Lustfully Ever After

by Kristina Wright

  His eyes flickered.

  It was okay, she told him. It was what she wanted. And we both, she assured him, have the control we need.

  But he couldn’t. He shook his head, put down the whip.

  She bit her lip to force the tears back, to stave off the disappointment.

  Still, one thing prevailed, and that was her love for him. And in that instant, she thought, instead of herself, of him and the perilous journey he had taken.

  She remembered what it had been like when the tendons in her knee snapped, and she questioned herself and who she was now that she no longer could dance. That was when they had met, and he had brought her back to herself with the snick of cuffs, the smack of a paddle, the denial and the sweet, sweet release.

  Perhaps his voyage had been no different, once the goblin bullet came. The sensation of falling, of being swept away on a current in a paper boat disintegrating beneath you, of falling into cold black water and being eaten alive by something you couldn’t even see or feel.

  And then, the prison walls splitting open, and sharp sudden bright light spilling through the crack. Into the wound. Healing.

  She didn’t know how to be in control from the top; didn’t know how to take charge except from the bottom. The tables were turned, topsy-turvy, like tumbling out of a window.

  But she would be steadfast. For him.

  Not the whip, though. It took more mastery than she had, and she feared truly hurting him. Instead she reached for the paddle. He shook his head again, and she guessed that he expected her to hand it to him, a plea in her eyes. A request he again could not, would not grant.

  His eyes widened, startled, when she snapped his name, putting every bit of strength she had into the command that he prepare himself.

  He froze at attention. Had he not acquiesced, she would never have continued. So she calmed her shaking hands and raised the paddle, and crashed it down on his firm ass once, twice, thrice. Three was a number that held power; surely it would break the spell?

  But still he stood, ramrod stiff (even if his cock was also ramrod stiff, she saw; at least that was a good sign), unable to bow or bend, as if he were afraid that if he did, he’d break.

  Or, as if he feared that if he opened himself to the heat of her, the heat of them, he would melt away to nothing.

  The bloom of red on his cheeks and the purpling of his prick were the first colors she’d seen in him since he’d returned. Could this cut through the grey grief and sallow sorrow?

  Seven was a number that held even more potency. She raised the magic as she raised the paddle, cast the spell as she struck him.

  Now she was trembling, not from fear or insecurity, but from desire and dreams. She was wet, hungry, desperate for him and terrified he would turn away from her again.

  But she had resolved to be steadfast, and so she showed not a tremor, betrayed herself with nary a quiver.

  “At ease, soldier,” she told him. “At ease with me.”

  For the first time since coming home, he looked at her, truly looked at her, his eyes (once shadowed, now the blue of her spangled sash) searching her face.

  “Always,” he said.

  She herself almost broke then, but she held fast to her resolve. The walls may have split, the light might be spilling through, but healing…healing took more effort.

  He needed more.

  The clamps they owned were better suited for a woman, but she managed to affix them to his nipples anyway. When he gasped and shuddered, she squirmed at the slippery throb between her thighs.

  A pink ribbon as an improvised cock ring, wrapped around three times and tied with a bow. A butt plug, and although she suspected he wanted to protest, his body revealed his true desires. An order to lick her until she writhed in ecstasy over him, even if the sensation wasn’t the full release she needed.

  She straddled him once again, sank down onto him, drenching the ribbons tied at the base of him with her juices. They kept him from his own release, and his face showed a mixture of anguish and pleasure.

  His face showed emotion. Her heart leapt and her clit shivered. Could she bring her soldier all the way home?

  She pinned his wrists with her small hands, whispered to him about how he felt inside her and how she was in control. She plucked the clamps from his nipples, and he closed his eyes against the pain.

  When he opened them again, she saw the light spilling, seeping through the prison walls. Breaking free of her grasp, he found one of the clamps she’d discarded and, his gaze never leaving hers, affixed it to her own breast.

