by Cari Quinn
“Damn, those words sound even dirtier when you say them.”
“They taste good.” Chuckling, he blew aside the strands of her hair to kiss the back of her neck. “Almost as good as that sweet pussy on my lips.”
“Has anyone told you you’re a good student?”
“Mmm. I know we haven’t run through the entire repertoire yet but I really like entering you from behind.” His hoarse tone made her shiver, especially when he demonstrated his opinion by tugging up her ruined nightgown to reveal her ass. “You’re built just right. Has anyone told you that?”
“Not like you. No one does anything like you.” Understatement of a lifetime.
“Let’s keep that streak going.” He cupped her butt, sliding his knee between. Without being told, she pressed her hands to the window, arching up on her toes. His zipper lowered, so loud in the stillness, broken only by their frantic breaths. A second later his bare length brushed over her soaked pussy. She should chastise him. It wasn’t good to set up bad habits.
Like being with him?
“I won’t go bare if you don’t want me to.” He fit his hand between her abdomen and the car, moving upward to cup her breast. Her stiff nipple poked between his fingers and he squeezed, his palm enveloping the full swell. “I’ll go inside and get a condom if you don’t mind waiting.”
If she didn’t mind waiting? She’d been waiting a hell of a long time. For what, she hadn’t been sure. Life happened in the spaces between, on the ordinary days when a simple class became the start of so much more. No matter how much she wished things wouldn’t change, they always did. She was changing too. Whether or not she liked it.
There was no going back.
“Now,” she whispered, screwing her eyes shut. “No more waiting.”
She cried out at his upward drive, tentative at first. Gauging her, taking her measure. She rolled her back and dragged her nails down the window, gripping the frame. Gripping him inside, struggling to take every inch. Silent encouragement. He was restraining himself and she couldn’t abide that. She swiveled her hips, sliding backward to envelop more of his cock with every pass.
His groan broke across her temple and his fingers dug into her breast, an implacable anchor. But she was already flying, her mind letting go as surely as her core unraveled under his deep, exploratory strokes. She loved knowing that she was opening up worlds to him, showing him things he hadn’t seen in just that way before. As he was doing for her. Nothing looked the same.
Sweat gathered along her neck, trickled down her cleavage. Blurred the eyes she couldn’t help opening in a futile effort not to lose herself to madness. She clenched the frame, drawing her knee up on the bumper, shifting to improve the angle. Oh fuck, he could go even deeper this way. He bent his knees, surging in and out, grinding into her so that her clit rubbed against the twisted fabric of her robe. Not enough. So not enough.
“God, baby. I can’t hold on.”
“Don’t.” She laced her fingers through his over her breast, locking them together over her thundering heart. His slammed beat for beat against her back with every wild thrust. “Come with me.”
“I am. Can’t. Stop.” Grasping her hip, he surged into her again, lifting her straight off her toes, driving her into the unforgiving frame of the car. She unwound in his arms, quaking around him, her throat going raw from her cries. Still he kept on, hammering into her without mercy.
“Hell yeah, baby. Just like that.”
“Your turn.”
“Yes, yes.” He came undone inside her, his hot release sending her into a new round of quivering. His long, muscled body curved over hers and he branded her name across her back with his lips, searing her flesh in spite of the fabric between them.
When the storm that had caught them both began to subside, she dropped her scalding cheek to the cold glass. He still felt hard inside her. He’d come, for fuck’s sake. Her drenched thighs could attest to that.
“Lots of years stored up,” she panted. “Otherwise there’s no way I’d still have a missile inside me. Not after that.”
He was quiet so long she thought he’d passed out. Tentatively she craned her neck, only to see him grinning at her. “A missile? Really?” He withdrew from her and pulled up his pants. Too bad he couldn’t remain naked all the time.
“A baby one. With small thrusters—” She squealed as he scooped her up in his arms and carted her to the interior door of the garage. He bent to maneuver it open and she laughed at the jockeying he had to do to keep a hold of her. “Sure you got me, tough guy?”
