by Sam Crescent
Every pull of his suction further awakened her desire. The final digit-sucking had her ready to pounce on him.
“You taste sweet.”
“I’m a sweet girl.”
Bishop took her hands and walked her backwards, unlocking the door and manoeuvring her out of the bathroom and through to the bedroom. He forced her to sit on the edge of the bed. She didn’t doubt his guidance—she had the feeling Bishop wouldn’t hurt her…at least not until they’d fucked.
“I don’t think anything about you is sweet,” he said.
“Why don’t you have more of a taste and make a decision then?” Fallan lay back, spread her legs and stared at him in challenge.
Would he suck her? Or leave her?
In Fallan’s eyes, no man was decent unless he was willing to give a woman oral sex. Those she’d been with had always expected head but had never returned the favour.
“You want me to suck your pussy?”
“I want you to do with me whatever the hell you want. Providing you give me an orgasm and a good shag, I’m up for anything.” Wasn’t that the truth? Fallan felt like a slut—a bad, sexy slut—but, God, this was exciting.
“I’m going straight to hell,” he muttered.
“I’m joining you.”
He knelt before her and Fallan held her breath as he looked at her. She knew her pussy was attractive. One of her first sexual lessons by a much older lover had taught her to look at herself and to like what she saw. She could never expect anyone to love her or her body if she didn’t love it herself. She’d always enjoyed fingering herself while looking in the mirror. Call it the dirty slut inside her or just a woman truly connected with her mind and body, but it turned her on to see her fingers working over her wet slit.
“You gonna suck me or just stand there?” she asked.
“Soon, baby. I just want to look at you. You’ve got a nice, red, sweet pussy.”
He touched the pubic hair lightly covering her outer lips then opened her, exposing her private parts for his viewing pleasure.
“So small, tight and hot.” He inserted a finger then took it out to press it against her hard clit.
Fallan moaned at each sensation.
“Tight.”
She revelled in his compliments. He plunged a second finger inside followed by teasing her clit with his tongue. Fallan almost came undone. He pulled her back from the brink of ecstasy by taking his fingers and mouth away.
“Please, let me come,” she begged.
“Not until I say so. You’re a feisty one.” He added a third finger.
“You’ve only known me a few hours, you don’t know the real me,” she panted out, gasping as he turned his finger, stroking the sweet spot inside her.
“Yet, in the few hours we’ve known each other, you’ve already had my dick in your mouth and your clit in my mouth,” he teased.
“Imagine what could happen when we’ve known each other longer.”
Bishop pulled his fingers out and licked them, her pussy already creaming for more of what he had to offer.
“Will you just fuck me already?” she asked, his display making her clit pulse.
“We’ve got plenty of time.”
He returned his tongue to her clit and continued to taste and torture her. She imagined her lips were red and swollen. Her tender clit felt thick and throbbed to the point of pain. Fallan screamed out for any type of release he could give her.
Bishop grasped her by the hips and turned her over. “Get on your knees.”
She complied with his order—she’d do anything for him to bring her to orgasm. This guy had strength and stamina and she wanted all of it thrusting inside her cunt.
“You desperate for a pounding, Fallan?”
A jerk of the head was all she could give him. He ran his fingers over her plump arse, gripping her hips and pulling her back into his body. No more teasing, she couldn’t stand any more.
“The tops of your thighs are soaking wet, baby. Are you sure you don’t want me?”
“I don’t want you. I just want your dick.”
“Big words for a small woman. Are you sure you can handle me?”
“Fuck me and see.”
Fallan couldn’t see what he was doing and couldn’t wait to find out. She reached between her legs to touch her needy clit.
Bishop slapped her hands away. “My clit to touch.”
Moments later, he impaled his cock inside her, the stretch and burn exquisite. Resting her head on her arms, she cried out and succumbed to him bedding her.
“So wet,” he murmured.
“Harder!” She moaned, a wrench of noise that didn’t sound like it belonged to her.
He withdrew all the way out then lunged back inside, not waiting for her to become accustomed to his size. He took what he wanted, slamming her with relentless force.
Fallan loved it.
Their cries echoed off the walls. She fisted the duvet and pushed back onto him as he thrust up to meet her.
She wanted his cock and everything it had to offer.
“Fuck me harder,” she said.
He gave her his all, his hold bruising on her hips, all of his strength and power concentrated in his jabbing thrusts.
Fallan was so close. “Give me release!”
He let go of one hip and touched her swollen jewel, rubbing her to a heart-stopping orgasm within seconds. He wouldn’t let up when she started coming, shuddering and crying out with pleasure and satisfaction that she’d got what she wanted.
“You’re a wild woman. Fucking tight cunt. I could become addicted to this.”
He slapped her arse and pounded away, the main force of her orgasm tightening around him. She imagined her flow of juice glistening on his cock. He still rubbed her, forcing her body into a second orgasm, fiercer and harsher than the first, making her body liquid jelly.
“You have such a pretty arse.” He removed his hand from her clit and ran her juice along the crack. “Ever been fucked in the arse?” he asked, shunting into her and fondling her rear hole.
She grunted, not knowing what to say even as the light touch he pressed on her was entirely erotic.
