by Elle Berlin
He laughs behind me and I hear his footsteps against the boardwalk as he jogs to catch up, the roll of the waves crashing to our right.
“Sooo, where are you from?” I ask, needing a distraction, small talk, something to keep my heart from pounding outside my body.
He tilts his head to the side with a raised eyebrow. “Getting nosy, Wisconsin?” he teases. “You need that name to yell out when—”
“Nope!” I cut him off, knowing exactly what he’s doing. I walk backward up the boardwalk, studying him. “How about a job? A profession? What do you do?”
“I’m a boring everyday bartender, nothing special.”
I shake my head, “Not good enough. What would this secret agent be doing with an everyday bartender?’
“You don’t like the truth?”
I smirk at him, knowing the last thing he’s doing is telling the truth. That charmed smile ripples over his face at my shaking head. “Ok, let me think, Wisconsin.” He looks up at the stars, searching for the right cover story. “Evil politician?”
“You’re too pretty.”
He shakes his head amused. “Ok, American undercover spy?”
“Cliché.”
“Random tourist.”
“Too general.”
“I don’t know.” He catches up to me. “Who do you want me to be, Wisconsin? I’m not too good at being anyone but me.” He crosses his arms over his chest and the thickness of his shoulders makes my mouth dry with how badly I need to be naked with my knees draped over those sturdy boulders of muscle.
“How about dragon tamer?” I suggest and his brows scrunch.
“What does that have to do with—”
I stop in front of him and cup his face, pulling him softly toward me. “Trust me,” I say, the ghost of my lips hitting his. “I’m pretty sure you could tame anything, especially—”
Our mouths fuse together again and just as I’m nibbling the length of his jaw, he grabs my hand and steers us off the boardwalk and away from the ocean. The high-rise in front of us isn’t billionaire-tall, but nothing to scoff at, and there’s something casual and easy about walking through the un-manned lobby to the elevator and closing the two of us inside.
The door chimes and my knees buckle as we lift up, heading for his flat. Floor eight is illuminated on the side panel. “How can you afford—?” It slips out and I catch myself before blurting all the wild things racing through my head.
“Good money in dragon taming,” he quips, and I appreciate the save. The doors whoosh open a moment later and my heart is racing as we walk down the narrow hall to the door at the end. Corner apartment? Damn! Dragon taming indeed. Whoever he is, he has money.
The inside of the apartment is sleek and modern, made up of straight lines and stainless steel accents that glint as he holds the door for me. After I pass through, he shuts it behind me with a silent hiss, not turning on the lights.
My skin gets hot at the half-darkness, my eyes scanning the slight illumination that comes from soft downlighting installed in the cabinets and bookshelves. It’s enough light to make out an open floorplan in which the kitchen leads to the living room that opens to a panorama of windows overlooking the beach. The ambient moonlight from outside spills in the windows, creating long, dark silhouettes of the furniture. It feels mysterious and exciting, my neck prickling with the thought that soon I might be outstretched on one of those dark shapes, sandwiched between cold leather and his skin.
My dragon slayer unloads his pockets in a dish on the counter and walks straight to a cabinet near the windows. I hear the clink of glasses as he rummages around what I imagine is his liquor cabinet.
“I don’t need a drink,” I say, maneuvering my way through the darkness toward him, loving the way the light accentuates his broad shoulders. I don’t need to be drunk for this. I want him; I don’t need liquid courage to convince me. My body is already buzzing and that’s plenty.
“Oh, trust me,” he says, not looking in my direction. “You’ll want this.”
I’m at his side when he offers me the amber liquid, which looks ashen in the shadows of his apartment. It’s a little pushy of him, but I like the directness, the confidence with which he takes charge.
I lift the glass to my nose, eyeing him over the rim of the glass, my lip barely touching the edge, as if to say I don’t need the drink, but I’ll indulge you. Even though his face is in shadow, I can still make out the lift of his cheekbones as he takes in my flirtatious gaze, daring me to take a sip.