Kicking the door closed with a flourish, he dipped his mouth to hers. “Oh, I’ve got you. And I’m not done with you yet.” He started for the stairs.
“What does that mean?” After they reached the first floor, they continued to the second level and into her room. “You’ll take a nap and go again? That’ll teach me to make fun of your missile.” He dumped her on her stomach on the bed before crawling over her and caging her in with his arms and hips. “Which I really wasn’t—”
“Still hungry for ice cream?”
She raised a brow and tried to look over her shoulder but he fisted his hand in her hair and kept her face forward. Curiosity and renewed lust flared in her belly, heating her pussy and sensitizing her nipples all over again. “Hell yeah.”
“Then shut up.” The giggle bubbled out of her, cutting off at the drag of his hips against her ass. “Be right back,” he said, climbing out of bed.
“Back?” There was no hiding the disappointment. She kicked off her slippers in case they were part of the problem. Hard to keep it up while fucking a woman wearing cartoon slippers.
“Gotta clean these.” He waggled his fingers like a surgeon’s before shedding his pants and vanishing into the connecting room.
“Oh. Yeah. Good point.” She was so far gone she wasn’t even thinking about being covered in oil. Oil that would probably end up on her bedcovers and sheets.
A worthwhile sacrifice.
He returned quickly and resumed his position behind her. He tugged her up on her knees and slipped his hand between, pushing two fingers into her entrance. She gasped at the unexpected pleasure, twisting to get more. She rotated her butt into his groin, hoping he’d get the picture and stop the delicious hand play and switch to some dick action instead. If he could. High expectations had never gotten her anywhere.
His thumb grazed her clit and she cried out, forgetting that her brother and Sara were at the end of the hall. Shit. She scrabbled for a pillow and bit down when he repeated the move in tandem with some G-spot attention. The boy was a natural. And from that huge erection riding her backside, no boy.
He jerked her hips up and laid a trail of kisses down her spine, stopping right above her cheeks. Without warning, he removed his fingers and replaced them with his thick cock, plowing into her with abandon. She shot forward on the bed, moaning into the pillow she clung to for dear life.
“God, I can’t stop touching you.” He rubbed his scalding torso against her back as if he couldn’t get close enough. It felt like he was trying to absorb her at a molecular level. His ab muscles were drum tight with his urgency. “Okay?” he gasped.
“So okay. I think your dick’s in my throat.”
“We can arrange that after. I think we should finish this first.”
“You. Have. Work. Soon.” She dropped her head to her crossed arms. “God, what am I saying? No, you don’t. You’re my love slave. My fuck slave. Damn, that feels good.”
“Not too hard?”
“Hell no. Harder. My bed frame’s not in pieces yet.”
His laughter vibrated through his chest and into her, somehow intensifying the pleasure blossoming in her core. She’d never had laughing sex before. Not even close. He shifted to lick her shoulder blade, unintentionally tickling her, and he laughed again as she tried to wriggle away, clamping a big hand on her hip and surging into her pussy with the force he usually restrained. She reached down to massage her clit a
nd the dynamic duo prodded her to the edge in ten thrusts or less.
“Please.” It was all she could manage. “Please. Please.”
“Oh damn, that’s right. Get me wet. Hear that?”
Impossible not to, with the wild slapping sounds their bodies were making. Damp flesh grinding together, hot and tight, spiraling them both into nirvana.
She hoped it was working for them both. Holding back was rapidly turning into a non-option.
“Yes. Oh yes.” She wasn’t going to announce she was coming. That was sophomoric. She was a mature orgasming lady—
“Fuck, I’m fucking coming,” she panted, ripping her nails through the sheets and over the pillows, trying to get purchase. But there was none to be had, because he was plunging in and out of her like a piston, shoving her legs wide, making her burn from the stretch of his cock and his relentless strokes. She buried her face in the pillow and screamed out her release, her body shaking from the powerful contractions.