“You’re small but I’d fit, fill you nice and full.” He pushed a finger inside.
“What are you doing?” she gasped out.
“Testing the waters. You’re hot and tight in there.”
The sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant but the feelings were more intense and unlike anything she’d felt before.
She wanted him in her arse.
Bishop was turning her into a rutting beast.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asked. “Like my finger in your arse and my cock in your cunt.”
Fallan shook her head in denial.
“You do, I can feel your cum on my dick. You’re wet and hot for it.”
As though to prove his point, he eased a second finger inside her arse. Screaming in pleasure her only response, she waited to see what he’d do next.
“You going to let me fuck that arse, Fallan Jones?”
His cock and fingers fucking her together at the same time, in sync with each other, felt like she was being taken by two men, one big and one small.
“I don’t know you well enough for that,” she said, knowing the excuse was feeble, that he might not believe she was pretending she didn’t want it.
“We’ve known each other a few hours and I’m fucking your cunt, so why not your arse?”
“Wait until we’ve known each other for longer and I’ll see.”
But you’d better fuck my arse before this deal is over.
Bishop pounded harder. “I’m going to come.”
He pulled his fingers out of her arse and grabbed her hips again, driving into her cunt harder, faster. The tension built until she was screaming out a third orgasm that made her twitch and jolt with its sharp intensity.
Bishop drew her back one final time then growled out his release. Fallan felt it inside her body, the kick o
f his cock and the explosion of semen, the hot pulse of fluid dripping out of her cunt.
Gasping for breath, she collapsed in a heap with Bishop on top of her, their bodies wet from sweat. He pulled out of her, curving his arm round her waist. Fallan rolled over and snuggled against him, tired but sated.
At least for now.
“You’re going to be the death of me, woman.”
She smiled, content…
Before all the rushing memories erupted. She was Fallan Jones, an employee for a supermarket. She’d been kidnapped by a man who could kill her.
Out of all of the panic and fear that consumed her in a massive wave, only one point stuck in her mind.
She’d just had unprotected sex with a stranger.
Chapter Five
Bishop waited until Fallan’s breathing had evened out and a soft snore left her before he got out of bed. He was reluctant to leave her. Wanted nothing more than to rest beside her, wondering how the hell he’d got so lucky in finding a woman who didn’t mind a fuck for fucking’s sake. One who didn’t go on about commitment before she spread her legs. One who hadn’t expected to engage him in a long, drawn-out conversation after she’d been fucked, instead falling asleep like the proverbial man as soon as her head touched his chest. He sounded like an arsehole, he knew that, but the course of his life had made him that way. Self-preservation was a strong thing, gripping him with pincer-like fingers and sending him into a world where emotions didn’t exist.
Couldn’t exist.
His current situation didn’t allow for him to wallow in thoughts of where Fallan had been all his life since…her…and what he’d been missing out on from then until now. No, he had shit to sort out, calls to make and, without a doubt, would have Waterman on his arse if he wasn’t careful. Still, if the government did their job he’d be safe. They’d made it clear in the past he was one of their best operatives, someone they wouldn’t want to do without. His job was safe, providing he toed the line, and seeing as he had nothing left in life but his job, he would remain working for them.
He took a quick shower, mindful that the women he’d been involved with in the past—apart from her—were a wily set of bitches that wouldn’t think twice at feigning sleep and escaping. If Fallan tried it she’d come up short—he’d locked the deadbolts on the doors and hidden the keys, and this place was in the middle of nowhere. Good luck to her finding another human to help her out before her legs gave way from an exhaustive search for help. But he acknowledged he’d be disappointed if he caught her awake and prowling around. She’d already lied about wanting him—and, by God, she’d been a vixen once she’d admitted she needed a fuck—and he wouldn’t put it past her to lie again. Even if she was as innocent as she and her files proclaimed, it was human instinct to flee from a situation that was dangerous or one she didn’t want to be in.
As he soaped his cock, he thought about whether she was bothered she’d let him take her without protection. She wasn’t to know those files he’d accessed also included her medical records and he knew she was clean and receiving the contraceptive injection. Wasn’t she worried about venereal disease…or worse? Did her need to be fucked surpass being sensible? Which led him to another thought he didn’t much like—she’d possibly weighed her options and decided catching something was a small price to pay if it meant gaining his trust, making him drop his guard so she could get away.
And he’d have let her get away if her life wasn’t in danger, albeit with a sense of regret because he’d found a woman who was on the same level as him in the bedroom. Her life was in danger, too, he’d be a fool to think otherwise. With Waterman involved in the holiday scam, using Freddie fucking Lash as his man who doled out the threats, she didn’t stand a chance. If they got hold of her now she’d disappear for good, just one more unsolved missing persons case the police scratched their heads over.
He stepped out of the shower and dried off, returning to the bedroom with his stomach in knots in case he found the bed empty. Last thing he needed was to deal with her demanding he let her leave, or, worse, seeing her arse hanging out of the window as she scrambled to go home.
