by Nicole Fox
The back of my body collided with his hips, and I felt, even through the thick leather of his pants and the cotton fluff of my bathrobe, his raging hard-on.
I smiled. It was good to know that he wanted it as badly as I did.
“Whoa there, buddy,” I interrupted, drawing away from him. “I think I need a shower first.”
I saw a snarl of impatience cross his lips, but then he regained control.
“Of course. Can I join you?” He held up his blood-stained hands.
“I don’t think so. That privilege is for men who call me back.” I grinned and flounced towards the bathroom. I was not actually mad at him, of course, but it was fun teasing him, and knowing how badly I could make him suffer by denying him the one thing he wanted the most.
At least for a little while.
After I entered the bathroom, I made sure to leave the door open a crack, so that he, from his position, could peek in and watch me undress. Slowly, like an actress in a stockings commercial, I removed my slippers, standing on the balls of my feet the entire time to emphasize my calves. Then, I proceeded to the bathrobe. I untied it, and let it hang open so that just the bottom curves of my breasts were visible. The nipples I kept hidden. I wanted him itching for them.
Then, in a single, fluid motion, I dropped the bathrobe to the floor and stood fully naked by the sink. I glanced in the mirror and noticed with sly triumph that Dominic was gaping at me open-mouthed, unaware that I could see his reflection in the mirror. Even as he watched, he reached down between his legs and gave himself a tug, readying himself for me.
I turned, wiggling as I did so to make my tits and booty ripple, then bent to turn on the faucet. I kept my legs straight and bent over all the way, to show off my flexibility, and the clear, spreading view of my ass through the doorway.
“Yeah,” I thought. “That’s what you get for not calling me back.”
With a flourish, like a dancer sweeping off the stage, I gripped the curtain and stepped behind it, into the hot, steaming shower.
“What are you doing?” The doubtful thought hit me as powerfully as the shower’s jet of hot water. All of a sudden, my sense of sexiness was washed away, I was left with only stark reality: naked skin and bloody hands.
“This man is a criminal!” My inner torment continued. “He comes in here whenever he wants, armed and dangerous, avoiding the cops, other gangs everything! Do you really need this kind of man in your life?”
The sensible answer was, “No, of course not.” I had just had a massive break up with Brian. I’d nearly been sexually assaulted by my own boss. The last thing I needed was to toss in my lot with an obvious bad boy, prone to violence and breaking the law.
And yet, I thought about our conversation. About how we both had changed––were still changing. I thought about the Erica who was head-over-heels in love with Brian. Who never stood up for herself, and just let the people in her life order her around.
“Do you like her? Respect her? Care for her?” A nasty voice that sounded an awful lot like Dominic’s said in my brain. I thought about it, and the honest answer was “No.” I did not like who I was. Hell, who I was did not like who I was. Was she really worthy of my protection and respect?
“No,” I said aloud, and that harsh, nasty voice was my own. But this new Erica? The one who’d stood up to Brian and had been standing up to Mr. Blade, every day since he attacked her in the office? “She,” I thought, “is worth something.”
And somehow, I just knew that Dominic was a part of who I was becoming. He was like a catalyst, pumped into me at just the right moment.
Mmm. Pumped into me.
For a while, I simply allowed my thoughts to wander, some pleasant, and some unsettling, all of them about Dominic. Until, suddenly, I realized something: I was tired of letting the men in my life take hold of all of my thoughts. They affected my decisions, my fantasies, my delusions, my dreams. No matter how I turned, somehow my mind would be preoccupied with the inexplicable behavior of men.
“You know what?” I declared suddenly. “I’m done!” I would fuck them if I wanted to, talk to them if I wanted to, and leave them if I wanted to. I was so tired of worrying about what I should or shouldn’t do, and then never doing what I wanted to do. I resolved, then and there, to be honest with myself and with the men in my life, even if that meant embarrassment, or silliness, or even danger.
Fuck it. I was ready to be what I wanted to be.
“Hey, Dominic,” I called, poking my head out from behind the curtain. “Why don’t you come in here now, huh?”
I heard him stir, and a moment later the bathroom door opened.
“You called, Madam?” He asked, faking an accent and a servile voice.
I chuckled. “I did, Mr. Dominic. Now take off your clothes and get in here.”
His eyes widened in surprise, but so did his smile, and a half-a-second later, after much unzipping, his was naked in the shower before me.
And he was enormous.
Last time we had been together, in this very shower, he had been diminished a bit by injury and blood loss. Now, though, he was a pure, unadulterated piece of man-meat, and he seemed to tower before me and take over the very tiny space.
“I’m here now,” I said, looking down from eyelashes that dripped water onto my cheeks. “What can I do for you?”
Suddenly, next to his mammoth masculinity, I felt very small.
“Your wound is healing well,” I said noncommittally, leaning over to view his side. I reached out and touched the puckered, white scar with a finger. “That was a crazy night.”
