Black Room: Door 3

by Jade London

  I turn away from him, onto my back, clenching my hands together, reminding myself how I got here. And why I’m in this bed with this man.

  And what he expects from me.

  The hell of it is, if it weren’t for the little fact that I had no choice in coming here, that I had no say about belonging to this man, regardless of whatever excuses he may make about bills of sale and technicalities…if it weren’t for that…I’d want him.

  Fuck, I do want him.

  I just don’t want to want him.

  I want to hate him. I want to stay angry with him. But I can’t. He’s quiet, unassuming. Absolutely gorgeous. Competent, capable. Dangerous. He’s never mistreated me or said a negative word to me. He’s attractive, not just physically, but his quiet presence and his confidence make him more so. Damn me, but I enjoy being around him. I feel safe with him. And his touch last night—I shudder, remembering—it was skilful, knowledgeable, and gentle. He knew how to touch me to elicit a response.

  I’m still ruminating on all of this when he grumbles in his sleep; a low rumbling as he rolls toward me, draping his arm across me, a thigh over my thigh. He presses his lips against my shoulder, not in a kiss, but simply from how closely he is pressed against my body. And suddenly I can’t breathe. His hand curls against my hip, flattens, curls. Descends to my thigh. My slip has ridden up, bunching over my thighs. He’s almost snoring so I know he’s asleep, but his hand seems to have a mind of its own. Slipping lower, under the hem of the slip, and up to cup my bare hip. He uses my hipbone as a handhold to pull me closer. Automatically, my body rolls to cradle my spine against his chest, curling to fit my body into the comma of his, leaving his hand flattened against my belly. Low. Very low. His erection is nestled between the globes of my ass, a hot naked rigid of flesh pressed hard between my ass cheeks.

  I can’t breathe.

  Can’t move.

  Somehow, my palm has found its way on top of his, and I’m struggling to keep my hips still.

  He remains asleep and I, comfortable and aroused and confused, drift as well.

  * * *

  I wake again, rolled the other way, facing the room. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched forward. His right arm is moving. My breath catches and my mouth goes dry and my thighs clench when I realize what he’s doing. I remain perfectly still and silent as his hand moves harder and faster.

  He’s so caught up in the moment that he doesn’t realize I’m awake. Doesn’t feel me shift behind him.

  What am I doing?

  Don’t do this, I tell myself, but I’m a helpless prisoner in my own body. My mind has lost the war with my body.

  I sit up, legs curled beneath me. I press up against his spine; he tenses, freezes. His hand stills on his cock, gripped low at the base.

  “Hannah, I didn’t think you’d—”

  I reach up with my right hand and press my palm to his lips, silencing him. My left hand curls around his waist. I lean against him, resting my chin on his shoulder and watch as my right hand steals across his thigh, and my fingers wrap around his erection. He gasps, a sharp inhalation that turns to a long deep moan as I slide my hand up to the tip, squeeze once, and then glide back down. His head falls back to rest on my shoulder, and he releases his grip on his cock, clutches his knees instead.

  My hand is small, and his cock is mammoth. It takes me an extraordinary amount of time to stroke him from root to tip, and I do so slowly, caressing his length. Pressing my breasts against his shoulder blades, I bring my other hand down from his mouth, and now wrap both hands around him.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid me, I turn my face into his neck. Inhale his masculine scent, the tickling brush of his beard against my cheek. I close my eyes and focus on feeling his hard body between my arms, his chest and back expanding and contracting with each breath, growing deeper and faster the more I stroke his cock. And god, that cock. Thick in my hands. Hot, hard. Skin softer than silk sheathing a rod of iron. The veins expanding under my palms, his belly against my thumbs as I reach his root. I reach down and cup his balls, heft their weight and massage them ever so gently, then my hands go to his erection, wrapping my fingers around the broad plump head and I rub my thumb against the impossibly soft and springy tip, directly over the tiny hole at the very top.

  I don’t care about much of anything right now, except that I like the feel of his cock in my hands. I enjoy the way he can’t catch his breath, can’t stop himself from gyrating his hips. I enjoy drawing this out, caressing him for the raw pleasure of the sensation, not for him, but for me. Because I like his cock, I like touching it. I don’t really care what he wants right now. I’m not trying to make him orgasm. I’m touching him for me.

