Fall

by Callihan, Kristen

  “Yes, ma’am, I did.” John shovels a huge bite of buttery pancake into his mouth, smartly keeping his eyes on his plate, but there’s a tiny smile playing on the edges of his lips. Beneath the table, his knee bounces an agitated rhythm. Since we’re sitting close, his thigh lightly rubs against mine. That small contact zings along my skin.

  Memories of what we did drift through my head, making it hard to concentrate on anything. I keep seeing his rippled torso clenching, ropy muscles on his forearm shifting and flexing as he worked his hard cock. God, he has a nice cock. Rounded head, a thick shaft that curves just a little to the right.

  Heat washes over my skin. Stop thinking about his dick at the table. That is so wrong. Twisted, Stells. Twisted.

  And foolish. All I can think about now is John pleasuring himself, his plump balls bouncing against his fist with each downstroke, his face tight with concentration, and his lips soft with panting. It had been the most glorious thing I’d ever seen. I want to see it again. In full daylight. Maybe in slow motion. On repeat.

  Good God, does Corinne have the heat on or something?

  I take a hasty sip of coffee and it burns the back of my throat.

  John’s green eyes narrow at the sound of my small gurgle. “You okay, Button?”

  No. I’m so horny my lower belly hurts, and I’m fantasizing about making movies featuring your dick.

  Weakly, I smile and pick up a piece of perfectly cooked bacon. “Great.”

  John’s eyes hold mine, and his small smile grows a little devious. I doubt he’s having movie-making fantasies, but he’s definitely thinking about last night. The pink tip of his tongue sneaks out to catch an errant dot of syrup on his lower lip. It’s all I can do not to lick him too.

  We need to get out of here.

  His knee keeps bouncing, a frenetic jostle that’s beginning to rattle the table. I set my hand on his thigh, and he instantly stills. His hand covers mine and squeezes.

  Corinne is still talking, idle chatter. “I swear we had so much rain last night. Hank, you better check the basement. You know how that back stairwell tends to flood.”

  “Mmm,” Hank says. Translation: I checked it. Everything is fine, but I want to eat without you pestering me.

  Corinne’s answering “hmmm” basically means she’s on to him and will check the basement herself once breakfast is over.

  I smile around a mouthful of bacon. A nudge of John’s shoulder against mine has me glancing over. He quirks a brow, his eyes darting between Hank and Corinne. He’s noticed their interplay, and like me, he finds it sweet. I have the overwhelming urge to laugh, not at Corinne and Hank, but out of this weird, dizzying sense of levity. Of quiet happiness.

  I duck my head, letting my hair slide over my warm cheeks to hide my face.

  John’s thumb strokes my palm, the blunt tip slowly circling a certain spot that makes my thighs clench. Just from that. We really need to get out of here.

  “I hate to eat and run …” A snort from Hank cuts me off. I purse my lips. “But Stevens, the cat I’m looking after, will need to eat.”

  I send a silent apology out to Brenna—who I know John asked to feed the pets this morning—and then flick John’s knee when he makes a small gurgle at the back of his throat, trying to swallow down a laugh.

  Corinne smiles wide. “Of course, honey. I’m so glad we could spend a little time together.”

  I feel like crap now. But when she pulls me into a hug at the door, she murmurs in my ear. “If I were young and free and had access to a tall glass of milk like your man there, I’d be twitching in my seat too.”

  A startled laugh escapes me. “Love you, Corinne.”

  “And you are loved, baby girl. Remember that.”

  Despite his grumpiness, Hank gives John a hearty handshake and an open invitation to visit again. Then we are free. I nearly run to the motorcycle. Not at all dignified. But since John is at my heels, ushering me along with a hand to my lower back, I’m guessing we’re in the same horny boat.

  His expression is almost grim as he clicks the clasp on my helmet. “Quick warning.” He gives me a pained smile. “I might cry if there’s a lot of traffic.”

  “Just get us home,” I say, grasping his wrist.

  He nods, grim again.

  It’s impressive the way he handles the bike. I never feel unsafe as he weaves through traffic at an efficient rate. Even so, it seems to take forever to get home. If I thought an easy ride through the country was difficult, it pales to clinging onto his lean body now with this energy humming between us, when clenching my thighs around his simply brings attention to what we left undone.

