HIS VIRGIN VESSEL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (War Cry MC)

by Nicole Fox

  "Oh, Asa ... Oh, Asa ..."

  For the last hour, I had been gently guiding her to the edge of a precipice, and now it was time for her to leap. I buried my face in her. Corinne cried out, immediately biting her lip to silence herself, for fear of waking Porter. Involuntarily, she folded her legs about my head, as if trying to draw the whole of my head inside her. Her thighs pressed against my ears, blocking out the rest of the world. To me, at that moment, there was no world but Corinne No sight, no sound, no smell, no taste, no touch, but that of her. She was the world, and I wanted no other. It was a wonderful world in which to live, and I made the most of my time in it.

  I felt Corinne writhe against me. The grip of her legs on my head tightened. She clawed at me with her hands, and humped her hips eagerly at my face. Then, in an instant, she tensed. Her hands left me and, though I could not see, I knew from past experience that she had them over her mouth, as was her habit when she didn't want to be heard reaching her climax. I tasted her as she seemed to explode into my mouth.

  Her grip loosened, her legs fell away from my head, letting the rest of the world back in, and she fell from me, limp and exhausted to the bed.

  "Oh my God, Asa," she whispered, when she could speak again. "Oh my ... I never thought it could be like that without ... I mean you didn't even ... It was just your mouth, but I'm ... Holy crap!"

  For the record, that's the sort of response a man wants to get from the woman he's pleasuring. Moving more quickly now, I kissed my way back up Corinne's body to her face.

  "I hope you're not too tired."

  Corinne's answer was to reach for me, and guide me into position. We kissed, long and deep as I began to ease myself into her. Over the past few days she had become so accustomed to me that this was no longer the difficult process it first had been, but I took my time by choice, slow and steady, letting her feel each swollen inch as it stretched her.

  "Oh, I need you so badly," Corinne murmured, clutching at me and writhing.

  It would have been so easy to just go for it, as we had before, hard and fast. And that would have been great for both of us, as it always was. But it wasn't what I wanted tonight, and, whether she knew it or not, it wasn't what she wanted either. This would be different. It might be agony from time to time, but it would be worth it.

  Corinne stroked her hands the length of my body as I finally butted up against her, filling her completely. She didn't urge me on this time. She had gotten the message that this would be something a bit special, and that I was going to do it my way. And after how that had already paid off for her, she was happy enough to let me continue and see what happened. What happened, initially, was nothing. I was comfortable enough, lying still on top of her, buried in her to the hilt, kissing her tenderly. She answered my kisses with equal affection, her small hands ever on the move, roaming across my body. When I began to move, it was as slowly as I had done everything else. I was not stroking in and out yet, but just starting to caress my hips against hers in small, tight circular motions, teasing her nerves, firing her up, and making her breath come in short, hot gasps. Her legs locked around mine, sliding up to my hips and down to my ankles, rubbing herself against me as if any contact at all was good.

  Seamlessly, I changed from stirring her into the sinuous undulations of sex, and Corinne moaned, then whimpered, then shook as she came for a second time. I just kept moving rhythmically into her, achingly slow, riding her through it.

  "Oh, I can't believe how good this feels," she moaned. "So good, so good, SO good."

  Now I had her where I wanted her. Her whole body was one big nerve, alive with sensation, desperate for release. She was constantly on the very verge of orgasm, even straight after she had climaxed, she was already teetering on the edge of her next spend. Keeping her at this point of permanently thwarted completion was an art, and a skill, and a lot of hard work. I fought to control my own need and to keep myself from speeding up when my whole body screamed at me to fuck this woman. But it was worth it to be able to make Corinne feel like this. I could make her come practically at will with a touch here, a little extra pressure there, or a slight change in my metronomic rhythm. Over she went again, gasping and clutching at me, not knowing how much ecstasy her body could endure, but determined to find out. She talked as she went, a constant stream of nonsense flowing from her mouth, endearments, obscenities, urging, begging, yes's and no's. Her brain was so overwhelmed with pleasure that it had lost higher speech functions.

  If I had not been able to put my feelings for her into words, I could put them into actions. I could let her know how much I loved her by making her feel like this. I could channel my love into her the only way I knew how. So, I made her happy. She came in hot, tight orgasms that flushed her face and made her bite her lip; she shivered through mini-comes that left her eager for more; she lay back, wallowing in unctuous pleasure that seemed to soak into her. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she went stiff as a board, mouthing words that refused to form. She giggled and grinned, eyes wide with surprise. She kicked at the bed and scratched my ass with her nails. She buried her face in my shoulder, whimpered, and whispered promises of love. She came in more ways than I had ever seen a woman come.