  A lightning flash of delicious pain as he tugged on her clamp, the hint of a wicked grin on his face. One she hadn’t seen since it had been lost in the desert sands. She fluttered. So close…

  With trembling fingers she untied the bow, unwound the ribbon. She barked his name—and he cried out hers, half-impassioned, half-commanding.

  That, then, was when the fire rose up and consumed them, but because it was a conflagration of their own making, together they could survive it. From the flames they emerged unscathed, and yet changed.

  The foot locker, unburied, lay a smoking lump of metal in the shape of a heart, melding with the spangle-bright of her own heart, their emotions entwined as did their bodies.

  For the first time since he’d come home, she didn’t want anything.

  For the first time since he’d come home, they both felt whole.

  A SEA CHANGE

  Kristina Wright

  Mara tipped the champagne bottle to her mouth and felt the cold liquid turn to fire in her throat. She nestled the bottle into the damp sand and looked out toward the ocean. There wasn’t much to see. Clouds hung low in the sky, dark ominous things that reached down to the water, obscuring the crescent moon. The only clue that there was an ocean in the inky blackness before her was the steady sound of the waves washing against the beach.

  The wind whipped her hair across her face and peppered her face with damp sand. She shivered and pulled her knees up to her chest, pressing her hands to her hot, tear-stained cheeks.

  It should have been a happy night. A big promotion for Jack, a beautiful new beach house, friends and family gathering to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary. Everyone adored the happy Bennetts. What no one knew, what she wouldn’t let anyone know, was that it was all a sham.

  Jack had been a ladies’ man long before she’d met him. But she had been so head over heels in love, so flattered that he’d even noticed her—her, the mousy, quiet girl who spent her lunch hour in the library—that she’d ignored his proclivities and pretended not to notice. For twenty years Jack had collected pretty, young executive assistants with the same gusto he used to collect fine wine and expensive electronics.

  Mara rocked herself in the sand, releasing two decades of pent-up emotion. Never had she felt more alone than she did at this moment. She should have seen it coming, of course. It was only a matter of time before Jack’s running around caught up with him and she—not Jack—paid the price. His twenty-two-year-old girlfriend was pregnant with his child and he fancied himself in love with her. And tonight, while fifty of their closest friends were on their way to celebrate Jack and Mara’s anniversary, Jack had asked for a divorce. Tonight, of all nights.

  Flinging herself back on the sand, she stared at the storm-clouded sky and imagined how different her life might have been. Her entire existence had been about pleasing others. First her family, then Jack; always compromising, giving in, never feeling like she belonged anywhere and desperately needing to belong. To someone, something. She felt like the biggest fool on the planet.

  A voice in the darkness asked, “Are you all right?”

  She bolted upright, startled that her solitude had been disturbed. The darkness masked the man’s features, but she was sure he wasn’t someone she knew. Even from her vantage point on the ground, she could tell he was tall. He was also half-naked, wearing nothing more than a pair of faded trousers with ragged hems.

>   Her pulse accelerated. Jack was constantly nagging the local police about drifters sleeping on their private beach. She should give in to her flight urge, but some small measure of rebellion made her stay. It would be ironic if the one time she stood up for herself, it got her killed.

  “No, I’m fine. I live here,” she said, mustering an authority she didn’t feel. She didn’t belong in the house up on the hill any more than this man did.

  Rather than walk away, he sat next to her. He smelled of the ocean, a rich, sea-salt smell…and something else. Something decidedly masculine and raw. His hair was as light as his pants—white or blond, she couldn’t be sure in the darkness. He had a handsome face with a strong, aquiline nose, though it was impossible to judge his age as shadows played across his angular features.

  The stranger smiled, white teeth flashing in the darkness. “I’m Dylan.”

  “If you don’t mind—” She stopped mid-sentence as his gaze met hers. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but he stared at her—through her—with such intensity, she couldn’t finish her thought.

  “I heard you crying.”

  The sympathy and concern in his voice angered rather than comforted her. “This is a private beach, you know,” she said, fueled by too much champagne.

