by Donna Alam
‘So, what are you?’ he asks, eyes back on his task of gliding my skirt slowly up my legs. I feel my brows furrow, my stomach knotted at where he could be going with this, because I desperately don’t want to bring up the w word. ‘Are you a good girl or a bad—’ His words halt as he skims his hands down the front of my black hose covered thighs. ‘Tights,’ he says, not bothering to hide his delight.
‘You didn’t strike me as the fetish kind.’ Dear God, please don’t let him have the hots for hose.
And then he smiles that dangerous smile as he begins to pull them down. ‘A useful item of clothing, these. Binding wrists and ankles. Tying pretty girls.’
‘Not this girl,’ I return, though I don’t think I’m the only one who hears the libidinous drop in my tone.
‘At least, not the first time,’ he purrs.
Before you can say hose whore, my tights are magically mid-thigh and his knuckle is brushing down the front of my satin panties. And I’m whimpering, widening my stance, opening for him.
‘First time?’ I reply through a sigh. His touch is electric, my body jolting against his hand.
‘The first time I fuck you tonight.’ I open my mouth to reply when his hot mouth melts my words. As it slides against mine, his knuckle begins to rub rhythmic circles over my panties, the pressure increasing until he’s worked the soft fabric to cling wetly to my clit.
‘Do I look like a one ride kind of man?’ My gaze follows his from the damp patch of my panties as he raises his head.
‘You look like you could go all night.’
‘Fuck, yeah,’ he growls, watching my face—watching his actions—slipping his hand into my panties’ lacy waistband.
I can’t hold back the sound of my pleasure as he slides his fingers backwards and forwards, gathering my wetness and rubbing it against the swollen nub. In fact, I think I might beg as a knuckle becomes two circling fingers, then two fingers that thrust.
‘Please, please, please.’ My breath is short and my voice is hoarse. Please let him still be hung like a horse. ‘Oh God, please, please, please.’ It’s been so long.
I so badly want to come—crave it as I crave him. My hands grasp his shoulders as much for balance as it is to hold him closer, as the heel of his palm cups and pressures, paced in time with his thrusts. Arching away from the wall, I pull his mouth to mine, sucking on his bottom lip. Arching. Sucking. Finger fucking. So sublime.
My hands slide from his shoulders and I grasp his forearm, using my body to ride his hand. I’ve never been so forward, so demanding. Felt so reckless and powerful. So full of need.
My veins feel powered by liquid fire; the knot between my legs building and building, before bursting at its peak. And I’m all out of breath, coming so hard and so silently I think this must be what it feels like to implode. I’m conscious of my chest heaving between us—and that’s never happened before—and think I might actually be dissolving from pure pleasure. But I can’t be, because I can feel my body weighted against his arm; the arm I’ve clutched so hard, I think it might have left nail marks.
His body is motionless but when he speaks, his voice is so rich and soft and his sentiment so flattering, it washes away any potential awkwardness.
‘That one was for you. Happy birthday, Rose.’ He smiles down at me, sort of sweetly. ‘But I should warn you, the next one’s all mine. You’re a real looker and stunning when you come, but I want to be inside you when I make you do that again.’
My insides clench greedily at his words and by the way his smile shifts, I know he feels it, too.
‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’ My voice is hoarse, like I haven’t used it in days. My eyes fall to his forearm where, sure enough, the half-moon impressions of my nails are visible against his skin. I purse my lips against the notion of apologising, pressing them harder at the sound of his fingers slipping wetly from between my legs. Is it shame? Embarrassment? Whatever it is, the thought dissipates the instant he paints my wetness against my own lips.
‘Taste yourself,’ he coaxes. As his grey eyes dare me, I curl my tongue against my top lip. ‘So, you’re a good girl,’ he says softly, lowering his head as his mouth finds mine again.
I can taste myself on his lips and tongue, the musky scent that he must taste, too.
Hells bells, I want him to.
I realise I’m still wearing his jacket as he pushes it from my shoulders, pulling my blouse from my skirt and making quick work of the tiny green buttons. And I just let him, torn between watching the actions of his long fingers, and the hair that’s partially obscuring his face.
‘Now bedroom,’ he growls, his forearm pushing away the hair before he grabs me by the waist to propel me further into the hall. I don’t have time to contemplate how ridiculous I must look, tights clinging to my thighs and my skirt rucked up, before his arm bands my waist and he hauls me against him, his front to my back.
