by Lime Craven
"I won't do anything else," I murmur against her mouth. "I just want to taste you. For you to taste me. Haven't you ever thought about what that would be like?"
She gives a slight nod, her nose brushing mine. "Sometimes."
"Mmm."
I make her wait a few seconds longer. I love the feel of her breasts rising and falling; they rub along my forearm every time, just near the elbow, and her nipples get harder with each sweep. When I can't stand the snare of my own heartbeat any longer, I plant the softest of kisses at the edge of her upper lip. Oh, she trembles. It's gorgeous. Another and another—just vague suggestions of kisses, each barely landing, until she snaps and whimpers and lurches up on her toes, opening her mouth in time to fully catch mine.
Leo moans; I curse; both sounds are lost somewhere in our mash of lips and tongue. She goes limp against the bed frame, and I drop my hand from her chin to scoop her up at the waist. Her arms come up—half defence, half desperation—and she drags crooked fingers along my shoulders, ushering fresh blood to the muscles that have ached for this for so long.
The taste of her...Jesus. Her lips are sweet, as if she had soda or candy not long ago, and her breath is tart, like the soda was laced with liquor. Sounds spill from the apex of our kiss: muffled yelps as I nip at her, low grunts I can't help but loose when her tongue rubs over mine.
It's not even a kiss anymore. It's jumping off a building. It's a coke binge. A single slash to the throat. Kissing Leo is like perpetual suicide; I die in her mouth over and over, my hips smacking into hers with all the force of the fall.
When I pull away, her lips are swollen and pink, the skin around her mouth rubbed sore from my stubble. Too busy just looking at her, I loosen my hold on her braid. She hunches forward and hides her face in my shoulder; there, she takes slow breaths and murmurs to herself, trying to come back from an edge she didn't know was there.
"I didn't think it would be like that," she whispers.
"It never has been," I tell her, my voice hoarse. "It never is."
It's starting. That feeling I've missed, the one that has deserted me for so long, the one that first whispered Leo could give me all I wanted; it boils at the base of my spine. Once it grips me, there's no resistance. No return. And if it woke for the most chaste of kisses, God help her when I do anything else.
I pull her braid again to lift her mouth, to take kisses she hasn't offered yet but gives up regardless. Only a little force, to begin with. I need her pliable enough to be stripped and tied, and then...then I indulge myself. It takes all the willpower I possess to keep from throwing her down, from squeezing the flesh of her thighs through my fingers like bread dough...because God, sweetheart. I've waited.
For a while, I gave up wanting Leo to trust me. Seemed pointless. Now I need just a few seconds of it, to be let in, acquiesced to. Then I'll go full throttle and claim her like the fucking virus I am.
"Baby. Fetch me the box," I say into her mouth.
She pulls back, eyes pleading. "I'm not like her. I can't, I..."
"I know. You're special." I run my lips across her forehead, nuzzle downward, lick the tight tendons at her throat. It's oddly peaceful to pet her. "You think I won't take care of you? You think I'm still a teenaged boy?"
Her fingers pluck at the base of my scalp, measuring the softness of my hair, the strength I hold in strange places. "I don't want to ruin my good sheets," she says flatly.
A twisted laugh bubbles up from my belly, croaking and splitting as it hits the air. "I'll buy you new sheets. Fetch the box, sweetheart. Please. For me." I reach down to roll up the hem of her skirt. "But take the dress off first."
She's silent as I pull the dress over her head. It lands on the floor in a heavy puddle of jersey, leaving her in her black bra, panties and heels. I make short work of the bra, her breasts tumbling out to be squeezed while I kiss her, her tight nipples grating along my palms. Oh yes. Good girl, already struggling, just a little. When I run my hands down to her ass, scrunch her cheeks up so she rubs against my straining cock, she squeals a protest so genuine that I have to spit her bottom lip out before I bite it off.
"Fetch it," I demand. "Now."
Leo kicks her heels off and pads out into the hall. I take her place at the bed frame and drink in the sight: not long ago, she did the same walk of shame out of my elevator, only fully clothed and not nearly as flustered. Now she's barefoot in panties, panties that hug her like a second skin, the slender valley of her spine leading to a heart shaped invitation. Her ass is like something from Alice in Wonderland—eat me, drink me. That book needed another bottle that said fuck me. Alice would've been less of a bitter cunt and the book would've been vastly improved.
