by Rhona Davis
As my hand confidently services his thick cock, I can see the obvious strain in his face. The tendons of his neck strain as he grits her teeth to stop from exploding. I bet I could have this boy coming in seconds—and I would do too, if I wasn’t starving for some attention of my own.
My strokes on his shaft are confident and rhythmic. I know what I want, and knowing I’m so close to being taken so viciously by this beast of specimen, after resisting him for a night and a day, sends my stomach into free-fall. I can already feel my slick folds moisten at just the idea.
I love turning him on. I love seeing the tremble in his body, the manly set of his jaw, the red blotch across his cheeks as he tries to fight with his urges . . .
“Take it off,” he orders, nodding to my shirt.
I’m wearing an old football shirt. It’s my fav one to sleep in—baggy, yet practical.
Mirroring him, I quickly move to my knees and clasp at the hem of the shirt. In one smooth motion, I bring it past my rib cage and clean over my head.
I almost laugh when I see the expression on his face—mouth wide open, eyes almost out of their sockets.
Like he is, I’m now fully naked. My nipples are hard with anticipation, my black feathered hair is swept across my face, and a thin strip of well-groomed pubic hair snakes up the slit of my sex. I feel so good about myself—so empowered and sexy thanks to the way his gaze devours me. I haven’t felt this way in a long time, maybe ever.
He dives for me and starts to suck at the bud of each nipple. His tongue swirls over the flesh of each breast. He’s fair, too, giving each one the attention they crave.
I moan but try and hold in my passion. Knowing that my family are sleeping in the same house makes me feel extremely self-conscious. It’s a real fight—I want to play the bad girl, give myself fully to this moment, but my old fashioned self is scared they might hear us.
“God, you taste wonderful,” he says, as he gently tugs at my nipples with his teeth.
I bite on my lower lip to stop from moaning louder.
He lifts his head from my breasts and studies my face with his sea-foam green eyes. “What’s wrong? Let it go, girl.”
I grab his ruffled short hair. “The family, they’ll hear—”
“They’re sleeping on the other side of the house,” he cuts in. “Trust me, baby, they won’t hear a thing.”
“I’m just—”
He throws me his trademark smile.
“What?” I say.
“Wanna play a game?”
Excitedly, I nod.
He places a palm on the small of my back and pulls me in. “You try to keep quiet, and I’ll try to make you scream. If I win, you suck on this cock until I come in your mouth.”
Not a bad fucking punishment.
I raise a brow. “And if I win?”
“Then I’ll suck every juice of your pussy clean. I won’t stop until I make you come five times.”
I giggle. “Pretty sure of yourself, ain’t ya?”
He shrugs. “I have a lot of energy to burn.”
We pause for a beat, eyes locking with scorching intent.
“Why don’t we give each other an advanced preview?” I dare him.
“You’re on!”
He pushes me down to the bed and hooks his arms under both legs. Diving down, he kisses my inner thigh and quickly works toward my hungry sex. I turn my head sideways, biting down on my upper arm as I wait for his magic to cast its wicked spell.
I grab the short tufts of his hair with both hands and pull, my impatience growing as he teases me with hot kisses and licks.
He murmurs laughter on my tempered skin, but I don’t care. I just want him to taste me.
It doesn’t take long for him to oblige, and as soon as the end of his tongue drags across my clit I shriek with unapologetic delight. “Oh yes!”
My vocal approval gets his attention and in a much more assertive manner he is dragging that wondrous tongue up and down my wet pussy, lapping at my beating clit and using his fingers to join in the fun. My legs spasm, each foot rested on his wide and muscular shoulders. My toes curl and flex as he darts in and out of my soaking hole with masterful precision.
The boy could end wars with his genius technique—his lips rolling over my folds, his tongue lashing with marked hunger at my weeping gash, the digits of his large hand rubbing frantically but with a beguiling softness at my sex.
My moans get louder, my heart beating out of time to my breathing. Becoming aware that I’m causing more noise than I originally wished to, I grab a pillow and bite down on it—muffling the whimpers and screams with burst from my mouth. I’m at the dangerous tipping point where an orgasm threatens to rip from my core.
He comes up momentarily for air. “Mm, you taste like sweet honey.”
Fuck.
I love it.
Looking down, I see his dangerously seductive green eyes burn with a lustful fire. His mouth is slightly glazed from my fresh pussy juices.
My urge peaks for him.
I need his cock. I am positively starving for it.
On my god. He is my angel. My very own god on earth.
I spring up and push him down. A look of shocked amusement rides across his face. Wasting no more time, I lunge for his stiff and throbbing erection—my lips craving a taste of their own.
I part my mouth wide and drive down on his thick, shiny helmet. His cock is wide and long, veins snaking around the shaft. My tongue flicks across the crown of his impressively swollen penis. I can already taste precum as he arches his magnificent body back and loses himself. He tastes bitter yet sweet at the same time.
As my mouth sucks and draws up and down his generous length, I cup and play with his balls. His noises of appreciation send me ever closer to the edge.
Servicing this man, my man, does something so special to me. Lust, love, desire, want . . . it’s unashamed and perfect. We are prefect.