His shout swiftly followed, partially muffled into her back. His teeth grazed her and she quivered anew, still trapped in the last dregs of her climax.
Oh what a climax it was.
He slumped on top of her, trapping her hand between her thighs. Mindlessly, she continued to pet her pussy, since the now mostly softened cock inside her was nicely positioned for an afterquake. An afterquake—aka an afterglow orgasm—was unfortunately rarely spotted in the wilds of sex with most men. Tonight could be her lucky night. She wiggled her hips, jostling him slightly, getting into a better position—
“Fuck slave. Fuck slave. Fuuuuck slave.”
Kim stilled. Michael, who had been kissing her hair, also stopped moving. “Did you hear that?” he whispered.
“You’re my love slave. My fuck slave. Fuuuuck.”
She started to laugh, hard, her shoulders shaking with her attempts to muffle the sound. “Somebody must’ve wanted to get busy.”
“Slave?”
“Okay, clue me in on the joke.” Michael shifted off of her, breathing unsteadily. He slumped on his stomach. “What the hell?”
“Slave?”
“That’s Telly,” she managed between snorts of laughter. “Sara’s bird. He’s very sexually inclined. That’s why they move him out of their room when they want to screw.”
“And when you want to make lo—screw, tough cookies?”
She turned her head, unable to stop her grin. Amazing how a couple of excellent sex sessions could ease her concern about certain phrases. Damn those happy pheromones. “I’m guessing they don’t know you’re here. I haven’t had a lot of overnight visitors lately.”
“Really?” The approval in his tone made her grab the closest pillow to whale on his back. He laughed. “I mean, sorry. That’s too bad.”
“You are so busted.”
“Fuuuuck?”
Michael shook his head. “That is seriously creepy. He repeats sex stuff? Is he really horny or what?”
“Not just sex stuff. He’s a conure and they can be taught to talk. Sara began teaching him early so he’s really advanced. He also says normal things like window and cracker and the occasional name.”
“But he especially likes sex talk? Weird.”
“Apparently. Though I blame it on Sara’s bad parenting skills. She insisted on keeping him in her room when she and Brad started messing around. And they aren’t quiet. Why do you think I have three pairs of earplugs?”
“I think he’s the one who needs the earplugs. Deviant little thing.”
“Too late now.” Chuckling, she rolled out of bed and crossed the room to the hanging cage. Sara had draped a towel over it in the hopes of helping Telly sleep. Fat chance there. The bird could doze through anything until people started getting freaky. Then he was awake and aware and filing away his pervy mental notes.
Kim pushed aside the towel and slipped her finger between the bars of the cage for a nuzzle. “Hey you. That Sara is a sneaky one, isn’t she? Waiting until I left the room to dump you and run for a booty call.”
Telly chirped and squawked and made his usual noises before adding a tentative, “Fuck slave?”
“Jesus.” Michael turned on the lamp beside the bed and came up behind her to check out the bird, sticking his own hand out for an experimental touch. “He’s gorgeous.”
“And he knows it. Tellyman has the prettiest green feathers in all the land.”
Telly cooed and abandoned her finger for Michael’s, rubbing his head against him with an insistence that caused Michael to lift a brow.
“He wants out,” she explained.
“Out? Like to fly around?”
“Sure. Would you want to be cooped up all day?”
Something almost imperceptible crossed Michael’s face. “No. I’ve been there and it wasn’t fun.”
Casually, she continued to stroke the bright blue stripe on top of Telly’s head. “You weren’t kidding about being locked up in Roch’s house for years, were you?”
“It wasn’t as bad as that. I went into the city sometimes to see my family and I had a couple friends at the beginning, though we drifted apart. But without a job and some reason to be outside of the house, it became isolating. Roch needed a lot of my time.”
“You said she didn’t want to have sex. Was her aversion related to her death?”
