by Ilsa Ames
He withdrew his hand and left me heaving and sweating and sat up straight to work my pants down. This was it, I thought, finally he was going to give me what I wanted.
But the grin on his lips was wicked, and promised mischief, not delivery. He tossed my jeans and panties aside into a bush and scooped my thighs up in his arms as he leaned down.
He started at my inner thigh, but just above the knee, his lips brushing, his tongue licking; soft, slow kisses that trailed toward my lower lips with gut-wrenching patience. He traveled down one leg gradually, until I could feel his stubble against the mound of me, teasing his intentions with cruel promise.
I braced myself when he moved his head again, but he only smirked up at me, and started in on the other leg. By now, every touch of his mouth to my skin sent fiery bolts of lightning straight to the core of me, and I tugged my legs further open against his iron arms that held me in place with hardly any effort at all.
His lips trailed down as I watched him, my face screwed up with concentration and need, my breath caught in my chest, every muscle in my body tense as I gripped a handful of grass with both hands and willed him to keep going.
He reached the top of my thigh and locked his eyes on mine.
“Logan…” I whispered, trying to throw the full weight of my desire into my words.
Patiently, unconcerned with what I wanted—or, knowing what I wanted better than I did—he trailed his tongue carefully along the edges of my inner lips, avoiding the sensitive button above them intentionally. He even licked gently at the taut hood of it as he made his circuit up and around, exploring and teasing and driving me to just this side of insanity.
“Fuck, Logan; stop playing around,” I moaned, shivering with the building pressure inside.
He smiled, lowered his mouth to me, and flicked his tongue out to graze my clit, just once.
I gasped and curled forward. Logan chuckled his gravelly laugh, and did it again, and again I convulsed. “Please, Logan!” I howled and grabbed handfuls of his hair.
He buried me beneath his mouth, his eyes going lidded and lazy as his tongue scooped into me, rolled over my nub, lashed me like I’d done something wrong. I bucked against his face, and dug my fingers into his scalp, and suffered under his swirling, dipping tongue for what seemed like an eternity. Again, like before, he held me back from actually getting off; taking short pauses to kiss my inner thighs and bite the tender spot where my thigh met my pelvis.
He pushed one leg up and draped it over his back to free his hand, so that his fingers could slip back inside me, seeking until they found my hot spot and massaged it in time with his tireless tongue. He sealed his lips around my clit and sucked, rubbing his tongue forward and backward over it inside the heat of his mouth, and growled around it, the vibrations bouncing around inside me where they urged that growing pressure up and up until my head was thrown back and I couldn’t see anything anymore. White stars flashed and danced behind my eyelids, and I stopped breathing as his urgency grew hungrier, faster, his fingers firmer inside, his growls constant and rolling and then hot ecstasy was rolling through me.
It hammered into my stomach, and my chest, and my brain and I was screaming, tears in my eyes, and then I was gripping handfuls of his short hair uselessly trying to pry him off as my ecstasy became white-hot and almost too much to endure.
“No fuck, oh God, please no more… shit, Logan! Oh, God, stop!” But I was holding in my laughter. It had begun as soft bumps in my stomach that bubbled up and made me almost sob them out, but as he held me in place I began to howl with it, trying to kick my legs but helpless against his strong arms, pinned against the ground.
I squealed for long minutes while he drove me well beyond the brink of sanity, until I was babbling incoherently for him to stop, or keep going, or who even knew what—definitely not me. I was lost somewhere between an orgasm that I vaguely remembered having and the vast jungle of sensation that now swamped my thoughts.
Finally, he let me go. Logan’s body slid up mine, and he pressed his lips to mine, and I woke up as if from a dream to kiss him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and suffered another bout of laughter into his mouth. “Damn,” I groaned. “Fuck, how do you do that to me?”
“Want more?” he asked softly, before my lip was caught between his teeth. “I could go all day.”
“We still need to set up camp..." I murmured lazily.
He shrugged.
"No rain forecast for tonight. We could just fuck all day and sleep beneath the stars..."
The weight of him on top of me was comforting, and hot. Here, I was totally safe. Under him, I was in a fortress of muscle and strength where no one could get to me.
He grunted, and I felt his cock move between us. His eyes grew fierce, and he nosed at my chin. “No better time to start than the present,” he breathed.
“Please,” I begged.
He was thrusting slow, his slick, swollen head rubbing against my over-sensitive clit, spreading my lips just barely and teasing the nerves there.
“Fuck me, Logan,” I urged him. I started to reach down to get him inside.
But he braced himself on his elbow and caught my wrist. He pinned it over my head, and rolled his hips up and back, torturing me with the unfulfilled promise of what he planned to do to me. He nipped my lip with his teeth, searched my face for the signs of what he was doing to my body, and kissed my chin, my cheeks, my nose, my eyelids.
“How did you get so deep inside me, baby?” he asked.
The irony wasn’t lost on me, but I looked up at him and spoke as honestly as I could.
