.
Then the shorts have to go, so I slide them down her legs until they pool at her ankles. My tanned hands are dark against her pale body. I lift her by the waist to sit on the counter beside the sink and spread her knees.
She’s open for me, and my mouth starts at her knee and works its way up. When my tongue dips into her folds, she arches again, gripping the edge of the counter.
I pull her knees to my shoulders and take a deep dive, feeling her shudder beneath my hands.
I grip her glorious ass and pull her tightly to me.
Her body moves with me as I work her long and hard, my tongue sliding from one end to the other.
I press my thumb into the soft indention of her ass, testing her out, feeling my way.
She gasps, but shifts toward the pressure, so I delve gently inside.
“I’ve never,” she says, but when I press a touch harder, she sucks in a breath and changes her reply to “Yes.”
I keep it light and easy there while working deeply with my mouth.
This new exciting combination for her sends her over the edge quickly, and soon she’s pulsing against my lips.
One leg kicks straight into the air as she comes on my mouth. “Oh my God, oh my God, Max.”
I hold her tight, stretching it out, keeping her going as long as I can. When she relaxes back against the counter, I lift her back to the floor.
Before she can say anything, I whip her around to face the sink and knock her ankles further apart, my hand wrapping around the long braid until my fist is against her skull.
“Holy shit,” she says, holding on to the counter for d
ear life.
I take that as a good sign, so I slide into the slickness of her, my cock filling her until our bodies are flush against each other.
She sucks in another breath. “Oh my God, Max. Oh my God.”
I used her own slickness on my thumb and press into that tiny hole again, now that it’s so readily in front of me.
Camryn scrambles to clutch something, her mug, then the faucet, and finally finds purchase with one hand on the edge of the sink, and the other grasping the window ledge.
Dawn breaks brighter and more golden as I hold her hip with one hand, working her little pucker with the other. The light tips the peaks of her breasts as they heave forward and back.
The kitchen looks out on a bit of open grass, probably a dog park for the complex. Thankfully, it’s deserted at the moment, because Camryn’s heaving breasts would be front and center of the window otherwise.
A bird flits to the window and tilts its head at us for a moment as if wondering what the hell we’re doing. Then it flies away again.
Camryn laughs. “We scared it off.”
I press my thumb more deeply inside her, and she gasps again. “That is so darkly good.”
She straightens her arms to shove back against me harder, and I pick up the pace. It’s a glorious, excruciatingly pleasurable experience, filling her from behind in this golden kitchen at dawn.
I never want it to end, to keep going on and on until we’re both lost in oblivion and the world envelops us.
But the pressure starts to build. I let go of her hip and reach around to find that warm, well-worked clit again.
She sucks in another breath, losing her grip on the window ledge.
“It’s so much,” she says. “I can’t stop.”
When her body begins another shuddering pulse, I relinquish my control and empty into her. She collapses forward, her head on the counter, her body quivering in my arms. Her voice is raspy as she says, “Max, Max, Max.”
When we have both gone still, I wrap my arms around her. My head fits perfectly between her shoulder blades, and we stay there a moment, locked together against her kitchen counter.
The smell of fresh coffee wafts over us. More birds tweet at each other beyond the window. The world is waking up.