“How bad will I want it?” I tease, only the aroma catches my senses before I have a chance to lay it on thick. A smoke-hot tang of cedar fills my nose. It’s manly and aggressive, exactly like I want him to be, followed by a punch of cardamom. “Mmmmmmm,” I almost moan, impressed. This isn’t cheap, and for a second I wonder who he really is.
He leans in, the wisp of his lips teasing my cheek. “Take a sip,” he purrs, his breath exhaling against my ear. “Trust me, it will taste almost as good as my mouth on your pussy.”
A wick of heat shoots between my legs—shocked—and totally turned on. I take a quick drink, my body shivering with his words and my core throbbing in anticipation. I want the assault of the whiskey coating my mouth. I want it coinciding with this pulse and quake. It’s exotic, the whiskey slipping over my teeth, slick and wicked, making my thighs ache.
I lift an eyebrow at him and bite back a whimper as he takes a sip from his own glass. Indecently, I want his mouth exactly where he just teased, idling between the heat of my cunt and the fire of the drink. Hell, I want his shirt off and the exotic taste of the liquid smoke drizzled down his abdomen, in the perfect mix of whiskey and sin.
My fingers don’t want to imagine it. They want to do it. With my free hand, I reach under his shirt and trace his abs. “You don’t want to know what naughty thoughts just ran through my mind as I watched you drink that.”
His lip curls with devious amusement. “No? Oh, Wisconsin, maybe I do.”
I idle my glass against my own lip, brushing my knuckles against the soft hair that leads down, down, down. He lets me play, adjusting his hips so my fingers can’t help but brush past his jean’s thickness. I dip my fingers behind his buckle and a grumble rakes out of his throat as my fingers tease the top of him. Damn! I barely graze the hem, but he’s big! I toss back another gulp of whiskey, the heat drowning me with another wave of caramel indecency.
“You’ve got good taste,” I say, and he licks his lower lip, that firm dangerous tongue peeking out at me.
“In whiskey?” He steps back, leaving my hand in the top of his jeans, tickling the root of his cock. He puts his glass down and in one swift move he pulls his shirt off, exposing the expanse of his naked chest. Those wide shoulders. Those arms! “My taste in whiskey is unparalleled.”
The timbre of his voice makes my nipples harden. I’m completely lost in the beauty of him, skin kissed by moonlight, bold muscles carved and aching for my body to be pressed against them. “You see, my palate,” he continues, slowly pulling my hand from his jeans and pressing my palm against the firm warmth of his chest, “my palate is complex and curious, and hungry for the next great thing.”
His hands clasp my waist, suddenly yanking me forward so we crash together. My tits press through this tank top against his devilish skin as those agile fingers of his slip under my tank to trace my stomach, softly grazing my navel—and it’s official, my legs are putty.
I moan with my need to be flipped over and fucked—right now! His delicacy is dangerous and totally intoxicating in a way that feels too intimate for a one-night stand, and yet I’m teasing him back, swaying my hips, grazing his fingers in the dance of our skin.
“Are you going to—” I rasp out, the strength of my voice is not as powerful as I want it to be, “—to tease me all night? Or are you—?”
His mouth covers mine, soft—too delicate—and tasting of whiskey fire.
“Not all night,” he whispers against my lips. “Just t
he perfect amount to drive you—”
His thumb flicks open the button at the top of my jeans—so fast my hips jerk on instinct. He laughs, tasting the side of my mouth, and I feel like a bottle of champagne about to pop. I moan as he slowly undoes the zipper and fans his fingers out over my hips, claiming every inch of me as he pushes the fabric down over my ass. He palms my butt with an aggressive roughness, his fingers intoxicating as he kneads my cheeks with the tips of those fingers—
“Mmmmmmm,” I hum into his ear, egging him on—close, oh so close.
“You want something?” he pants into my hair, his fingers brushing the fabric of my wet thong, knowing full well I want him there. I arch into his touch as he slips my jeans down my thighs. I pull back to look at him, taking in that crooked smile and dilated eyes, as hot and wanting as I am. I bite my lip and try not to look so damn eager, even though I want his fists to be tearing off my thong and spreading me so wide the moon will glisten on my wetness.