  You’d think a massive, mind-blowing, late-night orgasm would take the edge off, but sex doesn’t work that way. A little bit of sex is a whole lot of tease. It’s like getting only a spoonful of mint chocolate chip and being unable to reach the rest in the bowl right in front of you.

  I want it all. Now.

  Damn it all, does the bike have to vibrate so damn much? Freaking torture device from hell.

  When John finally pulls up in front of our building—and forget all the bad things I said about the bike because it fits in a tiny space—we’re both scrambling off, uncoordinated and unsteady on our feet. John tears off his gloves and helmet as I deal with mine. Then he’s grabbing my hand and hustling us up the front stairs.

  “Inside,” he says under his breath. “Make it inside.” I don’t know whether he’s talking to me or himself, but I’m not wasting time to ask.

  When we get inside, however, we keep calm. Except for holding hands, we don’t touch while we wait for the elevator. Standing perfectly still, not saying a word, I listen to the slow grind of the elevator moving down the shaft. Each muted ding announcing a floor plucks along my skin. His hand squeezes mine, our fingers threaded so tightly, I can feel his pulse.

  Just a little longer. Just a little …

  I bite my lip as the doors finally open. Inside the elevator, John hits the button for our floor, then his hands find my hips, and he shifts me in front of him. The move is firm, proprietary, but also tender, as though touching me is something that should be done with care. It is that combination of greedy yet patient that hitches my breath.

  His cheek brushes my temple as he leans down. “I’m shaking inside,” he says with a helpless laugh. “Shaking like a fucking leaf in the breeze.”

  I know exactly how he feels. The elevator is rising, but I’m the one floating, my head light. My hands snake under his shirt to hook the waistband of his jeans, tug his hips against mine. John grunts low in his throat. He’s already hard. For a moment, we simply grind against each other, then his hand eases between us. He finds the button of my jeans and gives it a tug. My inner thighs clench when he slowly lowers my zipper, the buzz of sound overloud in the little elevator.

  “I can’t wait,” he says. Explanation or statement, I don’t know. His hand slides over my belly, under my panties. My thighs part to give him room. He finds my clit with unerring precision. The calloused tip of his talented finger gently circles that slick swell, and I go weak at the knees. My forehead rests on his shoulder as I whimper.

  His finger slides down just a little to caress my opening. “I want in here so badly, Stells.” He doesn’t push in, but simply strokes, a light torture that has me rocking my hips in desperation.

  “John …” I want it to be a demand, but it comes out a thready plea.

  The elevator stops with a thud. John’s hand leaves me, and I’m all too aware of how wet I am, cold now without his touch. He tugs me into the hall, all jerky movements and uncoordinated steps. John punches in the code to his door like he’s trying to break through the panel. It clicks, and then we’re practically falling into the cool quiet of his front hall.

  There is no more talking, no more waiting. We’re kissing each other, and it isn’t demanding or frantic; it’s consuming, a fall right into the deep end of the ocean. John comes after my mouth like it’s his right, his pleasure
. I’ve never been kissed this way. I am the banquet and he is the hunger.

  I know we’re moving—kissing, soaking each other in, clothes quietly coming off and left where they lie—but my senses are solely on him, the feel of his lips, the tart taste of his tongue. He is soft skin and hard muscle, his grip firm as he guides me along, claiming my mouth, drawing me into his room.

  It’s a dark cave—black walls, heavy drapes, the only light coming in through the massive grid windows at the far wall. He pulls me right into that light. The heat of it on my skin is almost too much.

  I’m burning now, inside and out, incandescent with lust for this man standing before me. This beautiful man. He’s built in perfect proportions: wide shoulders, strong arms, hard abs. Unbuttoned jeans hang low on his trim hips, revealing the edge of his boxers and a wispy trail of dark hair.

  Never in my life have I wanted someone this way. I want to do things to him, bite the tawny nubs of his nipples, suck the sensitive skin on his neck. But I’m rendered immobile by his gaze, absorbed and intense, tender and covetous.

  With the backs of his fingers, he traces a path along my spine. When he hits the clasp of my bra, he pauses. “I want to see you.”