“I knew. When I got to know you, I knew you were… I don’t know, real. Your heart, Logan. It’s real. So many aren’t…”
He pulled his hips back. The head of his cock pressed against me, and I widened my hips and exhaled long and slow as he slipped inside me by inches. Finally, a note of pleasure left his throat. He entered me so gradually, filling me by degrees, that I wasn’t sure he’d ever get there.
“Lia,” he breathed into my lips, “I’ll follow you anywhere, I promise.”
Finally, I felt his hips pressed against mine, as deep as he could go. He pulled out slowly, sighing as he did, and then thrust in again, a slow piston.
I arched my back into him, gasping in pleasure as he drove into me. He watched my face, his was a mask of concentration and lust. The muscles of his shoulders bunched and rippled, and his eyes tightened with the signs of his pleasure from moment to moment. But somehow, he controlled himself and fucked me with slow, long, deep thrusts that were angled perfectly to hit the tender spot inside like his fingers had before.
“You’re too fucking beautiful for this world, Lia,” he said, his voice tight, strained with his own pleasure. “Too good for me. Too perfect.”
I squeezed him inside me, clamping down tight as I jerked my hips forward during his long thrust in, and he groaned, his eyes fluttering closed.
“You know we’re married now, right?” I moaned, teasing him. “You win. You don’t have to go on like that.”
He looked down at me. “I’ll tell you you’re beautiful and perfect every day from now on if I want to, lady.” He slammed into me to drive the point home. “And you’ll like it.” He grinned, and then groaned as he pulled out and then drove back in.
“Logan!” I howled as he pulled out, and thrust in again, harder. Sparks set off wildfires throughout my body, and his hand on my wrist was gentle but firm as his lips smashed against mine and he started to speed up, bucking against me at a rising pace.
“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he growled. “Fuck… fuck…”
I fought him for it. Every time he plunged into me I gritted my teeth and rolled my hips up, tense and tight. The heat in his eyes focused, and he snarled as he kissed me harder, until we were growling at one another like animals, each trying to devour the other, to win the bout. His body trembled on top of mine as he struggled to control himself, and I was bound and determined to make
him come for me before I did.
He let my wrist go to brace himself on both arms. My legs locked around his waist, I dug my fingers into his shoulders and pulled so that we rocked together violently. I used the momentum to roll around, and, somehow managed to succeed in rolling him over so that I sat atop him. His eyes widened in shock at my sudden strength, but then he lay back as I plunged myself down on him, impaling myself on his thick shaft.
I slid my hands down his abs, and braced myself on them as I rode him, awash with lust that the fall had only stoked higher. It drove me wild to see him power through it like the only thing that mattered, the only thing he cared about, was this. Us. Now.
He swelled inside me. His neck craned forward, and he rumbled something I didn’t hear the first time.
“Jesus… fuck, Lia… ride it… yes…” he was muttering through clenched teeth, and I felt him get iron hard and unbending inside me, stretching me just that little bit more and I knew that I was going to win.
I smiled down at him, squeezing tight, and refusing to move.
Logan’s neck muscles strained to cords. He breathed out harshly, and every muscle from his chest to his stomach tightened and bulged.
He reached down between my legs where we were locked together and pinched my clit once before he started massaging it between his fingers and thrusting to get what little movement he could.
I grabbed at his wrist, tried to stop him, but when it became apparent that I wasn’t strong enough I instead started riding him again with a vengeance, my pussy clenching on its own from the work of his fingers over my clit until a flush of heat spread through me and arched my back, clawing its way up into my brain where another explosion of shattering pleasure broke through me.
Under me, Logan swore, bucked one last time, and then roared my name as he came with me, his cock pulsing against the locked walls of my tunnel.
I fell forward, spent, exhausted, still on fire; little electric tremors continued to fire off through my limbs and spine, aftershocks of a body-quake that wasn’t through with me yet. Logan stayed inside me, stayed hard, and occasionally pushed his hips up slowly to fuck me languidly in our mutual afterglow.
“Stay with me here forever,” he said quietly against my ear.
I smiled at him languidly.
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
When you ask someone how they met the love of their life, what do they normally say? “Oh, we met at work,” or “We had mutual friends and we really hit it off!” But, when people ask me, I usually have to make something up. Because when you tell them, “Oh, he kidnapped me off the street and took me to his creepy cabin in the woods,” the response is... interesting.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
But none of it matters. No matter how it came to be, the both of us found our happy ending. And, as Logan is fond of whispering into my ear before we fall asleep each night:
“You were always mine. Even before I stole you.”
And steal me he did. First, away from the life I never wanted anyways. Then away from the notions I thought I had. But then he stole my heart, and after that?
Well, after that, I was all his. And he all mine. And no one can take that away from us.
THE END
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His Control - Sneak Peek
Micah
I hadn’t been back since I left. Not once. Never wanted to, never needed to. Too many bad memories, too many reminders of what I’d lost. And besides, I’d been so busy that I’d simply never had the time.
So why was I returning now?