I pull my mouth off his rigid, glistening erection and beckon him in with my eyes.
I needn’t say a word.
He jumps up and presses me forcefully down to the bed, his muscular and tense body hovering over me in an instant.
He guides his gigantic rod to the soaking entry of my slit, and in one slow, satisfying push, his eases his way inside me.
Fuck trying to stay silent. I’m sure no one can hear us in this huge mansion, anyway.
My body twists with delirium as he slides all the way inside me, pushing open the soft folds of my pussy and burying himself deep inside. The walls of my cunt clamp tightly to his mammoth cock, squeezing and begging for his come to invade me.
It’s like I’m falling as he recedes from my pussy and then pushes back in. He soon picks up pace; again and again, over and over, until he builds up to a hard and frantic tempo.
His large hands smother my soft breasts, his fingers rolling and pinching at my bullet-sharp nipples.
“Yes, fuck, yes, Connor . . . like that.”
I can feel his meaty balls swing and crash against the top of my ass, as he stabs in and out of me.
I’m so tight for him, so wet and hot.
“You feel so big,” I purr.
He grits his teeth and groans. His eyes are shut tight as he drives every precious inch in and out of my slippery pussy.
“Connor, I’m coming . . . I’m—”
He whips out of me and hooks his hand under my back. Before I’ve a chance to protest at him cruelly stopping, his tosses me over and pins me to my front.
“Connor—”
No chance to finish. His cock slides effortlessly into me from behind, my pussy thankful and so juicy for him.
As he fucks me like he’s some caged horny animal, he spreads my butt cheeks apart and circles his thumb over the rim of my anus.
I wail with pleasure as he plays with my ass, smacking their fleshy cheeks in between the action of his fingers softly stretching me out.
“Again,” I cry.
“What, baby?
>
“Spank me. Harder!”
With one hand clutching my hair, and his cock pumping and fucking me deep and hard, the heel of his palm strikes me violently. My ass stings and I whimper with pleasure. Each time he strikes me, his hard fat cock pushes faster and harder.
“Connor, I’m coming . . .”
“Yes, baby, come over my dick.”
“Con—”
I collapse, his weight quickly following me down. A climax tears from me, gushing from my pussy and making the room spin. I scream into the sheets, my eyes screwed tight.
I hear him roar as he pulls out and sprays his thick load all over my ass.
He rolls over to his side of the bed and manically laughs.
Trying to control my breathing, I turn my head toward him. “What’s so funny?”
“We never used a condom,” he says between gasps for air.
“Shit! I forgot. Oh shit!”
He kisses the side of my cheek. “It’s all right. Relax, baby. I pulled out in time.”
I could kill him, but I remind myself that I’m not exactly an innocent party in all of this. I’m just as complicit to the crime of recklessness as he is. And lying here, fighting the aftershock tremors from the most satisfying orgasm ever, I’m kind of okay with it.
I loved the way we lost control. I loved the feeling of him inside me; hot, unprotected, and heavy with passion.
Would I do it again . . . ?
You bet!
24
Connor
When I get home, you’re so dead! X
I press send on the text, and reach inside the locker for my protein shake container. Placing the beaker down on the bench, I run a small towel across my chest. Every inch of my skin is caked in perspiration; the natural result of hard work and dedication. It takes time and pain to craft a champion, much more to mould an undefeated one.
Aching from the gruelling session I’ve just endured, with thirty minutes on the track followed by an hour of calisthenics overseen by my strength and conditioning coach, I drop to the bench.
I’m broken.
Serves me right. I’ve been taking it pretty easy on this training camp so far. Still, as much as I need to up my efforts in the gym, my lax use of time has been more than worth it. Nothing beats the time I spend between the sheets with Sophie. Now that is a real workout.
Whenever her name or gorgeous face pops into my thoughts—which, when I’m not dismantling another sparring partner, is almost every second—I get the monster of all hard-ons.
I can’t help it. A weakness pulls at my gut when I imagine myself playing with her, running my hands all over the pleasing curves of her sexy body.
I used to subscribe to the idea that boxers who suffered through training camps without indulging in their ladies were mad. That the rule of no sex before a fight because it weakened you as a fighter was nothing but a myth—just something the old school trainers used to con you with so you’d focus exclusively on gym work. Now, though, I’m starting to believe there may be truth to all that. It’s like she cuts every resistance I have, turning my body and mind into a quivering mess.
I’m a damn train wreck when I’m with her. Worse when I’m away.
I still can’t work out how she does it. Am I just softer now?
My phone pings . . .
Reply from Sophie:
Is that a threat?
I quickly text back:
I never make threats, Ms. Chavez, just promises . . . and then finish with . . . Now your family have gone back home you better be ready for me. Every room. Xx
A full blown grin stretches my face, my mind racing with all the wicked things I want to do to her.
“Great session today, Con. You got a personal best.”
I almost drop the phone, as my strength coach, John, breaks me out of my smutty day dream.
“Fuck! Don’t creep up on me like that.”
“Sorry to scare you, buddy. Everything cool?”