  He smiled again. “Do you want me to go?” he asked softly. “I’ll go if you want me to.”

  She wanted to be alone, but suddenly it didn’t seem to matter whether the stranger stayed or left. She’d always felt alone even in a crowded room, even with Jack. Her shoulders slumped as she rested her chin in her hands and looked out toward the sea.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said flatly.

  “Doesn’t it?”

  She refused to acknowledge that he’d spoken. Soon enough, he’d get tired of this game—if that’s what it was—and move on. But he didn’t. Minutes passed as she counted the waves that rolled softly toward her. Occasionally, she could make out the white foamy caps, but mostly she saw only blackness and was reminded of the black hole that was her heart.

  “It hurts,” he said a long time later. “And yet, it doesn’t.”

  Mara looked over and saw that he had mimicked her posture. Legs crossed, chin resting on his laced fingers. She felt curiosity tugging at her but dismissed it. Whoever he was, whatever he was doing on this isolated stretch of beach, it didn’t matter. And yet, his words echoed inside her. It did hurt, losing everything she’d always had, facing the god-awful truth that had gnawed at her for twenty years. And yet there was an acceptance, a quiet understanding that somehow, someway, she was starting anew. If she could find the courage. If she could stop being what everyone else wanted her to be and figure out who she was.

  “It takes time.”

  Mara couldn’t decide if his one-sided dialogue came before or after her own thoughts. She glanced at him. He was studying her face as if he were memorizing every detail. Finally, he paused at her lips, his gaze lingering over her mouth for so long her lips felt warm.

  She knew, although she couldn’t say how she knew, he was going to kiss her. She knew it just as she knew she was going to let him. She waited, holding her breath, almost afraid of what was to come. When he didn’t move, she felt ridiculously disappointed.

  She closed her eyes to absorb her disappointment and then it happened, his mouth was on hers. His lips were damp and cool, firm and strong. He kissed her with the same quiet intensity he had in his stare. Tentative at first, but gradually turning bolder, learning every inch of her mouth in slow, deep kisses.

  After the first touch, she kissed him back, giving as good as she was getting. For long, precious minutes they made love with only their mouths, their bodies close but not quite touching, their hands buried in the sand.

  Finally, Mara pulled away, gasping for much-needed air. She wanted to speak, but no words would come. What she had just done wasn’t like her, but it was impossible to ignore the tiny thrill of excitement that slid up her spine.

  “Kiss me again,” he said, leaning closer so that their shoulders brushed. “Kiss me and stop thinking.”

  She didn’t hesitate. She leaned toward him and pressed her open mouth to his. There was nothing tentative about the way they kissed this time. His hands came up to hold her face as he tasted her mouth. When she finally pulled away so she could catch her breath, he didn’t need to ask again. She came back for more, kissing him, devouring his taste and absorbing his touch.

  His skin felt damp. Not clammy exactly, but moist. As if he’d just gotten out of the shower and hadn’t had a chance to towel himself off yet. She ran her fingertips over his muscular shoulders and a soft, guttural moan slipped from his lips at her gentle caress. He mirrored her actions, using his hands to smooth the thin silk straps of her dress over her shoulders. She shivered, wanting to both pull him closer and push him away at the same time.

  “I—I shouldn’t do this,” she murmured even while her fingers discovered the soft mat of hair on his chest.

  “Don’t tell me what you should do,” he said, his voice as ethereal as the sound of the ocean. “Tell me what you want to do.”

  I want to throw you back on the sand and fuck you senseless, she thought and was startled to see him smile.

  “Then do it,” he answered, though the words had never passed her lips.

  “How—” she gasped, but then he was pulling her onto his lap and smothering her mouth with his.

  She felt like she was drowning, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. His erection pressed insistently against her bottom and she wiggled, wanting him. She’d never been with another man besides Jack, but suddenly, impossibly, she wanted this man. Now.

