by BETH KERY
“Harder. Please.”
They might have been a stranger’s words flying past her lips. His gaze searched her face. The next moment, he granted her request. Her eyes flew wide. He’d drawn his cock out of her until the thick head licked at her swollen labia in a teasing caress. Then he drove deep again . . . and again. She bobbed her hips, so needy for that delicious stretch of her flesh that sent a pang through her clit, for that moment when he sank his cock completely inside her and gave his hips that slight jerk, grinding his pelvis against her wet, tender tissues.
Distantly, she was aware of her antique brass headboard clacking against the plaster wall. Her eyelids sagged as she became transported by sensation.
“Joy.”
His sharp call made her eyelids flutter open. He’d paused, his pelvis pressed tight against her hungry pussy.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, hovering on the precipice of orgasm.
His cock jerked inside her womb.
“Keep your eyes open.”
He began fucking her again, his eyes like lancing lasers that wouldn’t allow her to look away.
“Oh . . . it’s . . .”
“Let it happen. Come,” he said as he plunged into her and the bed rattled.
Her first cry sounded panicked to her own ears. Then climax ripped through her from root to limb, and she knew nothing but shuddering pleasure.
Through a hot haze of satiation, she became aware of Everett’s full, firm cock sliding out of her body.
“No.”
“It’s okay,” he whispered.
She opened her eyelids and watched through a slit as he came to rest next to and above her, on the pillow.
“Come here,” she heard him coax, his hands sliding beneath her back, urging her to rise off the mattress. She moved, feeling strange . . . disoriented.
“Straddle my lap,” he said.
She blinked and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. He’d sounded so tense. He sat on her mattress, his back a foot away from the brass posts of the headboard, his long legs sprawled before him. She straddled his thighs, her gaze falling to his lap. Awareness snapped through her consciousness like a whip. He was still hard—incredibly so. She was surprised the condom didn’t snap around his swollen member.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, clambering closer to him. “I hadn’t realized.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I wanted it that way,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders, guiding her over him. She noticed that the condom glistened with her own juices. “I want to savor you. I want to take you like an animal, too,” he admitted under his breath. “But I’m trying to fight the instinct.”
He put his hand at the root of his cock—the naked stretch where the condom couldn’t reach. Something about the image of him touching himself, his fingers draping down over his large, full testicles, made her clit pinch in renewed arousal. He held himself at a hospitable angle, his hand on her hip. Joy raised herself and caught the bulbous head of his penis between her spread thighs.
He felt so huge as he began to penetrate her vagina, she would have sworn he was entering her for the first time, fresh. She held on to his shoulders, gritting her teeth at the intense pressure as she slid down the shaft several inches. She could feel the defined ridge beneath the head of his cock in this position, feel the tip carving into her while her flesh melted around him, hugged him tight.
“Shh,” he murmured, and she realized she’d gasped at the effort of taking him when her body was so open, so vulnerable to him. He caught her bottom, just beneath her buttocks, his strong biceps flexing tight as he held her in place for a moment with his cock half inside of her.
But Joy wiggled her hips in his hold, coaxing his cock farther inside her. He was stretching her, and the friction was sharp. She burned, existing on a delicious edge between pain and intense pleasure. She dropped her weight, bending her knees farther. They both gasped when she fell in his lap, his balls pressing against her damp, delicate tissues.
“Oh, God,” he muttered tightly.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved. Everett dropped his head, his chin on his chest. She saw his shoulders and chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. She, too, was having difficulty gathering herself with a large, swollen cock throbbing deep inside her.
After a moment, he looked up, a grim expression on his face. He leaned back slightly on one arm, putting his lean, gilded torso at a backward angle. He caressed her thigh.
“Do you think you can straighten your legs behind me? Lean back, like me,” he instructed gruffly.
She moaned, feeling feverish, not entirely understanding what he meant.
“I want to see you while I’m in you. All of you,” he muttered, breaking through her disorientation. “Please.”
She let out a shaky groan when she attempted to move with him lodged so deeply. Was he on the edge of orgasm? He felt enormous, she thought distractedly as she attempted to do what he’d asked, straightening her knees so that her legs were on either side of him. His cock slid slightly out of her in the process. When she’d settled, her legs spread, her hands behind her, bracing her upper body, she pushed with her hands.
They both clenched their teeth when she slid him back into her to the hilt.
She sat facing him, her lap nailed to his by his erect member, her legs spread, staring at the glorious length of Everett’s muscular, sweat-glistening torso.
She’d never felt so aroused in her life.
He reached between her thighs and slid a finger between her labia. She whimpered as he agitated her clit.
She’d never felt so vulnerable.
Her vagina tightened around him as he stimulated her.
“Everett,” she whispered desperately.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his hot stare running over her flushed face and down over her breasts and heaving belly to her pussy. She glanced down and moaned when she saw how pink her outer sex looked beneath his rubbing finger, how wet. She was completely exposed to him in this position. There was nowhere to hide. She shifted her hips against his ruthless finger and felt his cock jerk inside her.