I cough into my fist to break the tension, and rise to my feet. “Sure, I was just—”
“Checking the game,” he finishes. “I thought you looked happy with yourself.”
“Err . . . what?”
He jerks his chin to the phone in my hand. “The Yankees. Best result of the season so far. How much you win?”
“Oh, that. Yeah, I made a little back.”
He leans forward, like some spotty teenage kid waiting to find out where the porno mags are hidden. “What did you put down? Twenty, thirty . . . ?”
“Forty,” I lie. I don’t want him to know I’m exchanging hot texts with the girl of my dreams. I’m supposed to be a tough guy, and tough guys don’t melt over the phone to chicks.
He whistles. “Wasn’t that a five to one return?”
I nod, nonchalant to the excitement building in his voice.
He paces the locker room with both palms clasped over his balding head. “Jesus, Con, that’s my mortgage!” He marches back up to me. “Next time you place a bet like that, don’t forget to hook me up okay?”
Patting him on the shoulder, I shoot him a grin. “Sure thing.”
Hearing Sophie in the kitchen, I run through the hallway and head straight for her—my cock already alert and excited to get her alone again. The kitchen will be the perfect place to start my night long takeover of her sumptuous body.
On the drive back to the house she was all I could think of. We’ve some serious time to make up before fight week approaches. I need to work out the pain which shoots through my blue balls. I need to bury myself deep inside her snug little pussy while my mouth drowns in her addictive taste.
“Sophie,” I shout through.
As soon as I see her, sat on a stool by the breakfast bar, I sprint over and whisk her up into my arms. The lactic acid from twelve rounds on the heavy bag is long forgotten—she inspires a new strength in me; a primal strength that’s governed by my never ending desire.
Fuck me, she smells like the inside a florist’s store. Her skin is pure perfume and the texture is cashmere and silk.
I kiss her, ignoring the trembling resistance in her lips. I can tell she wants to say something, but all I can think of is wild sex.
No talking.
Not now.
Just stiff, course fucking—on the breakfast bar, on the tiled floor of the kitchen, in the hallway, on the bed, in the shower, on the back seat of the Lamborghini . . . fuck me, this girl drives me crazy!
She pushes me away. “Stop.”
Undeterred, I grip the belt line of her slim curvy waist and pull her right back in. My eyes feast on her stunning figure. She’s dressed in a tight black vest top, figure hugging dark blue jeans, and a cute pair of bright red fuck-me pumps. Her gorgeous dark hair is fashioned into a short pony tail which shows off her elegant and sleek neck. The modest curves of her tiny frame has my cock crying out for instant action. I am a slave to her flesh.
I dive to her mouth once more, craving her sugary taste, craving her sweet and delicate skin—the perfect tonic to all the testosterone that flies around the gym on a daily basis.
She pushes me away again, more forceful this time.
“What?” I snap in disappointment.
“I have something to tell you.” Her breath is short. The color in her angelic face, drained.
“Shit, has something happened? Are your family okay?”
She shakes her head and smiles.
“Christ, Sophie, tell me—”
“They’re fine,” she interrupts. “Flight was smooth and on time. They landed a little over an hour ago.”
Reeling back, I rest my weight against the breakfast bar. “Fuck, don’t do that. I thought something was wrong.”
“Sorry to scare you.”
I clutch at my chest. “Scare me? You almost gave me a heart attack.”
Just as I go in for more lip action, she back peddles away from me—her hand outstretched. “No, we really have to talk. This can’t wait. Not anymore.”
My shoulders sag, as all that pent up energy I carried on the way back here dissipates.
“Connor, you have to hear me out. You need to know.”
Slowly, she sits back down on the stool and motions for me to do the same. Ominous dread bleeds through me.
Why is she so damn serious all of a sudden? Haven’t we just spent the most fantastic weekend together . . . with her awesome family?
My heart races as the nickel drops . . .
She’s going back to Mexico.
Shit, my gamble backfired. After a few days seeing her mom and sister, she’s homesick and wants to go home.
Her hand reaches across and finds mine. An awkward smile twists my mouth, a smile which is about as sincere as a politician summoned by the Supreme Court.
Fuck.
After a long intake of breath, she breaks her silence. “I’ve hid something from you.”
I push from the stool.
“Please, Connor, don’t make this any—”
“You’re seeing someone, aren’t you? You’re gonna tell me you’ve made a mistake. . . .”
She bursts out laughing, her gaze shifting to the floor. “No.”
“What then?”
“You’re wonderful, Connor. My god—” She bursts out laughing again, her hand covering her mouth as though she’s embarrassed by her release of emotion.
“Sophie, you’re scaring me.”
Her eyes meet mine. They’re glazed with tears—tears that I can tell she’s fighting hard to hold onto.
I push in close and cup her chin with my fingers. “Just tell me, baby.”
Her eyes shift to the left. I follow her gaze to the kitchen table. A light hanging above the table shines down on one of her work folders. When I look at her again, all sign of emotion has vanished from her immaculate and beautiful face. She looks as still and as cold as stone. A dullness in those once fiercely passionate eyes sends a shiver through my spine.