by Allie Gail
“Aagghh! Oh sick, that feels gross! It’s all goopy!”
Tossing aside the now-empty bowl, I flip her gently off me and pin her to the floor on her back. The belt around her robe has loosened, and from the quick glimpse I catch it is clear she is wearing nothing underneath. “Girl, I hate to tell you this but you are a mess.”
“Well…you…you look like the Pillsbury Doughboy!” Her eyes are sparkling with mirth. “You smell good, though.”
“Good enough to eat?”
“Maybe. Lemme check.” Raising her head a bit, she licks the side of my face. “Mm. Blueberry-ey.”
“Yeah? And what flavor are you?” I figure shoving my tongue down her throat is the best way to find out, so that’s what I do. She responds instantly, kissing me back with equal enthusiasm, and when she folds one leg around me I know without a doubt we’re about to get busy right there on the kitchen floor.
Fumbling with my zipper, I ask no questions and waste no time sliding my unsheathed cock inside her. It’s not a smart thing to do. I know better than to have unprotected sex. I know good and goddamn well how stupid it is. But my God, her warm little pussy is already so delightfully wet. I fucking love that. I love how hot she is for me. For me. If anyone had suggested a few days ago that I’d be rolling around on the floor with my dick buried in Melanie Lane, I’d have told them they should lay off the drugs and check into a treatment facility.
I manage to bring myself back down to earth long enough to ask, “Are you using any kind of birth control or do I need to pull out?”
“I’m covered,” she pants, lifting her hips to meet my thrusts. “What about you? Are you safe?”
“I’m clean. You’re safe with me, babydoll.” Inwardly I’m rejoicing the fact that I don’t have to stop what I’m doing. This feels beyond incredible. “You’re…safe…with me,” I chant, every muscle tensing in an effort to stop myself from coming too soon.
The soft whisper of her moan is all it takes. I explode inside her fast and hard, before she has a chance to reach orgasm herself, but in my defense I could not for the life of me hold back. There was no way. I’ll have to make it up to her later. I have no problem with that at all.
I roll on my back and pull her on top of me so she’ll be a little more comfortable. The tile floor is hard. “Shit. Sorry about that.”
“About what?”
“The bottle rocket sex.” Jesus, how embarrassing. I’ve never blown a load so fast in my life. “I’ve never done this without a condom before. That was…” What was it like? Like a supernova in my balls exploded out the end of my cock, but maybe that’s not the most appropriate thing to say right now. “There are no words.”
She raises her eyebrows in disbelief. “You’re kidding. You haven’t, really? Never?”
“No. Believe it or not, I’m usually more responsible than this.” Somehow that comment seems ironic coming from a guy who just got done rolling around in a puddle of pancake batter. Her expression is one of skepticism, but before I can think of something to say I’m distracted by a faint whiff of smoke. “Do you smell something burning?”
She looks down at me blankly for a moment. “Oh, crap! I left the stove on!” Scrambling to her feet, she pulls her robe shut and hastily moves the frying pan aside before turning off the eye. “Whoops. We’re gonna burn the house down if we’re not careful.”
That’s the understatement of the year.
A torrent of heavy rain suddenly pelts the house and she tilts her head to listen. “Or maybe not. Wow, it’s really pouring out there.”
Fastening my jeans, I stand and almost lose my balance when one foot slides across the messy floor. “I better go check the weather report. How about I do that real quick and then we can hop in the shower and get cleaned up.”
“We?” Her back is to me as she runs water over the smoking frying pan, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Yes, we. I’m not done with you yet.” Resting a hand on the small of her back, I kiss her cheek before kicking my batter-covered shoes off and heading into the living room. “I owe you an orgasm.”
I chuckle to myself when she calls back, “Just so you know, I charge obscene interest rates. So you better hurry or you’ll be up to two.”
My heart is light as I switch on the TV and turn it to the weather channel. A meteorologist in a shirt and tie is standing in front of a map, pointing to a forecast cone as he talks. Uh-oh. The forecast track looks noticeably different than it did yesterday.
The scene cuts to a perfectly-coifed woman sitting at a desk. “Thank you, Bob. We know that you’ve been tracking Elliott all week, and for those who are just tuning in, I understand you have some new information to share from the National Hurricane Center?”
The camera switches back to the meteorologist. “That’s right, Emma. While we have seen a slow rise in barometric pressure, Elliott is holding steady right now at nine hundred and sixty-eight millibars, and the center of the storm has drifted much farther east than originally anticipated. If you’ll look on the map here, you can see the hurricane warnings for the areas shaded in red. We expect landfall within the next fourteen to sixteen hours near Fort Walton Beach. For the folks in this area, you are already beginning to experience rain squalls and increasing wind gusts as the first bands are just starting to move in, and unfortunately conditions will only deteriorate from here on out as Elliott makes its way onshore. Now keep in mind that while we don’t expect this storm to strengthen, it is still currently a strong category two with wind gusts as high as one hundred and five miles per hour.”