  He groans, a loud sound in the small cabin. Shoves his hips up, thrusting into my hands. He’s close.

  I open my eyes and watch, now. No hurry, I don’t jerk him faster. Don’t jerk him at all, but continue to caress him slowly, for my own enjoyment. Watching as he thrusts into my hands, shuddering now, wanting it faster, wanting it harder, but holding back.

  He moves like a striking serpent. Twisting in place, he wraps his arms around me, falls to the bed, and rolls to his back once more, except now I’m on top of him. His huge hands grip my ass, which is generously proportioned enough that even his large hands cannot cover it all. He tugs me against his body. His eyes are on mine, hard and fierce and fiery. He scrapes his fingernails up my spine, drawing my slip with it.

  “Lift up, Hannah.” His voice is a murmur, barely audible, but rumbling powerfully.

  I press my hands against his chest and lift up a little, and he peels the slip up and off. My naked breasts fall against his chest, and his gaze goes there and remains there. After tossing the slip to the floor, he tucks my hair behind my ears. He grazes my shoulders with his palms, and then cups my breasts. His palms are work-rough, callused, and the sandpapery scrape against my sensitive, erect nipples is delicious. So much so that my eyelids flutter and a soft breath escapes my lips, and then his fingers pinch my nipple and I gasp.

  He hauls me further up his body, so I’m straddling his stomach, pressing my bare core against his belly, thighs spread wide. My tits brush his face, and he nuzzles between them, one then the other, and then he suckles my nipple and flattens it between his tongue and roof of his mouth. He sucks hard. I moan and thrust my chest forward, tip my head back, helpless against the erotic thrill that bolts through me. And then his hands, oh…fuck, his hands. They skate down my spine and cup my ass. Clutch it, then he spreads me apart. His fingertips slide dangerously close to the tight knot of muscle in my ass, but skip over it.

  With no warning, no teasing, no build up those fingers delve into my cunt, spearing inside me, three of them, thick, rough, spreading me apart. Sliding in and out, just a little. Fingers curling inside me. His mouth moves from nipple to nipple, licking, teasing, suckling, and I feel something inside me clench, tighten to piano-wire tautness. Feel something hot spread through me. Wetness suffuses my pussy, and now the in-and-out of his fingers makes a wet squelching sound.

  He pulls them out of me and smears my essence against my clit, and now a whimper slips out of me, a lip-between-my-teeth groan. A circle of his fingers, slow at first. Then faster. My hips begin to move on their own as he builds me up, tightening the wire inside me, adding heat to the fire within. Faster, faster. My hips gyrate, slide against his hand.

  “Are you there, Hannah?” His voice breaks the silence, rough and low and unexpected.

  I nod. “Yeah…yeah, I’m there.”

  He keeps fingering my clit, then dives into me and gathers wetness and spreads it against me, circles, delves in, coats his fingers, smears them wet against my clit. I’m about to bite through my lip, and my moans are grating past my lips nonstop, and my hips are flying hard and fast, pistoning against his hand.

  “Close, now?”

  I arch my back up, and then press it concave, fighting the orgasm, on my hands and knees and grinding against his fingers.
“God yes. So fucking close. So fucking close.”

  “Come for me, Hannah. Let me feel you come.”

  I can’t help it. I don’t even try to fight it, anymore. My fingers dig into his chest, claw into his flesh and muscle and rake down, my hips fly and grind and swivel and my core tightens around his fingers and I can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but fall apart on top of him, crying out wordlessly, a hoarse whimper as an orgasm blasts through me, detonating inside. Everything is heat and pressure, pleasure and the ache twisting into ecstasy, his fingers gliding perfectly, unendingly, unhurriedly over my throbbing clit.

  And then I feel him.

  His cock nudges my slit, and my hand moves between us to grip his thickness and I guide the broad soft head to my entrance, resting my forehead on his chest as I lift my hips. I’m a breath away from sitting down on him and spearing him into my cunt.

  He grips my hair in his hand and tugs my head backward, tilting my face up to his. “Look at me, Hannah.”