  But all good things must come to an end. However high an opinion I had of my own sexual prowess, and however determined I was to give Corinne everything I had to give, no man could last forever. I had no idea how long we spent like that. I had no idea how many times she came, but, finally, I began to speed up. I had not meant to. It had not been a conscious decision, but my body was done being used like this and had taken over. My hips began to smack more firmly against Corinne's, and, in spite of all she had already been through, she ground back against me.

  "Yes. Oh, yes. Make it now. Take me there one more time. Take me to the stars."

  After holding back so long, the moment had crept up on me. One minute it seemed that I could go all night, the next I was hurtling towards orgasm with nothing to stop me. All self-control was gone, all stamina spent. The best I could hope was to pound Corinne to one more stellar moment of release on my way to my own inevitable, unstoppable conclusion.

  There was a moment when I genuinely thought we might break the rickety old bed, so hard did we go at each other in those dying seconds. But this section of the evening was destined to be brief. I simply could not hold back any longer, and, for the first time in my short sexual history with Corinne, I came first, and harder than ever in my life. When I was nineteen, I got shot in a street fight, and the sudden shock, the blank, white heat coming from nowhere overwhelming everything as my body redirected all resources to this one catastrophic emergency—that was the only thing in my life to which I could compare that orgasm.

  Corinne was only a split-second behind me, and, after watching her come a hundred different ways tonight, it was strangely gratifying to see one simple mind-blowing climax. It was as if every orgasm she had had that night had only been ninety percent, keeping that ten percent somewhere in reserve. Throughout the night, those leftover percentages had been building, waiting for this moment, the moment of her one hundred percent orgasm, at which point they all flooded into her, making it about five hundred percent.

  Or perhaps all this stuff about gun shots and percentages is bullshit. It's easy to reach for wild superlatives when you have the best sex of your life, because it's hard to find words that adequately describe it. But the words don't matter. What mattered to me was that, when the fireworks had died down, when we had gotten our breath back, and our hearts had slowed down to a normal rhythm, when we were lying on the bed together, bathed in sweat, holding each other, Corinne whispered into my ear, "I love you too."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Corinne

  I would have given anything to stay in bed late the following morning. It had been a long few days, and I had seldom had the chance for rest, on top of which, my body ached from head to toe, every muscle strained. But it was a delicious ache, one I felt that I had ear
ned and one I relished. It wasn't as if it had been particularly athletic sex, certainly not compared to some of our other sessions. But Asa had made my body twang like a bow-string, he had made every muscle taut with desire, and he had done so for a very long time. There had been many times, especially since I turned eighteen, when I had hated my virginity and was so desperate to lose it that I thought of giving it rashly to anyone who would take it. It was such a relief to find that I had done the right thing, and that by waiting I had allowed myself to find the right person. Boy, was I being rewarded for waiting.

  Despite the rigors of last night and the plethora of aches and pains in my deliciously ravished body that morning, I still found myself wanting to shower with Asa. My desire for him was as potent as ever. But we had already stretched Porter Crucero's hospitality pretty far. It would be nice to think that he had not heard us last night, but he probably had. Making love in his shower would have definitely crossed the line. Besides, we needed to get moving quickly that morning. The longer we waited, the greater the chance of something happening to tear this tenuous deal apart. So, there was no sleeping in for me.

  "Morning," said Porter, as Asa and I entered the kitchen. "There's coffee in the pot. Then we should head out."

  Asa nodded. He too understood how important it was to get moving on this, though if he was worried he did not show it.

  I poured myself a much-needed coffee and leaned against the counter top, staring out the window to drink it. It was going to be a tough day, one way or the other, and there was no way of knowing how it might end, but the thing that was bothering me most right at that instant (perhaps rather selfishly) was that there seemed no way of getting through the necessities of today without facing my dad at some point, which was not something I was looking forward to.

  I glanced out of the window, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. Seeing my dad at the station was not something I was looking forward to, but at least it was a controlled environment, and Asa and I would be seeing him in a professional capacity. Seeing him at the station would be a hell of a lot better than, for instance, him turning up here, unannounced. But that was just what he had done. Out of the window, I saw his car pulling up.

  "Oh no ..." I couldn't think of anything more original to say.

  "What the hell is he doing here?" Porter asked, seeing his career flash before his eyes.

  "That's probably not the first question we should be looking to answer," Asa said. "What do we do?"

  "Hide!" I was panicking.

  But Porter shook his head. "He'll see the car. It's the one you stole, and he probably knows the plates by heart. We've got to be upfront."

  I had a feeling that being upfront wasn't going to be as easy as it sounded. That feeling proved correct seconds later when my father crashed through the door.

  "Where the hell is he?"

  "Brian ..." Porter began.

  "I'll deal with you later!" Dad pointed an accusing finger at Porter. Then he saw Asa. He didn't say a word, launching himself at the man who had stolen his little girl. Dad was not a small man, by any means, and he was tough as old boots, but Asa was bigger and stronger. I think in a fair fight, Dad would have been wily enough to get in a few blows and hold his own, but Asa would have taken it. But this was not a fair fight. Asa was not going to hit my dad while I was there, so he simply tried defend himself. My dad, meanwhile, driven by blinding rage, had no such limitations. As Asa dodged a blow, Dad drew his gun and cracked Asa across the forehead with the butt.