“It was,” said Dominic. “But not because of the guns or the knives. I see those all the time.”
It took me a second to register what he meant, and then I felt a great warmth surge through me that had nothing to do with the hot water. I thought about how to respond––what the proper thing to say would be.
“No, Erica,” I told myself. “Be honest. What are you actually thinking and feeling right now?”
I met his gaze. Then, without asking, or without thinking about what it might mean in the future, or if he would think I was stupid, or too aggressive, or anything, I reached up and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face into his chest.
“I missed you,” I murmured.
For a long time, he didn’t answer. I waited, listening to the constant pulsing of the water, watching the way it streamed in little rivulets down his muscular chest. The rich, black hair over his pecs caught the water too, making it glisten and gleam.
“I’ve missed you, too,” he said at last. Then, he took me by the chin, lifted up my face, and kissed me on the lips.
It was not like any of the other kisses we had experienced together. It was not hard, sexy, and aggressive. It was soft and gentle. Just enough pressure to let the other know that you were there.
Then, he leaned away. His face was suddenly transformed. It was not hard and grizzled and menacing like it usually was. It looked like the face of a much younger, tender man.
“We are changing each other,” I thought. “Without even trying.”
Then, once again, his face hardened, and his usual savage grin replaced the mild smile I had just seen. He reached up and gave my nipple a flick.
“So, Erica,” he growled. “Am I gonna reward you in here for all you’ve done tonight, or are we gonna do it in the bedroom?”
I grinned wickedly back. This sort of smile was unfamiliar upon my face, but I was growing to like it.
I was growing to like it very much.
“The bedroom,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Nineteen
Dominic
Man, this girl was sexy. There she was as we entered, all startled in her sexy little bathrobe and fluffy slippers. And then, as soon as she noticed Thunder, she was all business.
“She’d actually make a good Broken Spire,” I thought as I saw how coolly and collectedly she handled bandaging Thunder. She also didn’t ask any questi
ons about what got the two of us in this state.
She was learning. Fast.
Then, she took me into the shower with her. It was very strange. Half the time she seemed so vulnerable––stricken, almost––and the other half she seemed as hard and confident as a dominatrix. I sensed a deep strength emerging within her, the way a budding, unstoppable green emerges in spring.
Then, she told me she had missed me.
That made my heart skip a beat so that I was thankful for the buzzing of the shower, to hide the sound of it. I was used to stupid strumpets professing their love to me. I swear, it happened once a month, and I usually shot them down with (often merciless) ease. But this was different. This wasn’t some groupie trying to latch onto me like a parasite, interested only in my power and money, or even just the “idea” of me. The more I saw her in action, the more I realized she was too good for that. This was another human being––one, I suspected, I might even be willing to consider an equal––telling me, in her own way, that she had feelings for me. What was I to say?
“Say you’ve missed her, too,” a boyish, enthusiastic voice cried in my head. “Be honest. She’s all you’ve been thinking about!”
Then, a tough, angry voice retorted, “No! That’s not fit for the president of the Broken Spires, falling in with some sort of goody-two-shoes.”
“Wait a minute,” a third, and final voice interrupted. This voice sounded the most like me. “You’re not going to be the president much longer. You’re retiring, remember? Sandy beaches? Peace and quiet?”
I looked at Erica. She seemed the kind of girl who could also handle peace and quiet. The thought struck me like a blow. All my life until this point, I had lived my life a certain way and pursued a certain kind of girl. But I did not have to be that person any longer.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I said at last, and her smile made my eyes as happy her tits and perfect little pussy––down amid flowing water––did.
Speaking of which. Emotions are all well and good, but now was the time for fucking.
I asked her, shower or bedroom, and she, like the good little slut she was, insisted on the bedroom. Not that there is really a wrong answer to that question. It’s the enthusiasm––her longing for cock––that is important.
On the way to the bedroom, I decided, “To hell with all this nicety crap,” and I scooped her right up and sprinted there, with her in my arms. She giggled and whooped with delight, then rushed a quick finger to her mouth.
“Shh!” She whispered. “Thunder is sleeping, remember? We have to be quiet.”
I grinned, and hurled her on the bed. “I’d like to see you try.”
And then, I was upon her.
Her body slapped against mine as I dove on top of her, feeling the soft cushion of her breasts and her firm little nipples pushing into my chest.
I kissed her fiercely, feeling my cock swelling and stiffening until it ran the length from her pussy to her belly button, hot and hard against her skin. I longed to ram it into her, but forced myself to slow down, to delay.
“What’s wrong?” She groaned, her voice muffled beneath my weight. “Put it in me.”
“Not yet,” I moaned back, my hands massaging her tits. “I want to work you up first. Work you into a frenzy. A hot pussy is a pussy that can take it harder and longer.”