“Don’t move,” he ordered abruptly.
She glanced into his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said more calmly. “If you move, I’m going to come. I’m right on the edge.”
“I want you to come,” she moaned when he resumed torturing her clit.
“I want you to come.”
She bit her lip in an agony of rising friction and bliss.
“I want to move,” she pleaded shakily. “Let me move.”
“Stay still.” She heard the edge to his quiet voice and forced her hips to remain immobile. It was so hard. She didn’t want to climax, sprawled out like this, so vulnerable to his watching eyes.
She couldn’t stop it from happening, though.
He pressed on her clit in a relentless rhythm, and she felt herself cresting. She clenched her jaw hard and tilted her pelvis down, adding the friction of his thick, penetrating root to the pressure on her clit. She began to shudder in orgasm.
“That’s right,” she heard him say through waves of pleasure. “Ah, God, that feels good.”
Her tremors abated slowly, deliciously. He finally removed his hand from her clit, and she opened her eyes.
He was still high and hard inside of her. She couldn’t believe it.
“You weren’t joking about that tantric sex thing, were you?”
His grin was both mischievous and strained. She blinked her eyes, noticing the tension in his rigid stomach muscles and in his face. His nipples were very erect. It gave her some measure of satisfaction that even if he wasn’t as desperate as she was, he wasn’t finding this easy.
“Would I kid you about something like that?” he murmured at the same time he put one of his hands beneath her ankle and lifted.
“No, Everett,” she said shakily when he lifted her leg so that her calf rested on his shoulder. He’d just in
creased the pressure of his lodged cock inside of her, and he knew it, she realized.
“No?” he asked, his eyebrows arched in a query.
She gasped for air, her body becoming accustomed to the new position. She gritted her teeth and pushed down on his cock, squeezing her vaginal muscles. It was a complete reflex action.
“Jesus, Joy,” he muttered. “Tell me if you want me to stop. Don’t do that, though. I don’t want to come yet.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked him in a spurt of frustration. A tear splashed down her cheek. She felt wholly exposed. She wanted him to fuck her so hard that he joined her in a mindless frenzy of need. Her entire body began to shake; her emotions felt so chaotic, and she was so aroused. Her eyelids clamped shut.
She felt his palm on the back of her thigh, stroking her in a soothing motion from her buttock to the back of her knee. Her vagina once again tightened around his cock. She could feel his heartbeat deep inside her. It was incredibly erotic.
It was almost unbearably intimate.
“Do you want me to pull out?” she heard him ask.
“No. No. Please don’t,” she begged brokenly.
Emotion shuddered through her when he gently lifted her other leg to his shoulder. If she’d been exposed to him before, now she was raw—a bundle of quaking, unshielded nerves.
“Open your eyes,” Everett beckoned.
She couldn’t resist the sound of his voice, couldn’t deny his quiet command. She unclenched her eyelids and met his gaze. There was so much desire in his glistening eyes, it stunned her . . . confused her.
Every muscle in her abdomen and pelvic region bunched tight. Suddenly, his hand was between her thighs again, demanding . . . insistent.
She detonated at his touch. She mewled as another orgasm thundered through her, this one impossibly more powerful than the previous ones. Through a haze of sensual bliss, she heard his sharp curse. While her orgasm still shook her, he leaned forward and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her off his erection. Joy cried out at the pain of sudden deprivation.
“Shh,” he said, although he hardly sounded soothing this time . . . more impatient. Desire had finally sunk its claws deep into him, Joy realized in disorientation. She couldn’t help but feel triumphant. He guided her with his hands. She followed his silent, urgent demand until she found herself on her belly, her legs draped over the edge of the bed.
He lifted her ass with his hands. She assisted him, putting her knees on the edge of the bed, raising herself to meet him.
She cried out sharply when he slid the entire length of his cock into her with one powerful stroke. Her eyes went wide. She stared sightlessly at the window on the far side of the room as he began to ram into her, fucking her without pretense or politeness—taking her in just the way she’d craved.
She should be careful what she wished for.
He held on to her hips, completely controlling her actions, serving her pussy to his swollen cock. He was voracious, relentless, so selfish in his erupting need that it left her incapable of thought or movement. In those tense, electric moments where he slammed into her like a locomotive, their skin slapping together with brisk smacking sounds, Joy lost her own will.
She gave herself to him, mind and body, subsumed by Everett’s desire.
Seven
“Joy? Are you all right?”
Regret spiked through him when he saw the damp tracks of tears on her cheeks. He pulled her closer into his arms and used his thumb to dry her skin. “I’m sorry. I know I was rough. I wanted you so much,” he said, recalling in graphic detail how he’d just fucked her like a madman, completely abandoning himself to unbridled lust. Even though he’d just had the mother of all orgasms while pressed tight against the limit of Joy’s womb, and even though guilt washed through him, he felt his cock stir again at the memory.
Her flushed lips parted. Her wide-eyed gaze struck him as dazed . . . incredulous.
“Joy?” he asked warily, unable to fully interpret her expression.
“Excuse me,” she muttered.