While she fetches the box, I play with myself. Fist my cock through the fleece of my track pants, close my eyes, open them, dark, shadow, dark. So fucking hard I'm probably gaping at the head. Leo appears again, an outline in the grey fog of the room with the black box in one hand. She walks with a bowed head, soft footsteps, like even the carpet is telling her to be quiet.
Then she reaches my feet...and kneels.
She presses her face into my left thigh. Hot breath disturbs the fine hairs there, balms the muscles, taunts old wounds.
"Leo," I groan.
The box lands on my foot, pushed gently against my toes. The floorboards shift beneath her; she comes up a little, the tip of her nose running up toward my cock in a shock of heat.
I get a good handful of her hair and tug her head back, forcing her to look at me. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Another girl might have apologised. Sorry, sir. Promise I won't do it again, sir. But my defiant little lion just arches eyebrow at me—how dare you interrupt? For all that fear haunts her, sarcasm is never far behind.
I don't even know what to do with that. But I'm a problem solver. I have my tools.
"On the bed," I tell her, still squeezing her hair on my fist. "On your back. Arms up toward the headboard. Legs together."
Leo crawls. Climbs. I'm close behind, pulling her braid loose, still smoothing my hands over her ample ass and thighs. The refined leading the blind. She reclines on the bed, all goose bumps and snatched breaths, her back arching as she raises slender arms. The act shoves her breasts up beautifully.
Soon, the moment will come when she stops being a girl and morphs into a canvas. Ah, fuck. So close.
Both my tie and the box come with me as I swing up next to her. I flick it open, find the tell-tale flicker of silver, fish it out so it sits right on top of the tissue. Then I set about binding her hands to the head board.
Leo closes her eyes as the tie hits her wrists. It is the most cliché of lovers, licking before it bites, and she winces when I tug it tight for the knots. When she's uncomfortably restrained, I climb over her for a kiss; another light tasting that quickly bursts into riot. So this is where my appetite migrated to; flesh. Leo. Her.
"Now," I pant into her neck. "Now, I..." I grope around for the box, but I can't resist taking one of her flushed pink nipples into my mouth, suckling on it, ushering a scrape of a yelp from her throat. We're a mess already and I haven't even got her panties off.
Jesus. H. Christ.
"You're a fucking distraction," I mutter.
She giggles, all dry and ironic and almost drunk. "From what?"
"I have to concentrate. Stop trying to fuck with me by being so fucking gorgeous."
She waits for me to kiss her other nipple and then arches further into my mouth, sighing with pleasure. Whatever she claims, she has waited for this. For my cock. For me.
But I need to keep her in her place. The silver trinket in the box seems to crawl toward my fingers, begging to be used. I pull my face from her breasts and rise up over her. Stare down. Hold my hand up, turn the blade before her black button eyes.
"Tell me what this is," I whisper.
She gulps. "A knife."
"A scalpel. Your scalpel. It was bought for you and it wants you, Leo. Almost as
much as I do." I watch her features grow still as I place it on the flat of her belly. It warms in her heat, rises and falls. "It's part of you. See?"
Panic is upon her now; there's a tremble to her jaw again, a visible pulse at the hollow of her throat. "Aeron. Be gentle with me."
A grin claims my mouth, so wide that my dimples feel like piercings. "You're going to learn not to ask me that."
"But I've never...I haven't done this before, or pain, I've never..."
"Never, never, never," I murmur, still watching the scalpel. If she moves too fast, it will tumble down between her pretty legs and slice through her panties. "Tell me how I'm meant to be gentle with a scalpel."
"Smart arse," she mumbles.
"Yeah." I plant a kiss on her firm hipbone, right along the band of her panties. "One of those...Goddamn, you smell good here." Desire is the absinthe, obsession its bullet; don't you remember, grasshoppers, that you can't stop either of them? Give in. In. Ah. I bury my face between her closed thighs, inhaling, imbibing. That lemony scent I once caught on her bra; it's alive and well here, but stronger, slick. Like gin and tonic with lime.
