What I really wanted to do was fuck her silly, but I had to go slow. Needed to reign myself in. I’d not known how unimaginably hard I would be after five weeks of abstinence, and it was true—that abstinence made the dick grow fonder. Or something like that.
My cock was begging to have exercise. I’d been packed as a fucking boulder, solidified with so much cum I wondered if it were possible to get more of those little swimmers inside her uterus. “Tell me, Liz. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“Fuck,” she breathed.
Lifting my head, I gazed up at her, letting myself get lost for a spell inside those emerald green eyes of hers, the red hair splayed over her breasts. I crawled up to her head and kissed her hard on the mouth, our tongues dancing like long lost strangers. We’d not refrained from kissing for five weeks, but it was nothing like this.
Wild.
Insatiable.
Sucking all the breath out of our lungs.
She tasted so fucking wonderful. Like bushels of forbidden fruit. I kissed her eyes. Her nose. And then her mouth over and over again. The kiss deepened into something more. More than either of us could even put a label on, and when neither of us could take it anymore, she was the first to pull back, catching my bottom lip between her teeth.
“I love you, Liz,” I breathed.
“Mmmm. I… Oh!” My hands probed inside her folds again and she nearly jumped off the bed when I dragged my fingers along her clit.
“Oh god. Damon…”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I need you inside me.”
“Soon,” I replied evenly. I took one of her nipples into my mouth while rolling the other between thumb and forefinger.
“Fuck it, Damon!”
I froze. “What?”
“Don’t make a pregnant woman beg. I don’t want to come this way. I want to come with you inside me. Fuck me. Fuck me now!”
“You got it, baby.” I drew myself up as she did the same. There was a soft tufted chair over in the corner of the bedroom. After first positioning the mirror to the side of it so we could watch my cock drill in and out, I took her in my lap, face to face. As she lowered herself me, I buried myself deep. She bounced up and down on me. Sliding that slick pussy over my shaft. Milking. Sending me into orgasm. A woman in the heat of arousal I couldn’t deny. Nor stop. Our bodies crashed together in a frenzy of sexual heat we couldn’t control.
“Oh, yeah. Yeah. That’s good, baby. Just like that.”
She threw her shoulders back, while I held her belly up between us.
We watched the reflection of my cock piston in and out. Holding her hips firmly so she wouldn’t fall, two huge globes jiggled above my lap. Fuck! I should have used mirrors earlier. This was better than porno on YouTube.
Almost immediately, her moans filled the room, as my own climax shot fresh blood into my cock. My dick swelled and my balls pulled tight as a fucking vice. I struggled to hold it off. “Come for me, baby. Come on my cock.”
“Oh god. Oh my fucking god, babe! Oh!” Her screams were glass shattering, her body bouncing so fast she literally siphoned every drop out of my dick. Filling her sweet precious pussy with hot slick cum. Draining it all out of me.
When I was sure she’d climaxed, I realized she hadn’t stop throbbing. Hadn’t stopped her head swiveling on its base. She explained she was still coming down from the orgasm, even after I’d filled her. A long fucking coming, she’d said.
“Fuck, baby! That sounded pretty good.”
“Oh god. I’m still… Oh wow. If I knew sex was this fantastic when you’re pregnant, I would have given it a try ages ago.”
I gave her a shrewd look. I knew her past. The failed relationships. The assholes who would not have stuck around, even if there was a kid, even though her smile lit up the room. And my heart. My jaw went rigid. For a moment, I wanted to beat the shit out of every one of them.
“Okay, maybe not getting pregnant before now was a blessing,” Liz said. “But I have to admit, the sex is over the top with all those extra hormones. It’s like being on drugs. “Her hand trailed along my cheek. “That is, when I actually get to sleep with you.”
My heart seized. I’d been working like a mad man, reinventing the Club, attending board meetings, working on the nursery for the kids, and managing the cash for Liz’s booming art business. As usual, the Club took most of my time, but that’s how it had always been, only this time I’d hired on more help. “I can cut back a bit,” I explained. “At least now I know I won’t hurt you when I touch you.”
“Are you saying that’s why you work so much. You’re afraid?”
“Somewhat,” I admitted.
She sat up beside me, placed a warm palm to my cheek. “Damon, nothing you could ever do would hurt me. You know that.”
“But the babies… And we just…”
“They’re fine. Snug as three bugs in a rug.”
I rubbed a hand along her stomach, and then kissed her on the navel. “Pretty big bugs I’d say.”
“I hope not,” she said with a note of worry in her voice. “I’ve never had triplets before.”
“Neither have I.”
She laughed.
“You’ll do fine. But I’ll try not to tap their heads with my dick too often.”
“Now, that will be tough,” she said, giggling.
I must have looked panicked, because in the next breath she added, “I’m kidding. I just hope you still want me when I’m even bigger than I am now. I have three more months to go.”
I wrapped my arms around her and whispered in her hair, “Baby, I will always want you. No matter who is pushing their little bodies between us.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Even when I’m old and ugly?”
I smiled. “Do you remember that day you fell into the pool in your evening gown?”
“How could I forget?”
“That’s when I first realized how much I loved you.”