Despite his fears, Fallan was still there, hair splayed over the pillow, mouth slightly open, eyes flickering with REM. As relief poured through him, he wondered what she was dreaming about, whether he featured in the scenario going on inside her sleepy head, then chastised himself for being the soft bastard he once was. Why should he suddenly care what she saw? Why did it matter whether he was the star of her night-time imaginings?
He didn’t know why he cared but he did. She’d intrigued him in the hotel dining room, intrigued him more with her lies in the bathroom, and well and truly hooked him with her about-face thereafter. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly that had gripped him, though. She was nice to look at, no doubt about it, and he liked the way she gave as good as she got while being fucked—loved her greediness in ensuring she got satisfaction—but there was something he couldn’t define that drew her to him.
He needed to watch himself. She had the ability to slip under his skin and stay there, a constant itch he needed to scratch if he allowed it. He’d be better off letting his boss, Huntington, take her over, let him keep her safe until this crap was sorted out, but…
He couldn’t do it. Huntington would claim her as one of his women, fucking her every which way until he tired of her. She didn’t deserve that, even if she did have a healthy sexual appetite. Allowing some hulking government toady to paw her, a pot-bellied, slack-lipped wanker with a penchant for kink, wasn’t ideal. Bishop shrugged. Who was he to decide what she did and whom she slept with? For all he knew, now that the promised money may not be forthcoming from Waterman, Fallan might choose to get paid for sex by Huntington. She needed cash, and desperate times called for desperate measures.
Bishop was startled to find his stomach churning at the prospect of her in another man’s arms.
What the fuck?
Besides, she couldn’t go to Huntington. Bishop wanted to know more about her. Not some shit in a file that told him whether she was a criminal or not. No, he wanted to know about her likes and dislikes, what she enjoyed and what she didn’t, and whether her arsehole was as tight around his cock as it had been on his fingers.
She hadn’t fooled him with that. Her cunt had spasmed harder when he’d introduced his fingers to her arse. She’d been lying again when she’d made out she’d have to know him better before he breached that hole with his cock. No matter. He’d get to know her better, know her for longer, then he’d see what her excuse would be when he asked her if she’d like his to be the first dick that penetrated her puckered barrier.
What the hell is wrong with you, man?
He rasped a hand over his chin, the sound of stubble somewhat obscene in the virtual silence. Fallan had him at sixes and sevens, acting differently than he had with other women. He didn’t usually get so aggressive, didn’t usually speak to them as though they were nothing, yet this woman inspired him to do just that. And it didn’t seem like she minded either. From what he’d gathered so far, she was open to a bit of filthy talk, a bit of ordering about. A bit of degradation.
She suited him down to the ground.
Fuck.
He turned from her, cock stirring once again, and checked the window locks. After the imagery of her naked arse going out of an open window, he needed to be sure the place was secure. He didn’t want her leaving…and not just because of her safety, either.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing a woman had affected him like this again. He’d always been in control in the past, had always known one-night stands were the way to go since—
He wasn’t going to think about the past, damn it!
Bishop slipped on a pair of jeans then headed for the living room, forcing Fallan from his thoughts with great difficulty. The sight of the phone on his desk helped erase her, though. He had a report call to make—one that would have his boss in a thunderous temper if his
previous reactions to shit like this were any indication. He dialled and waited for Huntington to pick up, pulled out of either a call girl or an alcohol-induced sleep. His boss liked the whisky and wasn’t averse to sinking a fair few before he retired at night.
“What do you want?” Huntington asked, going on with, “I saw you’d accessed the files. What woman are you fucking now when you’re supposed to be working?”
“I picked her up at the drop zone.” Bishop staved off a wave of irritation that threatened to consume him. Huntington was a prick who never failed to get on his last nerve.
“And you disturbed me to tell me something that could wait until morning? Or are you bored while you keep watch on her as she sleeps?”
“It couldn’t wait until morning, and I’m not watching her. She’s sleeping but the house is secure, as it always is.”
Huntington sighed, and Bishop imagined it was tainted by the scent of stale alcohol, pitied any woman his phone call had also awakened if she got a blast of his breath. He shivered and waited for a response.
“So what is it?” It sounded as though Huntington was sitting himself up.
“Waterman’s involved.”
“Fuck.”
“Indeed.”
“How so?” Huntington was fully alert now. His voice had lost that weary, condescending edge.
“He’s the one in charge of the drops. How he came by the information is anyone’s guess, but it’s him using blackmail to make those in the government bow down to him. He set up some elaborate scam, would you believe?”
“Yes, I do believe, which is why we sent our own men, you included, to intercept the packages. Go on.”
“He had the microchips with evidence of government foul play on them—it was him or one of his men who contacted someone in government about their existence. According to Miss Jones, he made up a competition, ensuring women won a short holiday break, and their instructions were to deliver the chips in velvet pouches to specific locations in each hotel. We knew someone was doing that, didn’t we? Just not him. After Miss Jones secreted the cargo—and she was promised thousands of pounds once she’d completed her task—I intercepted, as planned. Waterman sent another of his goons to collect—a double-cross, I assume. He probably intended to make out he knew nothing of it once news of the pick-up going wrong had come to light. We anticipated this. And I was seen taking the goods.”