  I open my eyes and meet his molten brown gaze. He is on fire. He is lust embodied. His hard body is huge beneath me, one hand caressing my ass and my spine and my thighs, wherever he can reach, and the other is gripping my hair, forcing me to look at him. He tenses his muscles, hard and mammoth. I’m panting through clenched teeth, raw need clashing inside me, battering against the rush of post-orgasm bliss. I need this. I have to have him inside me. Nothing else matters. I don’t even remember anything else. There’s never been anything but this moment in time, his cock teasing the slit of my cunt, his hand on my skin, and his grip on my hair rough yet careful.

  The connection…it’s sparking and igniting, catalytic, raw, primal. No words are needed to encapsulate or describe or enumerate this thing between us. He feels it as fully as I do. It cannot be denied, now.

  He lets go of my hair, and his hand leaves my flesh, and I’m free to do as I please. I could climb off of him, and he wouldn’t stop me. I know this. He’s letting me choose.

  There’s no choice, though, and the ghost of a smirk on those damned lips of his tells me he knows it.

  I sit up straight.

  Pause.

  Slam my ass down onto his hips, hammering his cock into me.

  “Oh—my fucking god—” he snarls, eyes widening. “Fuck…oh fuck. Hannah—Jesus. You’re so goddamned tight. So wet.”

  “And you’re huge, Conrad. You barely fit. It almost hurts, you’re so fucking big.” The words fall out of my mouth, unbidden. Each one a truth. I ache. I burn. He’s nearly too big, perfectly so. Seated deep inside me. “You feel so good inside me, Conrad. So good I can’t handle it. So fucking good.”

  He’s not moving. Just thrust deep, motionless, thick inside me. I can feel every ridge, every vein, every goddamned perfect inch of him. I need him to move. I need him to fuck me.

  But he doesn’t.

  He just fixes those big brown eyes of his on mine and smirks, a not-quite-smile painting the corners of his mouth. I can’t help a shuddering flex of my hips, and he moans with me as his cock grinds inside my cunt.

  That’s all it takes, that slight movement of mine. It pushes me over the edge, has me falling forward, palms flat on the wall of his chest. Hips swiveling slowly, because as much as I want it hard, fast, now, more—I’d rather savor it, take my time with it.

  He glides his hands over my cheeks, brushing my hair away from my face, then down my spine, his warm touch making my flesh tingle. Then he moves to my hips and then my ass, cupping the heavy globes and pulling me apart as he thrusts, pulling my ass cheeks apart so he can fuck deeper.

  It’s too much.

  Too much.

  He’s too much. Too big inside me, too hard. Too thick, too long.

  And he’s moving, now, and I’m moving with him. We’re utterly synched, even our breathing matches, his hands lift me up and pull me apart, and his dick drives into me, spearing deep, all the way in, and I moan and he groans and snarls and pulls out, and I lift up, using my thighs to pull away, and then I feel it rising inside me. Another orgasm. Bigger than the first one, hotter, harder, deeper.

  It’s there, hovering within me like a balloon on the cusp of popping, like a bubble about to burst. He lets go of my ass and grips my hips, pulls me against him. God, god. His cock, my god. I focus on feeling it as it slides in and out of me; focus on each wet slide in, each smooth glide out, focus on the way he fills my pussy, stretching me apart. He thrusts in and I whimper as he plunges deep, and I squeeze down with my pussy, clamping my walls around his thickness.

  He’s moving slowly, so slowly. Teasing me. Driving in and out with maddening, deliberate slowness, looking up at me, staring at me as he fucks. And I can’t look away from him, can’t stop my hips from swiveling, rocking on him, can’t stop myself from sitting up and finding my balance and grinding on him, then lifting up and sitting down on his cock. I cup my breasts with both hands and rock, lift up and crash down, harder and harder, and he has no choice but to move with me, fuck harder with me. I feel him throb inside me, pulsing with each thrust.

  Turns out he does have a choice.