“You’re lieing. I looked like a drowned rat with my mascara running down my face.”
“Yeah, but you were a pretty sexy drowned rat.”
We both laughed until our sides hurt. Then she curled up on her side. I adjusted the pillows for her and spooned her, feeling myself grow hard all over again.
Snug as four bugs in a rug.
The End
Thank you for reading Splash by Kristen Kelly. It would mean so much to me if you would write a review on Amazon. Click Here.
To thank you, I’ve included another book right after this message.
Hot Spices
By Kristen Kelly
Chapter 1
Las Vegas, Nevada
Hunched over on his bar stool, Turner J. Howe of Land Lover Brothers Associates stared at the bartender with one closed eye, his collar unbuttoned, silk tie loose around his neck. It wasn’t like him to drink so much but for some goddammed reason he thought he needed to relax. Jack Daniels seemed the right recipe for just that.
Squinting, he stared straight ahead, trying to focus on the bartender but he kept moving up and down. Or was he was the one moving? He couldn’t tell. He blinked and then rubbed his eyes viciously. “There are sacrifices a man has to make to be successful in this world,” he muttered trying not to slur his words. He raised his glass. “Work long hours, travel around the country and in my case, wine and dine the right people.”
“You mean women,” the bartender corrected as he poured another drink. A lecherous grin quirked his chapped lips.
Turner nodded. “Right you are, my good man. It’s a tough job but somebody has to do it.” He took a sip of his Jack Daniel’s, feeling the burn slide along his throat. With a thumb, he traced the wood grain of the bar. Oak. Definitely oak. Not as good as mahogany but certainly better than butternut. Butternut was so soft, if you breathed on it the wrong way, one might as well have put down fly paper.
“Why not the men?”
“What’s that?” Turner asked,
looking up.
“Don’t a lot of men hold the purse strings? Aren’t they flipping the bill for these remodels?”
“Only figuratively speaking,” Turner held up his glass, studying the copper liquid. “It’s the women I have to make happy. If I can keep her content through the whole ripping-out-her-house-process…keep her excitement going…you know… about the house designs…and control her anxiety, just a bit….” He pinched two fingers together. “Then the husband is overjoyed. It’s all about keeping the wife relaxed.” He let that last word stretch out.
“I’m guessing you have some sort of…” A sound of derision sputtered from the older man’s lips. “—exercise for that relaxation?”
Turner laughed. “I have a talent for making women ….excited. About the renovations…of course.”
“Of course.” The bartender chuckled and wiped a rag across the bar.
“Hey, laugh all you want but I tell you it works. I’ve never lost a female client yet. Married or not. Well, fortunately, most of them are married so they’re not looking for anything more from me.”
“Fortunately.”
Was there an echo around here. he swiveled his head around when a redhead came in the door. She made her way across the parquet floor. He smiled with appreciation and gave a low whistle. He couldn’t help himself and the tie wasn’t the only thing loose on his head. Who could blame him though? Six inch heels and a skirt that practically hit the woman’s pubic bone left nothing to the imagination.
After several minutes of oogling her long shapely legs, he turned back toward the bar. Eyes bleary, he found himself talking to his drink. "Bar Keep," he shouted. "Another. I’ll have another." He pounded the empty glass on the bar. Lately, the act of talking about his life made him ill. Why would today be any different? Perhaps that was why he was drinking. Trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his gut, the sense that he was nothing without Land Lover Brothers, had become a full time hobby for Turner. But why? He had everything. Money. Women, if he wanted them. A hit television show. What else was there to life?
The bartender, who had moved several feet to the left, gave Turner a half nod, apparently deep in conversation with a man twice his junior.
"Hey." Turner shouted again. He wouldn’t stand for being ignored. "I said I need a drink!"
"I heard ya the first time," said the bartender, but he didn't move. Turner frowned and rubbed his chin the stubble chafing his soft hands. Those portable razors sucked big time compared to his electric. Unfortunately, he’d left his Braun back in New York. He took another drink and then jolted as something bobbed against his teeth. He stared into the bottom of his glass. Was that a cherry in his whiskey? He hated cherries and expressly forbid the bartender to add any. Not that cherries normally accompanied whiskey. Apparently, the bartender had a sense of humor. He snickered and then snipped out the cherry with a toothpick. He left it on a napkin.
He searched his data banks, trying to remember the last time he got this drunk. Oh yes, the day they pulled his sister-in-law and nephew out of the Hudson. The sister-in-law he could not have cared less…but the kid…well, the kid was innocent. There was that hollow feeling again, only this time it was carved in stone. A weight around his neck. Sam should never have hooked up with her. If he’d only listened.
He looked into the large mirror behind the bar. It captured his reflection; cut the edges of his face into sharp angry shards, like lasers cast on metal. “I look like shit,” he muttered to no one in particular.
The bartender took the tumbler from Turner's hands. "That’s it. You’re shut you off, mate."
He scowled at the man. "You do that, and you can kiss these babies good bye." He waved a hundred dollar bill under the man's nose. The third one in the last fifteen minutes. Sliding forward, his elbows glanced the waxed wood surface. He slipped the crisp new bill inside the bartender’s shirt pocket. "A tip," he muttered. The older man grinned and opened another bottle of whiskey.