  See me, he does. I’m utterly exposed, standing in my bra and panties, the rest of my clothes lost somewhere along the way. I’m not embarrassed; I want to be naked with him. Naked and sweaty. But I know what he’s used to, and I’m not made that way.

  “It’s nothing special,” I whisper. I’m just me, a girl like any other.

  Under lowered lids, he looks at me, his expression solemn. “You’re extraordinary.”

  In that moment, I’d believe anything from him. I lean into his touch, where he’s toying with the hooks of my bra. Please. Please. Just take it off me. I’d tell him, but my voice has fled. He understands the gesture. The bra goes slack, sliding away. Blissful freedom.

  “There you are,” he says, like he’s been missing me. One big, warm hand cups my aching breast. His lips press into the sensitive crook of my neck, and he inhales deeply.

  “I had plans,” he says, kissing his way down my chest. Soft pecks, suckling explorations. “I’d get you home, get you wet, then fuck you.” More slow kisses, mapping my freckles, lowering himself to his knees. “Fuck away all this desperation, hard and fast.”

  Lust washes over me, and I sway into him. He grips my waist, steadying me.

  “So many plans.” The kiss on the tip of my nipple is so light, I chase his mouth for more, moaning when he complies and suckles. “You’re destroying all my plans,” he murmurs against my skin, tongue flicking.

  My hand smooths over his thick hair. “Sorry.”

  But I’m not and he knows it. His laugh is warm over my damp nipple. “Liar.”

  “The worst,” I agree, my voice weak. I want to touch him everywhere, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the taut sweep of his back. In the sunlight, his skin is warm gold, fine and smooth. But he’s moving lower, out of my reach.

  “Now, all I want to do is take my time, savor this.” Big hands frame my hips, his lips skimming along the slope of my belly. With deliberate care, he grasps the edge of my panties and slides them down. They pool at my feet, and I’m bare to him. John just stares, and then sighs contently. “Red.”

  God, he’s right there, nuzzling my sex, breathing me in. My legs tremble. “John … You don’t have to—” I bite my lip hard. Why did I say anything? I’m not even sure, only that I never want to be an obligation.

  He stills, his grip tightening a fraction, and I swallow thickly, wishing the floor would swallow me up. I brought his past into this, when it’s the last thing I want to do. This moment has no space for anything other than the two of us.

  He has every right to be pissed, get up and call this off. But he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he spreads his fingers wide, his palms pressing hotly to my skin.

  Green eyes, dark with desire, stare up at me. “I want new memories of this act. I want them with you.” His thumb rubs a red line my panties left. “That okay, Button?”

  In a haze, I nod. The corners of his eyes crinkle, an illicit gleam entering them. “Good. Now, be my girl and part those pretty thighs for me.” Polite and patient John melts away, leaving rough edges and thick demands. “A little wider. Show me that sweet kitty. She needs a proper kiss, poor neglected love.”

  With one firm hand, he grips my ass. Soft lips graze my inner thigh. “Wider, honey. Let me have a proper look.” He easily lifts my leg and rests it on his shoulder. “That’s it.”

  “God,” I whisper, held up by him. I’m panting now, intensely aware of how slick I am, how swollen. And he hasn’t even touched me there.

  “So pretty.” He gives me a kiss, languid and open, lips and tongue moving with perfect decadence. I groan, my body clenching, trying to hold in the feeling, the hot, wet glide of his mouth. My fingers thread through his hair, gripping so I don’t fall to the floor.

  John makes a noise in the back of his throat. “God, Stells, you taste so … so fucking …” He trails off with a shuddering breath that I feel against my skin. There is no finesse, no practiced touches. It is carnal heat, lips and tongue shaping, licking, suckling.

  It feels so good. I want this every day. Every day.

  “John … please.” I don’t even know what I’m begging for. More. Less. Harder. Softer. I can’t think. My hips rock against his mouth, chasing the sensation, running from it. I’m going to break apart, melt right on his tongue.

  God, the way he goes at me, pulling back every so often to look at his handiwork. Attack from a new angle. He’s reveling in this. The utter absorption of his expression, the way his tongue flicks out to lick my opening has me shivering.