Weatherman Bob points again to the map. “You can see the hurricane force winds outlined here in orange, extending outward in a forty-five mile radius from the center. This yellow shade represents the tropical storm force winds which extend outward one hundred and twenty miles, so the good news is this is a relatively small hurricane in terms of size. For those near the coast, we’re looking at a storm surge of six to eight feet–”
“What’s the latest?”
I turn to see Melanie standing behind me with a dishtowel in her hand. “You want the good news first? Or the bad?”
“Give me the good news.”
“Elliott hasn’t strengthened.”
“Oh. Okay, that is good. So what’s the bad?”
“It appears to have changed course.”
Her brow furrows as she turns her attention to the TV screen. “What does this mean for us?”
“It means we’re now in the direct path.”
“Oh. Well, there ya go. I should’ve stopped while I was ahead.” She listens to the meteorologist talk for a little while, then asks, “When is it supposed to make landfall?”
“Late tonight or early in the morning.”
“But we’re safe here, right?”
“Perfectly safe,” I assure her. “The former owners said this house withstood Opal and Ivan without so much as a scratch, and those were both way more powerful storms. Plus I’ve added the roof ties and storm shutters since then.” That was more for insurance purposes than anything, but now I’m sure glad I had it done. “I think the worst we’ll have to worry about is being without power.”
“Do you think that will happen soon?”
“I have no way of knowing. But we should probably take a nice hot shower while we still can.”
I’m caught off guard by the unexpected blare of Seether’s Remedy coming from Melanie’s cell phone on the coffee table. Seether, hm? Interesting choice for a ringtone. Not at all the type of music I would have pictured her listening to.
She walks over and picks it up, glancing at the display before answering. “Hi, Daddy. How are you?”
Figuring I should give her some privacy, I go into the laundry room and strip down so I can put my clothes in the washing machine. Then I wander down the hallway to my bathroom and gather up a few more items to make a full load. By the time I get the laundry going and return to the living room, she’s wrapping up her conversation.
Untying her robe, I slide it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
“Come with me,” I tell her. “I’ll show you what else I can do.”
~ Chapter Fifteen ~
“How long have you been growing your hair out? I’m jealous, it’s even longer than mine. It looks so healthy, too.”
The warm water from the shower beats down on my back as I work the shampoo into a soapy lather. Shane has already given my hair a thorough washing, and I’m trying to return the favor although he’s a good eight inches taller than me. I finally order him down on his knees so I can reach him better. He seems to enjoy it, seeing how he’s pretty much eye level with the twins now.
“Mm…I dunno. A year or two, I guess.” Sliding his arms around me, he squeezes my backside before tracing a wet nipple with his tongue.
“You’re gonna get shampoo in your mouth,” I warn him. My voice is less steady than it was a second ago. Oh my, that feels wonderful…
“Rather have something else in my mouth,” he mumbles into my cleavage.
“What was that?”
“You heard me.” To drive home his point, he demonstrates exactly what it is he was referring to. My fingers tense against his scalp and I bite my lip as his mouth sucks hungrily on my breast. “Mm. I could eat you up.”
“Well, don’t do that. Cannibalism isn’t a very attractive quality in a man.” What the hell – did I actually just refer to him as a cannibal? What kind of weirdo thing was that to say? God, I am such a dork.
Okay, now wait a minute here. Why should I care if he thinks I’m a dork?
I’m startled out of my reverie by a playful smack on the ass. “You about done yet?”
“Oh…yeah. All clean. Stand up and rinse.” As he obediently rises, I switch places with him so he can stand underneath the spray. The shampoo runs out of his hair, trickling down his body in soapy trails before disappearing down the drain. I can’t take my eyes off him. He is the essence of masculinity, all lean muscle and hard lines and the sexiest little dimples embedded in those tight butt cheeks. He sure has filled out since high school. I wonder if he works out.
“Do you work out?”
Oh good grief, I’m doing it again. Why did I say that out loud? It sounds so lame and phony, like some simpering pickup line you’d hear in a bar. I highly doubt his inflated ego needs any more stroking.
“Not since my college days.” He rubs the water out of his eyes and grins at me. “Why? Do I look like I work out?”
“I was just asking,” I reply defensively. “Do you want some conditioner?”
“Nope. That’s not what I want.”
He pulls me against his chest and gives me a wet kiss while slowly rotating our positions. The warm water beats against my back in a soothing massage. “What I want is for you to turn around,” he tells me. Once I do, he nudges the underside of my right thigh. “Put this foot up on the edge of the tub.”
I prop it on the side, not really concerned about slipping because his strong arms are around me, holding me steady. One hand relinquishes my waist, sliding over the curve of my ass to find the slit between my legs. The water has washed away all my natural lubrication, but two long fingers push their way inside me to find a brand new slickness there. What is it about his touch that gets me instantly wet? Maybe it’s that his hands are just so…manly. I love the way they feel, unfamiliar and yet familiar, larger and rougher than mine though still gentle.
“Lean back against me. Spread your legs apart a little more, babydoll,” he murmurs from behind me. “It’s okay. I got you.”
I recline my head against his chest. He’s working his fingers in and out, slowly and methodically, and in my current position the spray from the showerhead is thrumming directly against my clit.