  I’m riding the edge, teetering on a knife’s edge of near-climax, pinching my own nipples as I ride his cock, reaching for the orgasm, moving harder and harder, gasping, crying out, feeling him move with me, hear him grunt and snarl, moving harder and faster and I’m there, and I know he’s there too—

  And then somehow I’m on my back and he’s out of me and off the bed.

  Chest rising and falling rapidly, cock standing straight up against his belly, slightly curved back toward his body, balls heavy and tight against him, ripped abs tautening with each breath. Brows furrowed, fists clenched.

  “What—” I’m disoriented, off-balance, frustrated. “I was—Why’d you stop?”

  “Wasn’t ready for that.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought this was what you wanted.” I move off the bed, toward him. Stop a few inches away. “I was enjoying it—”

  “It is, and so was I. But it’s been so long since—” he cuts off, jaw clenched, teeth grinding. “It’s been a long time.”

  There’s so much going on behind his eyes, deep inside him, but I can’t read any of it, can’t fathom any of it. I can’t fathom him.

  He pushes past me to sits on the bed like he was when I woke up; sitting on the edge, knees wide apart, hunched forward over himself. “Go back to the beginning. The way you were when you first woke up.”

  Confused, I do as he says. I climb back onto the bed, settle behind him, feet tucked under my butt, sitting on my shins. I press up against him, crushing my breasts against his back. “Like this?”

  “Yeah.” His voice is tight, quiet. “Touch me. Please.”

  I slide one hand around his waist and find his cock, still glistening and slick with my essence. I grasp him, low at the base, and then rest my cheek against his back, between his shoulder blades. I close my eyes, and stroke his length, tamping down the ravaging urgency of a few moments ago, the need to finish coming. He rumbles, a sound of grudging pleasure emerging from deep in his chest.

  I caress his cock, fondle its unbelievable length, top to bottom, again and again. As slowly as possible. I brush my thumb over the tip and squeeze the head. I roll my palm over the top and glide my fist around him to the root.

  He groans again, a long, drawn-out sound of relief and pleasure, and it’s so palpable I can feel it, and it makes me want nothing more than to make him enjoy it all the more. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. I know this changes nothing. But I’m utterly lost to this right now, even though I know I’ll have a debt of emotions to sort through when it’s over.

  But for now…

  I bring my other hand around his waist and stroke him hand over hand, long slow downward gliding touches, one hand and then the other, and then I pump him with both hands until he starts to flex into my hands, and then I stop.

  I slide off the bed and fall to my knees on the floor in front of him, betwee
n his legs. He stares down at me, brows scrunched together, expression characteristically intense but unreadable. I cup my hand around the head of his cock, summon saliva and let it spill out of my mouth and into the cup formed by my hands and onto his cock. Then I smear it onto him, massaging the saliva over the head of his cock and down his length, and now I can stroke him faster and faster, plunging my hand up and down his cock until he’s grunting and grinding into my hand, his fists planted in the mattress, head tipped back, spine arching in now as he begins to lose control.

  When it’s obvious he’s seconds away from coming, I slow down and back him away from the edge, don’t stop to think about what I’m doing or why…and sink my mouth onto him. I taste my own spit, my own essence, his pre-cum, his flesh. He groans again as I wrap my lips around his cock, and the groan turns into a sigh as I take more and more of him.

  One hand just beneath my lips, I lift up until I’m kissing the tip of his dick, and then sink down, and he moans the whole while, ecstasy so bone-deep, relief so soul-felt that it makes something inside me swell, burst, and I bury more of his huge cock in my mouth until he’s at my throat.

  His hands settle on my head, tangle into my hair, slide beneath the thick blond locks to cup my scalp in his powerful hands, but his touch is gentle, not insistent nor forceful. Affectionate, more than anything. As if what I’m doing feels so good he can’t help but try to show me, can’t help but hold on to me in some way.

  “Oh…god, Hannah.”

  “Mmmmm.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  “Hmmm-mmmm.”

  I move a little faster, then, and suckle. Suck. Caress my hand down his length from below my mouth down to the root, back up, sliding just the head and first few inches of his cock between my lips, sucking, swallowing, swirling my tongue around the tip.

  “Fuck…oh fuck.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm?”

  He likes it when I hum, judging by the way he grunts and thrusts and thickens in my mouth.