Leo moans again, pushing herself up into me.
"Oh, I see. You like that?" I peer up at my tied mess of a girl. "You like the thought of my tongue between your legs?"
"Uhuh." There's no shame in her voice, only longing. "Please."
"Mmm." I hook my fingers under her panties and start to tease them down. This is for me as much as Leo—though I've touched and tasted her pussy, I've yet to see it. And I want a thorough look. Once I've pulled the panties down her legs, I lean over to flick the lamp on, sending the glass pebbles ringing like bells, and golden light across her flinching face. Once I've placed the scalpel back in its box on the bed, I come back up to pull my nails down her tied arms, to trace the outline of her lips with my finger. I finish with a wet kiss. "Do you trust me?"
She brushes her lips to mine. "Do you trust me...?"
An abyss sprawls between us; words that should remain unsaid. Then we're pressed so close that my eyelashes tangle with hers, my vision blurring into the lamp light that spatters her skin like syrup. "I'll lick you the way you want. But then I get to fuck you the way I want."
She makes a muffled sound against my cheek.
"Sweetheart, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you're gonna beg me to cut you instead. I promise."
Her giggle ripples up again; she can't take it seriously. This will change.
Is it bad etiquette to tell a girl you've been imagining her pussy since you stole the notes from her gynaecologist?
I feel my way down her body, spread her thighs wide. Settle my gaze on the sparse taper of her pubic hair, her swollen outer lips and glossy pink slit. With a thumb either side, I pull her apart, wait for her intake of breath. Then I peel up the hood of her clit. Exhale over her. When she writhes, I draw my thumbs down and press them past her slippery vulva, biting my tongue as her pussy swallows them whole.
Leo cries out and holds herself still, so full of my fingers, full where she's tight and wet—wetter than when I forced myself on her in this same room. That time, I had a gun; now I have a surgeon's knife, and she pays it the respect it deserves. I want to reward her obedience with an orgasm that tears through her like shards of glass and leaves crimson echoes in its wake.
The lamp light catches all the pretty pinks and reds of her pussy, and the shadows make every inch of her feel more forbidden than before. Her tanned thighs are smooth and untainted, and she utters little hmphs as I rub my stubble along the sensitive skin there, ushering blood to the surface in flushed, scattered clouds. Up close and stuffed with my thumbs, she looks obscene; more so when I spread her out completely, revealing pillowy inner flesh. I dip my tongue right in and lick along all I can reach, 'til I plough through stickiness that tastes like water and wine. My groan bounces off the confined space of her, makes everything simmer and vibrate, then on the way out, I bump her clit unintentionally—she jumps like I'm packing a thousand volts. Delicious.
It seems Rachel didn't tell Leo about our final encounter. The one where I...I probably shouldn't tempt myself, not tonight. But do I regret it? Tell me—if some exquisite creature lay down before you and offered your darkest desires, would you do what you wanted, or what you should? It was the end of all things for Rachel and me, yet because of that I'm here with Leo, who taunts me like a black market drug and fancies herself my antidote. God, if you could see her. You'd regret nothing.
You'd kill for five more minutes between her legs, and you'd choke any motherfucker who put up a challenge.
I pull out so fast that she squeals, shoving her belly down with one hand and scooping her forward with the other. Right into my mouth. Up she comes, panting and quivering, her clit almost hard on the tip of my tongue. But not harder than me—my cock throbs like she does, heavy and weightless at the same time.
We fall into a jagged war of a rhythm. It's the kind that skips beats because she's forcing her hips, the kind that provokes lustful anger. How much of this dirty girl can I get in my mouth? How slow can I drag my fingers inside her before she completely loses her shit? She's so wet I can barely keep my tongue on her, yet the way she's moaning, it won't be long...
Leo's so gone now that she doesn't notice my fist leave her thigh. I grope around for the scalpel, enclosing it fully in my hand before bringing it up again. I get a burst of her rapid pulse every time she closes her legs around my head; blood rushes past my eardrums in wave after wave of tide.
