by Louisa Trent
She would not fall under the submissive spell of Lou's dominance again! She must fight her attraction for this man! These unasked for emotions were making her weak. She was not weak! She was strong. In charge. Free! A sexually liberated, albeit, screwed-up woman.
She slipped back into the mythical role of Diana, the goddess of the hunt. Sometimes, it was easier to pretend.
Curling her finger at Jason, she said seductively over Lou's dark head, “Don't hang back, Orion. My bones are long. There's plenty of me to go around. Jump right in. Don't be shy.”
Jason snickered. No virgin to threesomes, he was far from bashful. Though he was looking a bit intimidated, and not by the idea of having group sex. Darting a timid sidelong glance at Lou, he surreptitiously walked his fingers across her ribs.
His destination? Presumably her left breast, as that one was closest.
She tensed, because oh God, at that first delicious stroke, her nipples peaked, jutted, elongated.
But not from anything Jason was doing.
Once again, she was responding to Lou. His hand had arrived on her right breast first, long before Jason's had landed on her left, and what he was doing drove her wild.
Both men were now caressing her body, and she moaned through her open, gaping, alcohol-slackened mouth.
But only from the touch of one man.
Lou. What he did to her! Inside her strong woman's body, inside her strong woman's mind. Her heart swelled with so many feelings, painful, hurtful feelings, and her vagina went sopping wet with wanting, and her thoughts, all of them, every blessed last one of them, were overtaken by one dour man.
Lou consumed her.
A hand was between her spread legs now; another hand joined it. Lou and Jason. Night and day. Two men laughably different from one another, both wanting to have sex with her.
A rush of feminine satisfaction filled her, followed by an equally strong wash of desolation.
Everything that made her a woman was all right there for both men to see, and her eyes drifted closed once again so as not to see the face of the one man, the only man, who mattered.
She would not cry out to him! Oh, no, she would not!
A long finger engaged her pussy, moving in and out. Her pelvis tilted to receive the second digit, to beg for that clitoral caress.
Her nonverbal plea did not go unattended. Her sex was unhooded; the bud was gently rubbed; her breasts were lovingly stroked.
Her back arched. “Yes, yes, yes,” she groaned, her hips rocking. A trickle of vaginal moisture ran down her leg.
For Lou. To receive Lou. Only Lou. Her body recognized his touch just as surely as her mind blocked out the other man.
Two men were in the room, both stroking her body, but she wanted only one man, only the man who said, “Blue,” in a harsh, tortured grate.
The full weight of what she was doing sliced through her alcoholic haze.
“Go home, Jason,” she said, with the unbroken part of her heart, the undamaged part that acknowledged the truth, the part couldn't bear to cause a good man pain. “This is a private party.”
Off in the distance, she barely heard a door open, barely noticed the slam it made as Jason departed.
Quickly reshuffling her naked body on the pillows, she drew her long, strong female body up to a subordinate pose at Lou's feet.
She looked up at his unsmiling face. “I owe you, Lou. Anything you want, okay? Any way you want it. Nothing off-limits.”
“Blue,” he said in his quiet voice of reason. “This won't solve anything.”
Who was trying to solve anything?
Not her. She was only trying to survive. Only trying to get through life, one day at a time, one night at a time.
Grabbing Lou's hand, she placed it over her bare breast. “I mean it. I'll do anything. You said you've led a celibate's existence, now's your chance to cut loose.”
“All of this is my fault. I screwed up, Blue. I admit it. I should've told you what I do for a living. You have every right to feel betrayed. But Blue, this is about more than The Pink Flamingo, isn't it? This sexual fling of yours isn't something you ordinarily do, right? Something else is going on with you, isn't it? You want to tell me about it? Please, Blue, talk to me. I'm begging you here.”
Talk? He wanted her to talk?
Why should she? Why should she bare her soul to him when Lou still wasn't letting go with her? He was still hanging onto his damn control for dear life while here she was strung-out and naked at his feet, half-drunk, half-crazed, half in love with a man who wanted to talk, as if conversation ever solved anything.
“No, I don't want to talk,” she said.
Hands shaking, she unzipped him. “Let me suck you off, Lou. We're alone now. What's holding you back?”
Give into me, Lou Franco! Let go, get swept away. Show me that you care. That's the only way we'll have a chance.
His shaft looked tremendous, the testicles felt hot and heavy in her cupping palms. And there was the smell of sex. It was a scent unlike any other. The fragrance rose from Lou's genitals like a pre-cum bouquet.
She put her face against him, smoothed her cheek up and down the length, sniffed him, inhaled him into her nostrils, licked him, taunted and teased him with her tongue, begged him with every beat of her heart to give into mindless oblivion.
"What's holding you back, huh, Lou?” she repeated, and took him slowly down her throat.
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Almost forty years old, and until Blue, no women had ever invited him into her mouth. He'd heard all the torrid stories, relating the orgasmic joys of fellatio, and he'd laugh right along with the bragging storytellers, but he'd never known, not until Blue put her lips around him, what all the hoopla was about.
Now he knew.