I’d recently sold off the patent to my life’s work. I called it the ‘NeuraVita’ and it was set to revolutionize medicine as we know it. It works by targeting the specific neurons which cause and respond to neurological pain. People with persistent headaches, migraines, psychosomatic pain - they would all see huge improvements to their lives thanks to my invention. There were dozens and dozens of other use cases for the device, but suffice it to say that it was a Big Deal.
And I invented it. On my own. And now? Now I was richer than sin.
As I passed the shabby sign, reading Ocean Hills, it didn’t really feel like I was coming home. Not yet. This place hadn’t been home for a long time, and I wasn’t really sure if it would ever be.
I was born and raised here, and lived here until I was nineteen, but the guy returning that day was so far removed from the sad, gangly kid who had left eleven years previously. I’d worked hard – no, I’d worked my ass off – to reinvent myself, to shape myself into the man I’d always wanted to be.
And I’d succeeded.
None of the people I currently worked with had even the slightest clue about my true origins, and I liked it that way. Not because I was ashamed that I’d grown up poor, in some run-down old fishing town. Not even because I thought they’d respect me any less. But because I’d changed. Through hard work and sheer force of will.
But that doesn’t mean I can forget about what led me down this path. It doesn’t mean I’m not grateful to those people who never gave up on me, who saw the potential I had and helped set me on the way to realizing it.
I often thought of them – people like my old high school science teacher, Mr. Keene, who had instilled in me a love of experimentation, of discovery. My friends who had always been there for me, through the darkest times of my childhood.
The thing that had really spurred me into action though, had been an article I’d happened to read recently. Titled California’s Forgotten Towns it detailed the decay and dilapidation of towns like Ocean Hills – towns that had been built around a singular industry, in this case fishing, that had been left behind when that industry dried up. I hadn’t thought about Ocean Hills for years before reading that piece - I’d been so utterly wrapped up in the design and marketing for the NeuraVita. It had taken almost eight years to perfect the device, eight years where it consumed me utterly, leaving no time for anything, or anyone, else.
But when it was done, it made me a rich man. A very rich man. Richer than I’d ever wanted or needed to be.
So when I saw that article, and suddenly found myself with more free time than I knew what to do with, I was struck with an epiphany. I would come back to Ocean Hills, set up a private practice, and give back to the town.
And then I’d remembered the Wiltmore Estate, the memory of the majestic but decrepit old place returning in a rush of childhood nostalgia. Weekends spent exploring the old place, wondering why it sat empty, and who had built it. On a whim I’d had an assistant check out if the place still existed, and she’d come back and let me know that not only was it still there, but it was for sale.
I bought it immediately. It would be perfect as a place to run my new clinic from, and seeing as it had sat empty for decades, it was a steal.
I was in the town itself now, driving through familiar streets. There was the old ice-cream parlor we’d hung around in as teens, now boarded up. There was Doc Barker’s clinic, still going. I made a mental note to go see him at some point, to reassure him that I wasn’t trying to run him out of business. There was my old high school, still open and exactly as I remembered it. The thing that struck me about the entire place was how shabby everything was, how run-down and rickety. The magazine article hadn’t prepared me for just how much Ocean Hills felt like a town left behind, abandoned, forgotten.
Well, I was gonna change all that. And I’d start with the old Wiltmore place. Or, the new Frost place as I guess it could be called now.
As I pulled up in the driveway in the new Aston Martin I’d bought, I saw my purchase for the first time since I was a kid. The house stood in a clearing, surrounded by huge cedars. The large lawn out front was overgrown with straggly weeds and waist-high grass. The windows were all boarded up and the exterior was shabby and dirty, facades cracked, paint peeling.
Even so, I knew immediately that I’d made the right decision in buying the old place. I envisioned it as it would look when all the work was complete - retaining all its stunning period features, but brought up-to-date as a modern, forward-looking medical facility for the town.
I turned as I heard a car pull up through the gates, frowning slightly. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
The door opened, and a woman stepped out, clutching a sheaf of papers in her hand. Not just any woman, either - I couldn’t take my damn eyes off her as she walked towards me. She was slim, but I wouldn’t have described her as petite. The simple black skirt she wore hugged her all the way up, accentuating the delicious curves of her thighs. A white blouse was tucked in around her tiny waist, but it wasn’t so loose that I couldn’t make out her full tits. Her plump lips were pursed as she made her way over, her deep brown eyes guarded and distant.
Wow; hot is all that comes to mind. Ball-achingly hot.
When she reached me, she thrust out the papers she held, waiting for me to take them.
“Mr. Frost, I presume?”
There was a certain coolness to her tone - if not outright hostility, it wasn’t far off.
“That’s correct,” I said. “What’s this?”
I took the papers and glanced over them. Ella Gordon - Interior Design and Renovation.
“Ella Gordon,” I murmured, half to myself. “Now where do I recognize…”
She didn’t say anything, still just coolly examining me.
And then it came to me in a flash of half-forgotten recollection.
Elizabeth fucking Gordon.
Lizzy Gordon, the quiet little squirt from across the street. The girl with braces who used to follow me around with those big puppy-dog eyes, willing me to notice her, to acknowledge her existence. I never had - she’d been so much younger, and I’d had other things on my mind.