‘On second thoughts . . .’ I squeal a little as his voice rumbles against my neck. ‘If you keep making those noises, titch, you won’t be going anywhere.’
‘What noises?’ I squeak as his large hands slides under my blouse. The feel of his fingers against my ribs is as distracting as his mouth at my ear. His soft lips envelope the shell just as his fingers find my nipples beneath my bra.
‘That noise.’ His words rumble against the sensitive skin beneath my ear. ‘Those little squeals you made as you came.’
‘I did not!’ It’s hard to sound indignant when you’re enjoying being touched, but titch? And my orgasm was almost silent, so I’m not sure—
‘Ohh!’ His fingers pinch my nipple and I squeal again.
‘Aye, like that.’ He chuckles darkly, his teeth pressing against my neck now. ‘Those little breathy noises you made as you came all over my hand.’
I’m not sure if this statement is dirty—or delicious—as he quickly turns me and I almost stumble against a large hall stand. In the dimly lit space, I can make out the piece looks like something you might see on an antique program, shabby and the glass mottled. I press one hand to the worn wood, its scars apparent beneath my fingertips, but as I brush my bangs from my face with the other, he catches it.
‘You look fine, darlin’.’ Raising my palm against the dark mirror, he covers it with his own as he starts kissing my neck again. ‘Real fine.’
I’ve no experience of dirty talk, but the things he whispers are thrilling; filthy worded compliments about my ass and tits. Husky promises of how he can’t wait to fill me. To fuck me, until the only thing holding me up is him.
Distantly, I can hear panting; soft and light. This time there’s no doubt where it’s coming from. Then, in a heartbeat, I sense his thumb pushing through the fabric of my hose, pulling and shredding the material until it falls like loose stockings down my legs. My heart rate spikes—from excitement? From fear? The former winning out as he places his hand behind my knee, lifting my leg.
Without thought, I move with him, my knee now resting against the ledge of the table as he grinds against me with a low groan. My hand still braced against the mirror, I move instinctively against him, rocking back into the hardness of his body. The hardness of his cock. How is it possible I’m still turned on after climaxing but a moment ago? He may not be a one-orgasm-wonder, but I am. I’m a one go girl before mumbling barely intelligible goodnights before passing out. Not that we’ve made it as far as a bed, which somehow heightens the experience.
Hungry anticipation tightens in the pit of my stomach. I need this so much that my insides pulse emptily, yearning for the thick slide of him between my legs.
Dear God, please make him thick where it counts.
One hand anchored to my hip, he uses his other to turn my chin to him, capturing my mouth with his own, but there’s little satisfaction here as we nip and bite, each of us desperate to taste the other as Rory’s strong body almost envelopes mine. It feels wicked and decadent and oh so right, though I suppose I should be surprised it doesn’t feel weir
d being held by a stranger, being positioned as I am. Currently, I don’t have the wherewithal to give a fuck.
His long fingers pull my blouse from my shoulder, the action drawing my eyes to the mirror, and for the first time I see myself, rather than him. It’s a picture I’m unfamiliar with. My skirt is gathered around my waist, and a moment later, he has my aching nipples almost rimming the lacy cups of my bra. My hair is a mess, but my face, well, I don’t recognise that girl. Eyes heavy lidded though glittering, and even in the faint light, I can see my reflection is flushed, my mouth, completely bare of lipstick now, is still darkly pouty. Swollen. In short, I look well fucked.
Please let it be so.
‘Oh, please,’ I moan, breathing heavily. ‘Just, please.’
He swears, pulling back a little before slamming his wallet down against the wood and slipping out a condom. I can feel his hands working his belt and pants and then it all happens so quickly—my tiny panties are moved to the side, and then he’s there, sliding his length along me. Oh! Oh! Oh . . .
These are practised movements, his hardness gliding past my entrance and barely brushing my clit before sliding back again.
‘Do it already,’ I pant, this time biting back the please.
His eyes are reflected darkly, the faint lift of his lips almost obscured.
‘Are you givin’ out orders, titch?’
One more flex of his hips and he glides by again; part perfection, part torture. Beneath my skin is pure electricity, and I’m so wet that, with the smallest change in angle, he’d slip inside.
‘Yes—please—I am,’ I say, pushing up onto the toe of my high heels and leveraging my weight against him, ultimately succeeding in just that.
His sharp intake of breath is right by my ear, a sound that I could listen to again and again. His hips rock forward and his rumbling groan vibrates from his chest against my spine. I feel vindicated, and more importantly, so deliciously full.