I’m about to start barking orders when he kisses me softly and whispers, “I know, Wisconsin. I know. I can’t wait to taste you either.”
“I might not have that kind of patience,” I growl at him, kicking off my shoes and stepping out of the jeans that are now at my ankles.
“Is that a cliché redhead thing?” he asks. “Impudence? Ornery? Precocious?”
“Is the moonlit bachelor pad on the beach a cliché twenty-something white guy thing?” I toss back and he laughs.
“Indubitably.”
“Is your cock as big as those fancy words?”
“Oh…” He takes the whiskey glass from my hand and gulps the remaining liquid back himself. “I think you already know the answer to that, you sanguine dryad.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know if I should be more turned on by your cock or your vocabulary.”
He deposits the glass on the edge of the liquor cabinet and gives me a wicked smile. “Definitely my vocabulary.” He tilts back in and devours me, our mouths igniting with fire as my pulse races. The taste of whiskey and the pressure of his tongue, coupled with the thought of what I feel through his pants—vocabulary my ass! I’m pure electricity, a live wire buzzing with heat.
I grip his waist and try to hang on as his hands tangle in my hair and cup my neck. Then I feel his hands pushing the tank top up, up my stomach, grazing my breasts before pulling it over my head and discarding it somewhere behind us. I shiver, excited at the fact that I’m wearing nothing but my bra and panties. Thank goodness I put on a lacy pair that actually match this morning.
His hands swirl like a siren, crashing over the small of my back and up my stomach with hot feathers of heat. It’s a seduction. A drowning. I wrap my arms around his neck and arch into his weight. His hands cover my breasts, cupping their swollen weight, claiming in a way that makes my body ache. He growls as he gets his hands on them and I smile at how hot he becomes. “No big fancy vocabulary now?” I tease.
His fingers flick my nipples through the lace and I gasp. “Erogenous, libidinous,” he barks through a heavy breath, his fingers thrumming my nipples with each multi-syllabic word, sending shoots of electricity straight to my pussy. “Would you like me to recite the whole dictionary?”
“Mmmmm!” I nod, my whole body abuzz, as long as he continues strumming me, he can say anything he damn well pleases.
“Or maybe this tongue would be better served—” he dips forward to cover my nipple completely, lifting my tits to meet his assault, his tongue swirling over the erect bud.
“Holy—” I grab his shoulders to keep from falling back. His lips covering the drenched lace.
“Oh?” He smiles at my reaction. “Not so silent, I see.”
“That’s a cheap—” But he interrupts my attempt to deny him victory, pulling the cup of my bra down and sucking so hard on my naked tit, I’m gasping. “Oh God, what are—!”
He yanks the other cup down and turns his attention to my second breast, making me whimper at his attention. His big hands slide around back, undoing the bra so my tits are loose against his face. I’m wild and unleashed, my nipples brushing against his hungry mouth as my tits bounce. He mumbles a few more big-big words that I can’t make out before he latches onto my nipples and sucks so hard, I’m seeing spots.
Forget being quiet, I want him to take possession. I want him to take me on every surface of this apartment, in every room, bent over every piece of furniture, hard or soft. My stomach slides against his chest and the friction erupts my skin with a dampness. The whiskey and the heat of his ravaging ping-pongs electric pulses from my tits straight to my cunt and back. I’m on fire. I need more. I need all of him. Damn, I felt him through his pants and mamma wants to ride!
I reach for his jeans, his cock. I need him out and ready. He tries to swipe my hands away, but I’m too fast. My hands glide inside his pants and plunge down over his erect shaft, my fingers wrapping his full length. He snarls at my aggressiveness, and now it’s my turn to smile at how I’ve disarmed him. That’s right, I can turn him into a wild animal too.
I tighten my grip and start to pump, sliding my fingers over his velvet head, gloating in how he shudders and moans at my attention.
Two can play this game.