She laughed, then plunged her hand between us like a snake making a strike. She fastened it around my shaft and squeezed. “More wisdom from a man like you,” she chuckled, running her grip up and down the length of me. “Let’s see if I can work you up just as much.”
She shifted, and as if I read her mind, I knew exactly what she wanted.
Whoosh.
I threw myself beneath her, and, by using the strength of her thighs, she clung to me and whirled on top. She sat on me, the warm wetness already starting to leak from inside her warming my testicles. My cock pointed straight up, like a monolith, and she grabbed it again and pressed it against her soft, flat tummy. She bent over to kiss me, her nipples grazing my chest, and I could feel the pressure of my dick boring into her, like a bludgeon. She lifted her hips, and ran it against the outside of her pussy. When she pulled away, the tip of my dick was wet and glistening.
“You like that?” She asked, and I reveled in seeing her so sure, so confident. This was a woman learning to take what she wanted.
And what she wanted, of course, was my dick.
Still holding onto me like a sailor would steady herself on a mast, she wiggled down between my legs, nestled against my thighs, and popped it into her mouth. She then preceded to suck me like a lollipop, all childish glee and enthusiasm.
“Mmmm,” she moaned, the vibrations from her throat titillating me. “I did miss your taste.”
“Me, too!” I groaned, and with one savage surge of my muscles, I seized her by the hips and hurled her over me. Her lips fastened around my tip, keeping her anchored there, but her knees ended up on either side of my face, her thighs pinching my ears, and her pussy open in all its beautiful, glistening glory right before me.
“Oh, yeah,” I murmured, then dove in.
Her taste was sweet and salty, like ice-cream at the beach. In the moment the tip of my tongue touched her clit she moaned, and spread her legs wider, offering me the greatest depth of her. My hands reached up to her breasts, alternating between flicking her nipples and massaging the meat of them, and running her tips over my chest.
I could feel her trembling with pleasure. It distracted her, and she lost her rhythm in sucking my cock, her tongue scrambling for purchase as she fought down the moans pushing their way out of her throat. I resisted chuckling, and continued my exploration of her pussy: her clit, like a tiny little raisin, her lips, like warm slices of fruit pulled out of mulled wine. I kissed her, and pressed into her, and sucked her, and soon felt my face coated with wetness. In time, I noticed her matching my rhythm. When I plunged deep, she plunged deep. When I flicked her with my tongue, she flicked me with her tongue. I paused long enough to grin.
“You’re my toy now,” I thought. “Without saying a word, I can command your every movement.”
“How you doing?” I asked teasingly, knowing the answer.
“I…ah…” She moaned back, barely coherent.
I pulled away, giving her pussy a final kiss. She was ready.
With another great surging of muscle, I flung her back beneath me, and spun her around. Her eyes took a moment to focus, so lost was she in the pleasure of me eating her out. At last, they centered on me.
“Now can I have some cock?” She pouted.
I grinned at her. “You little slut.” And I rammed it inside her.
She was so wet and ready for it that I slipped in easily, the tight muscles of her pussy opening up to accept me balls deep. She moaned, her eyes rolling back into the whites as she threw her arms over her head.
Her breasts perked, drawing lovely circles with the pinkness of her nipples. Loving the look of helplessness, of submission, I grabbed her wrists and pressed her hands down still further, pinning her beneath me.
“Oh, yeah,” I grunted, and rammed it into her time and time again. This was a good position. Below, her thighs wrapped around my hips, pulling her close, inviting me in, while above it appeared a position of total subjugation. We were not fucking. I was fucking her, and she was taking it like the good little slut she was.
Suddenly, it occurred to me that because she was such a good little slut, obviously she would want to do some of the work. Sucking cock wasn’t enough. I wanted to see her muscles flex and her chest pounding with exertion.
“Ride me!” I ordered, and after one final, jamming thrust I pulled out of her, and wrest her on top of me. For a moment, she seemed dazzled, and had to claw herself steady by digging her fingernails into my skin.
I did not mind. Pinpricks of pain amid tidal waves of pleasure.
She flexed her thighs, lifted herself up, and slammed down atop of me. We were both so wet that I sli
pped immediately inside her, without the smallest guidance. She moaned, and threw her head back as if she were going to howl like a wolf. Her hand gripped at the rippling muscles of my abdomen as she fought for purchase with every sweeping dip and peak of her body. I felt her cumming, again and again, in the sudden clasping of her pussy and the wash of sweet wetness that rolled down my shaft on her up-thrust and soaked my balls.
Her forehead became dewy. Her skin was hot, and she panted, working so hard to work the tip, my shaft, my base, all with the expert rhythm of her pussy. Overwhelmed, she threw her hands up over her hand and scooped her hair from her face. Her sex hair was messy. Her sex hair was damp. Her sex hair was magnificent. And her tits, raised from the positioning of her arms, even more so.