“Indirectly, yes. She had lung disease and couldn’t risk the extra exertion.” He pulled at the towel on the cage and tossed it aside. “Eventually the condition killed her.”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say, especially when he only shrugged. Leaving her no choice but to go with her typical foot-in-mouth stance. “So, lemme guess, you turned to nude modeling to try to have some body contact with someone, even if it was a room full of strangers?” she asked lightly, despite the fists kneading her stomach. It had been a totally random supposition given weight by the tight curl of his lips.
“If I did, that would demonstrate my vast need for—”
“Oh, hairy ball sacs. Starve a man and he’ll scarf down any scrap.”
Michael didn’t reply right away. “You may be biased.”
“And you aren’t seeing clearly. You were denied something natural and basic. Or you allowed yourself to be denied but she was the adult. More an adult than you,” she corrected when he started to argue. “She knew better. She took advantage.”
Perhaps she wasn’t the only one. The more she heard about his relationship with Roch, the more she worried she was helping him repeat unhealthy patterns. Did he find himself attracted to older women who would take care of him in one manner or another while he offered his own version of caretaking? Exchange for exchange. And wasn’t that a distilled version of so-called regular relationships anyway?
He was a provider in other aspects of his life. Maybe he needed a different sort of balance in his personal relationships. If so, was that so bad? She had no room to criticize choices. She just didn’t want to hurt him more than he’d already been hurt. Anything other than that. Because she wasn’t Rochelle, looking to move a guy in to keep watch over her and act as entertainment. She had enough trouble taking care of herself to bring another person into her world. As much as she might want to.
More and more with each passing hour, in fact.
“Depends on your perspective. I grew to love her.” He gazed at Telly. “Simple as that.”
“Loving her means you have to stay closeted in that huge place you clearly want to get away from even after she’s gone?” He didn’t respond. “I’m sorry, that makes no sense. You fulfilled any debt you had to her. Now you need to live for you. Sell the house—”
“You don’t understand. She gave me opportunities I never would’ve had on my own.”
Sounded much like the same tune he’d been singing, only now it seemed like he was trying to convince himself too. “So that makes manipulation okay? Manipulation she’s somehow managed to continue even after her death?”
“Manipulation is one of those words
people throw around to try to explain choices that defy convention. I was over eighteen. I knew what I was doing.” Jaw clenched, he pinned her with his glittering dark gaze. “If I had the choice to make over, I’d do it again.”
Those words haunted him for days. Both because he feared he’d hurt Kim somehow and because he worried they were all too true.
He still missed Roch. Still thought of her. To Kim, she was just an older woman who’d taken advantage of him. Was he being blind or was Kim wrong? Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.
Roch was the past and Kim was his present. He wasn’t sure for how long but he was learning to enjoy things while they lasted. And he was definitely enjoying getting to know Kim—and himself, through her eyes—better.
“Hey you. Can’t sleep again?”
Michael looked up to see Kim standing in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep and wearing a jacket over her pajamas. He hadn’t given her a lot of choice there, since he’d chosen to head outside to the porch swing to savor the dawn. Mornings had always been his favorite time.
“I slept.” He patted the swing beside him. “Come keep me warm.”
She smiled and curled up against his side, slipping her hand into the open vee of his button-down shirt. “Only you would be sitting on a porch swing when it’s thirty degrees outside.”
He kissed the top of her hair. “I’m feeling pretty hot right now.”
“Sweet talker.”
“Truth teller,” he corrected, savoring the feel of her in his arms.
Despite the thoughts he couldn’t quite shake, the awkwardness between them after their Roch conversation hadn’t lasted long. By unspoken agreement, they’d let the subject drop. It hadn’t been difficult to reestablish their rhythm…or find a new one, considering they were just discovering theirs. All he knew was that being with her made him happy.
They’d spent every night together since Brad and Sara had announced their engagement, though he’d worked late on a couple of those nights. He’d arrived even later on the days he hadn’t managed to return to his house to spend time with and feed the cats during his lunch. Coming home to Kim’s place to find her and Sara spread out on the living room floor with notebooks and magazines and pens scattered in every direction never failed to make him smile. Their wedding chatter did the same.