Everett stilled an instinctive reflex to pull her back into his arms when she sat up. She slid her slender legs over the edge of the bed. He stared helplessly at her retreating form. A few seconds later, he heard the bathroom door close.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his head hitting the pillow. “Fuck.”
Self-recriminations paraded across his consciousness. He must have hurt her. He shouldn’t have let his arousal build to the breaking point as he had. She’d probably never want to see him again.
But she’d been so exquisite, lying back with his cock lodged so high in her warm, clinging pussy. She’d been so open to him, so vulnerable. It’d driven him a little nuts.
A lot nuts.
He’d made her pay the price by not better regulating his lust.
Now he was going to have to forfeit the price if he’d alienated her completely. His bitter, silent self-lecture continued as he removed and disposed of the condom. He drew on his boxer-briefs and sat at the edge of the bed, his head down.
He was about to go and check on Joy when he heard the bathroom door open. He braced his arms on either side of him, his muscles bunching tight, when he heard her tread in the hallway.
“Are you okay?” he asked when she entered the room wearing a short pink bathrobe. At first he thought she’d splashed her face with water, but then he realized that her hair was damp at her temples and nape from perspiration. He was wet with sweat himself. It’d been like running a marathon, making love to her.
She nodded and silently came and sat next to him on the bed, several inches from his hand. He wanted to touch her. He wondered if he’d lost the right.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“No.”
He paused. Her tone had sounded starkly honest.
“Then what’s wrong?”
He saw her throat convulse as she swallowed. Her sideways glance struck him as wary . . . bewildered.
“Why did you do that to me?”
He just stared at her. For some reason, even though she’d said why, he’d heard what. It struck him that she felt wholly vulnerable. He covered her hand with his.
“I didn’t just want to have sex with you. I wanted to connect with you. It worked a little too well, on my part. You were so . . .” He made a ragged, helpless sound. “I lost it a little, there at the end. I’m sorry.”
She turned her head, searching his features. “I wanted you to lose control. I’m not talking about that,” she said.
His forehead bunched in confusion.
“Never mind,” she whispered, glancing away. “It doesn’t matter.”
He cradled the back of her head. She fit his palm perfectly.
“It matters.”
She dropped her chin to her chest. “You overwhelm me.”
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to.” He froze for a second after the words were out of his mouth. Was he lying? Had he meant to break down her defenses?
“You don’t understand,” she said so abruptly that he started. She glanced at him entreatingly. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re . . . wonderful. Perfect. I wouldn’t want you to change anything.”
“I’m not following you, Joy,” he said slowly.
She shook her head. He sensed her frustration. He tamped down a strong desire to hold her; she looked so small sitting there, so lost. Instead, he stood. She’d told him he overwhelmed her. He couldn’t push himself on her farther.
He reached for his trousers.
“You don’t have to go,” she said in a cracking voice.
He turned, his hand on the zipper of his fly.
“I think I better,” he said. “Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He nodded and reached for his shirt. He was angry with himself for pushing her, but dammit, he had wanted to move her, to reach her, to touch her in more than the surface sense. That’d been the reason h
e’d made love to her the way he did. Joy clearly was a formidable fortress, but she wasn’t entirely impregnable.
Tonight had shown him that.
He felt raw and confused. Irritated. The experience had rattled him as well as Joy. The only reason he was leaving was that she appeared to be even more exposed and bewildered by what had happened between them than he was.
Eight
Chad Thurman, the only male in Joy’s class of ten, gave her a sympathetic glance when she checked the clock again above the blackboard.
“Do you want me to go out into the hallway and look around, Miss Hightower? Maybe he’s lost. Their kind aren’t always the sharpest tools in the shed.”
“No, that’s all right,” Joy said, opening the drawer to her desk and digging in her purse for her cell phone. “I’ll go out and have a look around and try to call him. Maybe he just got stuck in traffic or something.”
“This is it. We’re finally going to see what you look like with your shirt off, Chad,” Chancy Orbus said, a teasing gleam in her dark brown eyes.
“You wish,” Chad replied under his breath, the color in his cheeks belying his cocky negligence as he slumped in his chair. The rest of the girls in the class twittered. After spending six weeks with the talented, intelligent group of sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds, Joy still wasn’t quite sure whether the experience of being the token male was an absolute torture or an utter delight for Chad; she daily saw evidence that argued for both.
“It’s not going to come to that,” Joy assured them, giving Chancy a wry, slightly repressive glance as she walked toward the hallway. “I’ll be right back.”
She grimaced when she opened the door and moved from the air-conditioned classroom to the stuffy, hot hallway. The Steadman School was located in a historical, enormous, Romanesque-style building on Chicago’s west side. The arched hallways were either freezing in the winters or stifling in the summer. There wasn’t a soul in sight. All the other classes being taught for summer school were located over in the academic wing of the building.
A wave of drowsiness hit her as she looked for the phone number, a combination of the sudden heat and a restless night. After Everett had left, sleep did not come easily. He probably thought she was a hysterical fool after the way she’d acted.