"Just keep em coming." He really should stop himself. Liquor never got a man anywhere but he was so damn frustrated, the liquor numbed his brain. He wished it would ease the throbbing in his temple but a man couldn’t have everything, could he? Well, he sure as hell tried.
Fuck! His head felt like it could burst from his skull. What on earth made him think he could pick up two women in the same location just a few days apart and not have them run into one another? At first, he was thrilled to find out they were sisters. Didn't sisters share everything? Apparently not these two, unless you considered his head on a spike. Now he remembered why he chose this place. A person had to be of a specific clientele to get into the Bellagio. There wasn’t a chance those two chicks would make it past the bouncer. Not that they weren't pretty enough, but he doubted either of them had daddy’s money. They were more the girl next-door types. High on looks but low on cash.
He placed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, wincing, and then glanced once more around the high priced Vegas bar that was becoming the most annoying place on earth. The place was packed and it looked as if it were made of gold for Christ's sake. Everything glowed, from the gold chairs, dinner napkins and light fixtures to the dropped circular canopy made of mirrors shining down on three shelves in the middle of the bar. Iridescent lights glittered behind top shelf liquor bottles.
The bartender refilled his empty glass. "More? As in what, exactly?" he surprised Turner by asking.
Turner swiveled around on his bar stool, not quite recalling what he'd been blathering on about for the last three hours. Perhaps it had only been two but who could remember, what with finding, his rental car keyed and all four tires slashed after he broke up with Nora the night before. He should have known better than to tangle with a woman who went on and on about soul mates and commitment like it was some sort of religion or goddammed cult. Of course, the tangling was not something he regretted. Her skin had been soft as rose petals, her smell just as sweet, and the things she did to his—He sighed dreamily, adjusting the half aroused erection in his fine-tailored trousers. Maybe her name wasn’t Nora. Maybe it was Cora or Flora. Maybe too, he was a cold-hearted bastard after all. Dating three women in one week was certainly asking for trouble.
He held up the bottle, squinting. There was only an inch of the cool copper liquid.
"You were saying," Turner mumbled.
"I asked you a question."
"Oh. I can’t remember anything with this much whiskey in my veins.”
"You told me you have this rule about the women you date."
"I did?"
"Yeah. You allow them three dates but the last one you dated for three weeks because you wanted more. So my question is, more of what?" An evil glint reached the publican's eyes. "I'll be damned if I know what any woman can do in three weeks that she can't do in three days."
"It wasn't about sex, if that's what you're thinking."
"Son, it's always about sex."
"Not this time."
"Then enlighten me. What was the more that you wanted from this woman or any women if that’s what you meant?"
"Damned if I know." He didn't know what he wanted, not at first, and Nora definitely wasn't the one but he'd dated her a bit longer to see how it played out. For research, so to speak. It had been a mistake. A big one.
"I guess when I saw how it was with my brother, Sam, something inside me just clicked, know what I mean?"
The bartender frowned and scratched his head. "Not really. No."
"We're twins," Turner explained as if that was all the explanation needed.
"And?"
"And he went and got married on me."
"I see. So you want to get married?"
"No." He contemplated the half bottle of whiskey on the bar and wondered how much more it would take to get him so stinking drunk he wouldn’t remember his name. The responsibility was killing him. He wanted out from being his brother's keeper. A role he'd not asked for in the first place but Sam was all he had in this world. No parents. N
o relations. Not even a dog. It was why he'd taken this trip to Vegas. To get away from it all. That…and for business..
"Nah. I'm not marriage material. But it did make me think. At first, Jane was wonderful for Sam. In the beginning he was so…happy, you know. I wondered what it must be like being with…her. It made me think long and hard."
“What!” The bartender clutched Turner's arm, his sausage-like fingers digging into his skin. "You want your brother's wife? Man, that's low. Really low, son. Don't do it. You'll regret it. You'll regret it every day of your life."
Turner pinned him with a dark look. "Not her, you moron! The thought of being with one woman for any length of time. That’s what I’m talking about. You know, the whole happily ever after thing. Minus the wedding vows that is."
Turner's brows rose as he looked up from the hand on his arm, scowling.
"Oh, sorry,” said the bartender. He patted his arm gently before releasing his vise-like grip.
"So you and your twin are close."
"Yeah."
"And he made you think, made you want to reevaluate your life somehow."
"Is that what I'm doing?"
"I think so. Yes."
Turner knew it was more complicated than that. He took a gulp of whiskey.
"And you saw how happy your brother was. That's the more you wanted."
"At first, yeah.”
“And is he still happy?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Why not?”
“Long story but in a nutshell, that bitch was crazy, man. And not just a little self centered. The woman could not even function on her own unless Sam was with her twenty-four seven. At first, she blamed it on post-partum depression.”
“They had a kid?”
“Yeah. The doctors placed her on antidepressants but then other things began happening. Mysterious phone calls. An irrational outburst over Sam talking to a female client. Not to mention, the race across town that sent her brand new Cadillac into the Hudson.”
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