When the woman on her knees before him captured the head of his cock with her lips, his world bottomed out. He had all to do to say, “Wait Blue-”
A reprieve came when she released him to blow out a breathy exhale onto the sensitive uncut head she'd only just moistened.
“You want this, Lou. You're dying for this.”
“No,” he said.
But he lied.
And she knew it. She knew he didn't speak the truth, and instead of waiting, instead of giving him a chance to get it together, she drew him back in. Further into her mouth's interior, letting him go only long enough to blow out another airy breath, before tonguing along the ridge of rolled-back foreskin.
His body went rigid, tight enough to snap in two, and he prayed for deliverance.
He wanted this. He wanted her to go down on him. Wanted, wanted, wanted...
But he knew it was wrong, even as the tip of her tongue delighted the retracted foreskin and pre-cum bubbled from the top of his cock in anticipation.
He should not let her do this. Sex wouldn't solve anything. They needed to talk. Something was bothering Blue and they needed to sort that something out, because he loved her, genuinely loved her, the first time he'd ever loved a woman, and he wanted them to have a future.
But her mouth.
Her mouth was hot and untamed. And he'd never had a woman on her knees to him before. Her tits jiggling, just a bit. Her thighs open, wide open. Her cunt wet, very wet.
Those lush pink female lips. Those lush pink female lips. Those lush, pink, female, lips.
Right there where he could see them. And though he knew he should stop it, he couldn't stop it.
Jaw arched to the ceiling, he grabbed onto her shoulders, chanting, “Blue, Blue, Blue. Damn, Blue, just like that. Do it just like that.”
And she did.
Blue owned him. Her pussy owned him. Her mouth owned him. Because he couldn't stop it.
She was kneeling before him, but he was the helpless one, the powerless one, the true submissive.
And it was too late now to stop it.
He started to shake as he fought the urge to thrust, to drive down into her throat, d
eep down into her long white elegant throat, a place a man his size should never venture. He could hear her moans, smell her excitement; both exhorted him. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and he let her take him.
Not all of him. Not every last inch of him. He would not give himself over entirely to her pale, long, throat. Because he was a man, not an animal, and he could still stop it. He would not thrust and push and bruise that throat he loved-
But he could not stop the convulsion, the explosion, the heavy shot of his cum. Nearly falling over with a muffled shout, every last drop of semen drained out of him.
“Aw, Blue,” he groaned, and with a possessive ferocity pulled her to her feet, took her into his arms.
A man holds his woman afterwards, comforts her, reassures her ... thanks her from the bottom of his soul for the gift of her body, for the pleasure of his release.
“I never wanted that to happen, Blue. Never expected you to do that.”
And then words failed him, and he propelled her to the wall, took her semen-salted lips, sharing the taste of his cum in the kiss, back and forth, swapping the earthy essence of sex.
But when she took his hand and rammed it between her legs, forcing it into that warm and moist opening, he yanked the kiss to an end.
His gaze dropped. He swallowed the lump in his throat, equal parts excitement and dread. His knuckles looked huge, his fist enormous, and her slit looked so dainty.
“Do it,” she said. “Put your hand inside me. Put your whole hand up inside me.”
“No.” He rubbed his fist against her pussy, letting his knuckles grow wet with her. “No.”
But God help him, he shook at the thought of doing it, of forcing his whole hand up into her wet, hot, luscious cunt.
It took every ounce of his self-control to grab at her wrist, to stop her from forcing his fist in.
Both fists now hung down at his sides. “Blue, there's a line, and I'm not crossing it.”
Her lips were bruised red, swollen, sticky with come. Her body vibrated with expectancy.
“There is no line,” she said, and smiled a dangerous smile. And he knew, he knew that he'd either have to end a lifetime of self-imposed restraint or lose Blue.
And there was something else. Something he was ashamed of.
He wanted it. The dark side of sex. The forbidden side of sex. He wanted it. He wanted it all. She was in a dangerous frame of mind but there was a corresponding coil of madness tightening inside his gut too. Did it show? Could she see into his psyche? Did she understand his need to claim her every way a man can claim a woman?
He let his still turgid cock prod her arousal-damp pussy, allowed the blunt tip to sink into the notch.
“Open it up some more,” he rasped, his elbow balanced beside her head on the wall, his bent arm supporting his weight, his body nevertheless trapping her. “Use your hand to widen it.”
When she pulled up on the pink folds, holding himself in his free hand, he penetrated the slit. Not a lot. Only a little.
She felt so damn good.
Once, as a young man, he'd foregone responsibility for pleasure. He'd had a woman without a condom: Pete's mother. He still had wet dreams about it. Not about the woman-her face was dim in his memory -but about fucking her.
He wasn't young anymore but he wanted Blue's cunt with a young man's lust. The feel of it. The wetness of it. The pulse of it around him. He needed release. And Blue was obliging. Her pierced breast teased the front of his dress shirt, the hard extension of the nipple taunting him through the fabric.
And as he lowered his jaw, the madness inside him coiled tighter.
His mouth latched onto the pierced flesh of her nipple and his teeth ground together.
“Bite it,” she coaxed.
And he did.
“Harder,” she commanded.
And he did.
“More,” she ordered.
He toppled back and away. “No!”