  “Sit still, sweet Mara,” he gasped as she rotated her ass on him. “There is time.”

  Arousal surged within her at his words. They had time. Time. She melted against him, feeling as if every breath she took came from him. She kissed her way across his strong jaw line, his skin as cool and smooth as a bit of sea glass. She continued her exploration down his neck, pausing to nibble the strong, steady pulse that thrummed there.

  He spread his legs and she snuggled against him, running her tongue across his collar bone, down to a pebbled nipple. He groaned when she sucked the tender flesh into her mouth. Her own arousal built as she alternated between his nipples, licking and sucking them. He tangled his hands in her long hair and moaned her name.

  A sense of urgency was growing between them as she slid down a bit further and swirled her tongue against his muscular belly. He released her hair and lay back in the sand, his magnificent form stretched out before her like the finest of banquets. She stared at the shaft straining against his thin cotton pants. Even clothed he looked enormous. Her breath caught in her throat as she thought about what she wanted.

  “Whatever you want, take it,” he murmured. Unlike before, she wasn’t startled that he could read her mind now. It felt right.

  She reached for his zipper with a trembling hand. Only, there were buttons instead of a zipper. She fumbled with them until he helped her. Together, they made quick work of the obstacles in her way. The gap in his pants widened as each button was released until she felt hard flesh brush against her skin. She freed his cock, gently, reverently, mesmerized by the column of flesh that rose from a tangle of blond hair at his groin.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, not even aware she’d spoken until the words echoed in her ears.

  He moaned softly in response. A wave of tenderness so pure it brought tears to her eyes washed over her. She caressed him gently, feeling his flesh pulse and twitch against her. His penis was beautiful, long and thick, the head large and dark like a ripe plum. Unable to wait a moment longer, she ran her tongue over the spongy tip. It was the softest, smoothest thing she’d ever felt in her life. And she wanted more. So much more.

  “Oh, Mara,” he gasped. When she looked up at him, she saw his head thrown back, the muscles of his neck flexed. “Please, love, take me in your mouth. I need you.”r />
  His pleas inflamed her. Mara lowered her head once more and sucked him between her lips. He fit so perfectly, cradled on the hollow of her tongue. Some primal, basic part of her soul knew she had tasted him this way before. She used her tongue to wet his cock until it glided smoothly in and out of her mouth. Once more she felt his hands in her hair, not pushing, never forcing, simply holding her, stroking her.

  Mara concentrated on the feel of him between her lips. She stroked and sucked him, worshiping him, kneeling between his legs and coaxing long, low moans from him. All rational thought vanished, all worries and concerns fled her mind. There was only her and this man and the hard flesh in her mouth.

  She could feel the need building in him as if she were the one being pleasured. Every muscle in his body drew taut, and he almost hummed with the intensity of his desire. She knew what was to come, and she felt herself grow hot and moist at the thought.

  He gasped as he flooded her mouth, and she welcomed the salty taste of his arousal. She rubbed her pussy against his leg, painting his hair-roughened thigh with her wetness as she gently sucked his softening cock. Finally, when she had taken all he could give, she released him. She had devoured him—not just his semen, but his very essence—and it made her feel strong.

  He pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest as his breathing returned to normal. His hands stroked her body, pausing occasionally to caress the mole on her bare shoulder or stroke her hardened nipples through the silk of her dress until she moaned. With gentle hands he stripped her, sliding her dress over her head, unclasping her bra and releasing her breasts, skimming her moist panties down her legs.

  When she was naked, he cupped her breasts in his big hands before trailing his fingers down her ribs and over her stomach. His fingers slipped lower to her mound and squeezed her pussy in the palm of his hand until she gasped and pressed against him.

  She nuzzled his neck, nipping at corded muscle. She felt the steady beat of his pulse against her lips and heard the matching rhythm of the waves against the beach. Her hand trailed low over his flat belly to fondle his still-damp cock. Much to her delight, he began to swell beneath her touch.