  A gentle suck of my clit and I come, a low, hot rush of pleasure that leaves me boneless. But it’s only an appetizer. My insides pulse, needing something to fill it. I push against him, silently begging.

  I need it. Need it so badly.

  “Please,” I say. “Please.”

  The blunt tip of his finger teases me. “I know, honey. But the first time I get to be inside you, it’s going to be with my dick.” He looks up at me, innocent angel, unrepentant devil. “Hold on.”

  “Wha—” I squeal and clutch his head as he wraps his arms around my hips and simply stands. Just freaking stands up with me on his shoulders, lifting me as easily as one of his guitars.

  He laughs against my sex, the sound muffled and warm, as he strides to the bed.

  “Crazy man,” I chide with a laugh.

  Grinning, he tumbles me back onto a cloud of pillows. I lie there, a wanton sprawl of limbs, and watch with growing hunger as he pulls a strip of condoms from his pocket and tosses them on the bed beside me. They don’t make a sound when they land, but I feel the impact in my bones, a mental thud that sends a shiver of anticipation over my skin. Holding my gaze, he shucks his jeans and boxers with one, impatient push.

  Jesus, he’s gorgeous, all lean grace and hard, hard cock. And he’s mine. I’m a lucky girl.

  “That looks painful,” I rasp, glancing at the thick erection he’s giving a stroke.

  John’s smile is predatory. “It hurts something fierce, Button. You gonna give me some relief?”

  It’s so easy to spread my legs, arch my back, and display myself for him. To give him a soft smile and say, “Come here, then.”

  His eyes narrow, and he crawls up the bed and over me. Muscles bunch as he hovers, his arms bracketing my body. High color runs along his cheeks and the tops of his broad shoulders. “Anything you don’t like, anything you want more of, you tell me, Button.” His lips quirk. “I want this to be good for you.”

  My hands glide over his shoulders to cup the back of his neck where his skin is hot and damp. “Same goes for you.”

  Surprise flashes over his face, and he lets out a short laugh. “Oh, angel, everything leading up to this has already been better than anything I’ve ever experienced. You could do your worst and it would still be
my best.”

  I’m grinning like a loon when I pull him down to me. We exhale as our lips meet, our kiss a bit fumbling. It soon turns feverish, greedy, messy. “Oh, shit,” I rasp. “Don’t wait. I need it. I need it.”

  It sets him off. Gone are the careful touches, the slow moves. His big hand grabs my ass, kneading it as he grinds his hard dick against my sex. Our kiss goes deeper, forcing my mouth wide. I clutch his shoulders, my nails digging in as he gropes around for the condom package.

  As soon as he gets hold of it, he sits back on his heels and tears a condom packet free from the strip. The sight of him kneeling before me, torso tight and twitching, his dick so hard he has to ease it back from where it slaps against his abs—it’s so hot, I don’t think. I sit up, my hands sliding over his strong thighs. Before he can utter a word, I take his dick in my mouth, sucking him down deep.

  “Oh, fuck.” John’s body shakes as he jerks in my mouth. “Oh, fucking hell.”

  His hand comes down on my head, fingers tangling in my hair. He’s big and hot in my mouth. Enough that I feel the stretch in my jaw. Enough he’ll have to work to get himself inside me.

  I love the way he tastes, the thick glide of him along my tongue and the way he trembles, thrusts his hips just a little like he can’t help himself.

  “Stells …” He sounds pained, weak. I love that too.

  I don’t recognize this mindless, needy thing I’ve become where every touch is a matter of now and more and again. I don’t recognize this messy, hot emotion swelling, or the way I lose all sense of myself. I’m not mine anymore; I’m his.

  John’s hand in my hair tightens and then eases. I let him lift me up. Our eyes meet, his wide and dazed. I grab the condom from his hand and work it over his length. In a blink, I’m on my back, the breath whooshing from me. John grabs my hips and hauls them up over his thighs. My tits lift high, my back arching as I press my shoulders into the bed to brace myself.

  The wide crown of his cock notches against my slick opening. It draws all my attention. John leans forward, and that fat head slips just inside, stretching me. His eyes close, a look of near pain flitting across his features. His lips go slack, the space between his brows knitting.