So this was what he had in mind. Oh, I see...wow…
“You like that?” he whispers.
“Mmm…yes…” I groan, moving against his hand. I can feel the prickle of a climax building up already. Holy cow, this is intense…
“I love how wet you get for me. You have no idea how sexy that is. How much it turns me on.”
I clutch his arm, the one wrapped around my waist, and close my eyes blissfully. I’m standing on the threshold of nirvana here. I’ve never been this open with my sexuality, not with anyone. To be honest, I’m normally a do-it-under-the-covers-in-the-dark kind of girl. It’s strange, but somehow I feel comfortable enough with him not to be self-conscious. Why is that? Is it because we’ve known each other since we were kids?
“You love it when I fuck you with my fingers, don’t you?”
My only response is a whimper. If I could muster the strength to speak, I’d tell him he isn’t wrong.
“Oh, yes. You do.” His hand continues its unrelenting tempo. “This tells me all I need to know.”
I feel the silken head of his cock brush against my backside, and I shudder in ecstasy. This is such a fleeting dream. It will all end way too soon. He won’t be here for long, I’m fully aware of that, but for now…
For now…
He is all mine.
So I will relax and push everything else out of my mind, and for the time being simply live for the moment.
His lips are hot against my cheek. “You have the sweetest little pussy. So sweet…I always knew it would be like this, just like Tupelo honey…”
“I…mmm…ohh…”
“That’s it. Come for me, baby. Let me feel it.” He works his way deeper inside me, and I succumb to the tidal wave of wild pleasure that crashes and pulses through my body. My throat makes some kind of strangled sound as I clench his arm in a taut grip. “That’s it…yes, baby, that’s it…oh, fuck yes, I love it when you come…it’s so damn beautiful…” His fingers press against the dewy walls inside as I constrict around him, and I have no doubt he can feel every throbbing vibration of my powerful orgasm.
Now I know why the French refer to it as ‘the little death’.
It is an apt description, considering I feel as if I’ve died and flown straight to heaven.
Slipping his hand from between my thighs, Shane turns me around to face him. His ebony eyes are shining. “You are so beautiful,” he says, so quietly I can barely hear him over the running water, and he pulls me into his arms, crushing my breasts against his hard chest. His erection is like a steel shaft between us.
I’ve never considered myself beautiful. Average, at best. How bizarre to think that the boy who used to go out of his way to tap my insecurities has become the only man who ever made me feel truly desirable.
He reaches behind me to turn off the water, then slides open the foggy shower door. We step out and I grab a couple of towels, silently passing him one. He uses it to rub his hair dry while I sneak furtive looks at his upright member. There is something about a penis that’s just so fascinating. That must be how men feel about tits. It’s hardwired into our chromosomes, I suppose. All I know is, every time I see that part of him, I automatically want to touch it.
So naturally that’s what I do. Only, a mere touch is not nearly enough exploration for me. I lean forward to wrap my lips around it as well as my hand. Mm, he tastes so good, like pure clean maleness with faint traces of soap.
He drops his towel on the tile floor. “Shit…Melanie…”
I try deep-throating him to see how he likes that.
He likes it. A lot.
Clutching my head between his hands, he groans a sigh while guiding me into a slow rhythm. “Oh, fuck…baby, you’re killing me…I swear t
o God, you’re killing me...”
It’s hard to smile with your mouth full, but I manage. My tongue glides along his shaft, and he practically yelps.
“Stop…stop…” Abruptly he pulls out, his breath coming in heavy pants, and I straighten to give him a perplexed look. I’ve only done this a couple of times before, but surely I’m not that bad at it. Did I hurt him? Is he hyperventilating or something? Maybe I scraped him with my teeth.
Before I have a chance to ask what’s wrong, he’s dragging me into the bedroom by one arm and bending me over the side of the bed. I feel the weight of his body over my back, his rigid length nestled between my ass cheeks as he pushes a lock of wet hair aside to trace the contours of my ear with his tongue.
“Not like that. I want to come inside you,” he whispers.
My stomach flutters with excitement, quickly escalating when he grabs my wrists and holds my arms still. His stiff cock needs no help finding my entrance, and as he pushes his way into the heat between my folds I am overcome with a delightful sensation of fullness. I press my face against the bedcovers to stifle the sounds of my ecstasy.
“See…isn’t this better?” His grip tightens around my wrists as he slowly begins gyrating his hips in long, even thrusts.
“Yes, God…you feel so good…”
“My name isn’t God. You know what it is. Now let’s hear you say it.”
I mumble his name into the covers as he picks up the pace. Oh, yes…
“I didn’t hear you, Melanie. What was that?”
I turn my head to one side and spit some loose hair out of my face. “Shane.”
“Nuh-uh. Still not clear enough. Say it again.”
What the hell’s with him? “Shane…”
“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.” He lets go of my wrists, apparently deciding he can get better leverage by grasping my hips instead. His thrusts are coming harder and faster, and they have a frantic desperation to them. I can tell he’s close. “I love hearing you say my name. Nobody else says it the way you do.”