All her inner muscles begin to pull on my fingers. She's gasping, cursing, repeating my name. Any second now, baby. Even my cheeks are plastered with her, my nose full of her scent. Then she's almost yelling at me not to stop, don't stop, fuck, please don't stop, no, yes, yes, yes—
Yes—
And I'm exposing the blade—
Yes, Aeron, oh God—
And it's warm and waiting and hungry on her inner thigh—
Oh God God God I'm coming—
And she jerks right into the scalpel, tearing her skin, spurting scarlet across the left side of my face—
She screams. Pure, intoxicating pain and pleasure, throbbing into a mess she could never have expected and doesn't understand. Though I can't have that, I can't—what if some nosey ass neighbour hears her?—and so I'm throwing the scalpel sideways, yanking my track pants down, letting my cock slap out on her hot belly as I lurch upward to cover her mouth. She continues to yelp and struggle; little lion can see the blood on my face, though her protests steam damply into my palm. Her black button eyes are wide and crazy, fucked and beautiful. I hold her for long seconds until she quiets and slows.
"Good girl," I pant. "Good, so good." Because I'm going to have her now. Couldn't get up from between her legs if you put a gun to my head. Her wounded thigh is wrapped around my waist, blood going sticky on the cheek of my ass; I'll disturb it when I move inside her. Oh God. Yeah.
I run my free hand down her tied arms again, rub fresh blood toward her goose bumps. Another moment and I uncover her mouth.
"What have you done?" she hisses, half pained, half morbidly curious.
"Didn't do anything." I smooth her mussed-up hair. Roll my hips. My cock drops down to twitch against her wet, wet flesh. "You pushed yourself on to it. Bad Leo. Very bad."
"I—I'm bleeding."
"Mmm. Yes, you are." I kiss her throat. The pulse there, the hollows. The plain of smooth skin that leads to her jaw. Cold air in the welt of my spine; boiling body underneath me.
Her voice is so...vulnerable. She sounds like a small girl. "Am I okay...?"
"Probably not. Ah, sweetheart." I press into her, just an inch, but it's enough. I've wanted this for too long. "Can you feel that?"
"Yeah..." Her eyes fall closed. She zones out; I can almost see her fade. "A—Aeron."
"Baby." Another inch. Then another. She's seized up, all bunched and contorted from her interrupted orgasm, but so slippery that her body can't fight me. "You have an
y idea how often I've imagined this?"
She nods. Moans again.
Further inside her, almost...all the way. That's it. The moment she's full, we're both competing for breath, pushing against each other, desperate for friction. Every gasp she takes results in a shudder of warm muscle over my cock.
"There. Jesus. You still want to fight this?"
"No. No. I—"
I edge out before thrusting back in, hard.
She arches, her breasts mashing right into my chest. "Oh God!"
The rest of the room starts to fall away in blurred pixels. There's only Leo, this fluid girl underneath me, taking everything I give her, letting me in. I thought she'd become a canvas but it's different. Wicked and silver and crimson, dubious and—ah, fuck, I'm so sensitive I can barely stand the feel of her. I reach for her ass cheeks, splay my fingers across them, hold her up so I can go faster. Harder. Crush her clit against her pubic bone. Sloppy smacking sounds and vague mattress creaks punctuate our curses and moans. I've already lost parts of myself I'll never scrape back out of her, but fuck it.
All I care about is the taste of her still in my mouth, the feel of her in my hands, the sucking glide of her pussy.
Leo starts telling me she's close again.
I'm with her. All the way. All the way baby, good girl, so hard now—no control, what's control anyway, who gives a fuck about control?
Leontine comes on me with a cry and a mess of contractions, the kind that spill fresh blood on my buttocks and utterly fuck her sheets. I'm hammering into her, practically vibrating, and just when I feel like I've bruised half my pelvis, everything fades and ebbs and—
Oh, holy fuck.
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
Home
Aged 17
The thing is, I told her what I wanted. Maybe not in so many words, but I made it clear enough. Girls: I don't understand them. Not even Rachel. What, did she think it would tickle?
"It doesn't make it okay," she chokes out through her sobs, limping about my bedroom as she searches for her clothes. "You never said where!"