Except—he’s big! My hands cover him and stroke, his thickness reminding me of how empty I am. “I want you inside me,” I practically beg. “Do you have a condom around here?” I pull one of my hands out of his pants and start searching his pockets.
“Keep looking,” he teases softly. “But you better curb your excitement, I haven’t tasted you yet. You’re not ready.” He pumps in my fist as if he’s trying to make a point about how much of him there is too take.
“You think I can’t handle you?” I bray, my skin slick and aching.
“Oh, Wisconsin,” he breathes back. “You’re a secret spy. I’m pretty sure you could kill me with your left pinky.”
“Do you think I could kill you with this?” I find a condom in his pocket and pull it out, flashing the gold packet at him. “Kind of like throwing stars?”
“Are you going to turn into a ninja in a second?” he tosses back. “Climb up onto my face and come on my tongue before I let you ride the bull?”
“Maybe,” I reply, showing him ninja skills by unzipping his pants and pulling him out. Damn, he’s thick and engorged. “But that’s not how riding the bull works!” He groans at the exposure, my fist continuing to stroke as I tear the gold packet open and roll the condom on him. I tenderly fondle his ass, drawing out the show as I push his jeans down to his knees.
“Are you trying to take control, Wisconsin?” He pulls back to look at me, naked except for my thong, topless, stroking his incredible heat. His eyes dilate as he takes it in, like he might just flip me over right now and skip all the pleasantries. My pussy clenches, thrumming with the possibility, only it’s my turn to smirk in triumph.
“Don’t you see?” I tease. “The bull is a lot more fun to ride when he’s angry.”
I press the whole weight of my body against him and he stumbles back, losing his balance and falling back onto the carpet below me. Before he can recover, I’m on top of him, sliding my thighs to either side of his impressive torso, my knees straddling him. I grab his incredible cock and position it below me, watching his eyes dilate as I pull the fabric of my thong to the side.
“We can play games,” I tease, lashing his velvet head through my wet folds—oh damn!—my muscles tremble at the contact. My pussy wild and hungry. “Or we can fuck!”
I plunge my hips down and he grabs my thighs as I take him all the way to the hilt.
“Holy—!” He gasps.
My mouth drops open to match his surprise. “Exactly,” I rasp out, delirious with the breadth of him—big like those fancy words—his cock deep inside me.
4
Connor
I was wrong.
This isn’t a girl who wants slow seduction. This is a girl who wants to take charge, to dominate, to show me who
holds the reins.
And for all things holy, this naked goddess—this firecracker—pumps her hips down my cock and takes all of me.
I’m pure electricity. Shock.
It feels so fucking good, I forget everything. Who I am. How I don’t know her name. Though I suddenly want to know it. Because only one girl can have her name. Only one girl can take me like this.
Ever.
I was going to do this slower. Do her slower. Taste her, make her ready, make her cry out against my face. Only, I’m the one grunting and grabbing her thighs and digging my fingers into her hips as my cock is sheathed in heat.
“Fuck! Fuck,” I grunt out, the live wire of our connection pure intensity. The immediacy of our connection making me so hard, I’m almost ready to come. I do everything in my power not to explode like a damn virgin, but holy-shit I’ve never felt anything this erotic.
She doesn’t smile in victory. No, her mouth is open and her head is thrown back in pleasure—or surprise—at the size of me. I warned her. Not that she needed the warning; she saw with her own eyes. I told her I needed to get her ready.
Her head tilts forward and that red hair spills out over those porcelain shoulders and breasts—and she’s too fucking beautiful for words. She looks down at me, her lips swollen and her eyes glazing over with satisfaction, her mouth trembling at how I’ve filled her.
“Wisconsin,” I rasp out, reaching up to brush her lips with my thumbs. “God, you’re—”
She bites my thumb and leans forward, placing both of her hands on my chest for balance, her tits dangling and making me hot to have them in my mouth again.
She pulls her hips back and—
I start to see stars.
My cock is on fire.
She pumps—up and down—churning her hips in a gyrating rhythm, like when she was dancing in the club. Her mouth hangs open at her own aggressiveness, tilting to find the perfect angle against my thickness.