“I thought you were man enough to give me what I need. I guess I was mistaken.”
That was one challenge he couldn't accept. Any more pressure, he'd bite into the sensitive skin of her breast. It was bad enough that there were bruises already forming around the nipple from his teeth, marks he'd given her, discolorations she'd carry for days to come. Here he was trying to keep a lid on this, and Blue was taking that lid and hurling it across the room.
Taking her by the shoulders, he stuck his face within a scant inch of her face, near enough to bump noses, near enough to breathe in her wine fumes.
Unlike many barkeeps who stayed away from the bottle, he wasn't a recovering alcoholic; neither was he the son of drunken parents. But he was a former cop and he'd seen what booze does to good and decent men and women. Troubles don't drown in liquor; they only go under the surface.
Choking back his fear for her and for himself too, he warned, “I will not hurt you.”
But what would he do to her? How would this night end?
And how much more could he take?
Not much more, he thought, as his tongue rammed back into her mouth.
His dick was now in her hand. She was bringing him into her warmth, leading him right in. It was so damn cold outside, so damn lonely. Blue felt hot on his skin, like the sun after a long stretch of winter, and he no longer cared that he might get burned.
The pre-cum-dripping head pressed up into her opening, skin to skin slick, hardness to the softest of wet silk.
No damn condom.
And like a selfish prick, he wanted it.
She'd taken some of the edge off with her mouth and washed him clean afterwards with her lips, but he was still juicy and it just wasn't safe.
He backed up, put the breaks on it. “I'm not suited up. No repercussions from this night.”
She stalked to him, grabbed his hand and put it on her ass. “I've got it covered, Lou.”
He stared into her half-lowered eyes, and sighed.
He'd walked out on Blue once already and he didn't think he had the strength to do it again. Hell, the way she was cupping his balls, he couldn't crawl away this time.
“I'm clean,” he told her. “I swear I am. I'd rather cut it off and feed it to the fish than pass something onto you.”
“And I know you don't lie. Right, Honest Lou?”
He leaned his forehead to hers. “I swear on my son Pete's happiness that I've avoided the truth only once in my life and that was to get a chance with you.”
That said, he backed her up to the wall and pushed up and in.
She was so small and he was so large and they were standing up, Blue's back against the wall, the worst case scenario, and he wanted to fill her and knew he couldn't fill her, knew she couldn't take much more than half.
“I want your cum inside me,” Blue said, setting down her conditions. “You bail and I go find Jas.”
Some choice.
“No. Don't go. Don't get it from any other guy. Let me be the one to give it to you,” he said, and started the motion.
He was only a man, only a dick loosely tied to a brain, and he wanted to drive hard, make those thrusts. But he couldn't. He couldn't let go, couldn't give into the part of himself that he kept locked away. It was just too dangerous.
Gritting his teeth, he kept the strokes slow and easy, smooth and controlled, ever mindful of the harm he could do if he lost it and crossed the line. Making sure she climaxed, he withheld his own. Just in case. Regardless of what she said about protection, no condom equaled no orgasm. Not for him.
In the grip of post-climactic satiation, her eyes fluttered up. “I want you to leave. If you don't get out of here, I'm calling security,” she said voice flat and emotionless.
And then Blue left him there, up against the wall, no place to go but into her, the same place he was when they met.
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lou Franco and his stupid control and his idiotic code of honor!
She wanted a flesh and
blood man, not a bunch of lofty principles. She wanted a man who threw caution to the winds and let passion take him over. She would not settle for less.
The phone was on her worktable. She walked toward it.
Sometimes a too gentle man needs a kick in the ass to get motivated.
A hand fell heavily on her bare arm. “You're not calling security and I'm not leaving. You belong to me, Blue.”
It wasn't so much the words, but how the words were spoken that caught her attention. Lou's voice sounded different, tight with anger, no longer cool. This was a man pushed to the limit, no longer responsible for his actions.
Spinning around, she noted the sweat beaded on his forehead, the clenched spring of his bearing, the darkening of his already dark eyes. About fuckin’ time she got a reaction from him.
“By the end of tonight, you'll feel my ownership on every inch of your body,” he said.
Dare she hope?
Loosening the knot on his gray silk tie, he whipped it off over his head and sent it flying, knot and gold clip still in place. Next, his cuff links were attacked and flung too. Blue watched the hopelessly old-fashioned jewelry bounce and roll like gold grenades across the width of the room.
Oh, my, my, my. Pity about that high gloss floor finish; it was all scratched and scarred now. She wanted Lou to bruise her the some way.
Her brain's circuitry fired off a round of endorphins, the opiate receptors sparking a sexual exhilaration inside her even as she picked up the phone. “I want you out,” she told him, the receiver to her ear, her fingertips pounding the call numbers for security, egging him on with every fiber of her being. This was their last chance!
Show me what you're made of Lou, her heart pleaded.
The cord was ripped from the base. “And I told you I'm not leaving.”
Fight or flight, or something else-like maybe the thrill of the chase-had her eyes darting for the nearest door.
She was naked, but the gallery was deserted, and who cared about a little thing like nudity when a dominant male is yanking his belt from the loop of his pants?