  I screamed as Asa went down. Dad raised his gun again, and I ran forwards, putting myself between the men I loved.

  "No! Dad! It's not how you think! I'm in love with him, and he isn't what you think, and he's going to help you ..." I babbled on desperately, just hoping I could keep Dad away from Asa long enough for Dad to start thinking clearly again—thinking like a sheriff rather than a hurt father. "He came here to turn himself in. To turn himself in! He's going to help you catch some Mafia guys. Ask Porter! And if he you had said no, then he was going to go to jail without trying to get out of it! He wants to help. He's trying to do the right thing. Ask Porter! And he never hurt me, Dad, he never once hurt me!"

  Dad's gun hand dropped, and Porter took the opportunity to step in.

  "It's true, sir. Maybe I should have told you last night when they showed up, but. .. what with him and your daughter, I wasn't sure how you might react. To be honest, sir—and you know how deeply I respect you—I wasn't sure if you could be entirely unbiased where Covert is concerned."

  Dad's face was unreadable as he spoke. "And what were your plans concerning my daughter?"

  "We were all going to the precinct this morning," Porter continued. "Once Asa was either an official informant, or in jail, I was going to take Corinne home, so she could talk to you. For what it's worth, sir," Porter spoke a bit more cagily now, "and I know it's not my place, I think this thing between them is genuine. On both sides."

  Still, Dad's face remained set in stone. "Mafia guys?"

  "He claims to have information."

  "And if he doesn't?"

  "He'll stand trial for selling hooch, stealing that car outside, and whatever else we've got on him."

  "Which is probably a fraction of what he's done," my dad grunted.

  "Probably," said Porter. "Where the law is concerned, anyway. But I don't think he's hurt anyone who didn't have it coming."

  "Maybe."

  Porter took a little bit of a risk. "You know, he could have had you just then. You dropped your guard when you went for your gun. A street fighter like him, he'd have had you, if he'd wanted you."

  Dad was silent a while longer. "Rassi?"

  "Yeah."

  "Get him on his feet."

  During this exchange, I had helped Asa up into a sitting position, wrapped some ice in a towel, and had been holding it against his head. Now, I helped Asa up. He was pale, but still strong, and met my father's eye unafraid. Dad returned the stare.

  "You all right?"

  "I've had worse," Asa said.

  "I've given worse," Dad replied, with implicit threat

  "You've got a good arm.”

  "I'm guessing you have, too."

  "In my day."

  Dad nodded. "You and I are going to have a little talk about some things. In the living room."

  I tried to walk with Asa, but he stopped me. He could manage by himself, and, clearly, I was no part of this conversation. I watched the two most important men in my life walk out, Dad closing the door behind them.

  Porter poured himself a cup of coffee. "Well, this is either going to go very bad or very good. Nothing in between."

  "You think there's a chance of very good?" I was grasping at whatever hope there was on hand.

  Porter shrugged. "I think stopping your father from beating Asa to death is a definite step in the right direction. I wouldn't have put money on that. Father and daughters, you know?"

  I wasn't sure that I did. "He's never really taken that active of a role before."

  "I don't think he was ever really scared before," said Porter. "Your dad doesn't confide in me, or anyone else, really. But, if I had to guess, I'd say that whoever you've been with in the past, he hated them, but never feared them. With Asa, he's torn. On the one hand, he wants a man who'll be with you forever. On the other, that's every father's worst nightmare. He'd rather a man who cared about you than a one-night-stand. On the other hand, it's the one who cares about you who's going to take you away from him. I got chased by a couple of angry fathers when I was younger. They were all angry, but it was the father of the girl I cared about who I thought was about to kill me. No father wants their daughter to be treated like a sex object, but at least those men aren't going to take her away."

  I listened carefully. I had never really thought about it like that before.

  "There again," Porter continued, "Whether it's a quick fling, or a lifelong relationship, there are several billion men in the world your father w
ould rather you picked than Asa Covert."

  "If it wasn't for me, Dad would give Asa the deal," I assessed glumly.

  "If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't even be here," Porter corrected. "Before last night, I'd have laid money that there wasn't an ounce of good in Asa. You didn't make him good, but you showed us—hell, you showed him—the good that was there all along. That's a bit of something."

  I smiled. I was more grateful than he could realize to hear that.

  "Your dad's trying to take the personal out of this," Porter went on. "Which is a tough ask under the circumstances. Hopefully, he'll give Asa the chance to explain why he told your dad to pick you up at the motel and then ran off with you again. Once your dad understands that he had your best interests at heart, I think he'll get down to business. Then, it's up to Asa."