‘You beautiful wee minx,’ he breathes into my neck. I can feel him smiling and a moment later, he pulls back and thrusts back in. And again. And again. ‘Is this what you want?’
He punctuates his movements with each of those words, pushing a breath and a hissed, ‘Yes!’ right out of me. One hand anchored against my hip and the other again braced over mine against the mirror, he builds a rhythm with each snap of his hips, pushing me forward as he fucks me deep.
In my reflection, my breasts do their damnedest to sway, but my lack in that department is the furthest thing from my mind. This is so . . . I can’t even find the words, though my mouth is open as he twists my face to his, sliding his tongue across my lips. ‘Let’s hear those little come sounds. Let me eat them up.’
I gasp, my insides pulsing harder than ever, but I’ve never done that—come twice in one encounter, I mean. Not that I won’t enjoy it, but I won’t be able—
The thought is fleeting as something tightens inside me, something hotter and slicker than before. The noises I make are plaintive and raw, pleasure tearing through me like a rip current.
‘Oh, God, oh, God,’ I breathe. I try to throw my head back to ride this wave, but his hand keeps me fixed, my head twisted to the side.
‘I can’t . . . I can’t . . .’ believe I’m coming again. Twice. And so quickly. I’ve never—
‘That’s . . . that’s it,’ he rasps, riding this out with me, lost to everything but movement and sensation. His mouth delivers biting kisses across my mouth and jaw, his eyes alternately flicking from my mouth to the mirror as he watches us fuck.
A moment later his movements turn jerky and I feel the ache of his sudden loss. Twisting my head further, he holds himself in his hand, his climax spurting from between his fingers, over the satin of my panties, the back of my skirt and my thighs.
‘Jesus.’ His chest rises and falls rapidly as he plants one hand back on my hip, his head bowed and resting against mine.
‘B . . . it . . .you . . .’ Frick. I can’t get the words to come out right. I tilt my head over my shoulder in an attempt to see. ‘What happened to the condom?’
‘Don’t stress.’ His hand drifts from my hip as he tucks himself away.
‘That . . . I . . . you did that on purpose?’ Did he? Why would he? Surely—
He peers at me from under the length of his hair, eyes bright and his smile wicked.
‘Aye.’ One word. As gravelly as all fuck.
‘Why would you—’ As he begins to chuckle darkly, my brain kicks in. Oh, Lord, he’s one of those men; the kind I’ve only ever encountered between the pages of a book. ‘Please,’ I say, my cheeks heating as he begins to chuckle. ‘Just. Shut. Up.’
He laughs a little harder and I start to turn away only to be confronted by the mirror. I close my eyes to the sight for a beat before attempting to pop my boobs back into their tiny cups.
‘Will you relax?’
Rory’s words catch me off guard—their soft tone and the way they whisper across my skin.
‘I—I’m fine.’ The prickly creature that I usually am seems to have crawled into my throat. ‘What’s it to you, anyway?’
‘Because.’ His hands against my waist, he lowers his mouth to my ear. ‘I’d like to do that again. Maybe even a few times more tonight.’
Oh, Lord.
Chapter Fourteen
Rory
I wake alone, and it’s probably for the best, though I wouldn’t have turned her down if she’d wanted to go again this morning. Christ knows I wake with a hard-on every morning that I’d prefer not to waste.
Still, I’m not beyond settling for the playback reel with my dick in my hand. Though maybe not this morning, I think, as I stretch my body out along the bed, relishing the familiar ache only a mammoth fucking session can bring.
She’d sniffed my jacket. How was that even a turn on? I should’ve known she’d be a great fuck right then. As I’d fought with the unfamiliar lock, jacketless, I should have been feeling the cold. I wasn’t. I burned like a furnace, the ache in my trousers making it difficult to concentrate as my fingers fumbled with the lock. It was no wonder I was on her the minute the door was closed behind us. I’d opened my mouth to offer her drink, but one glance at her lipstick smeared mouth found me pouncing instead, pushing her up against the wall. Again. Like some horny beast.
My hands moving greedily over the gossamer fabric of her blouse, I’d mapped her curves trying desperately to rein it back in, to hold back a little, to keep my touches light.
Until I’d felt her hands on my arse.
Yep, she’s definitely an arse girl, confirmed at the front door as she’d shrunk into my jacket when I’d caught her staring at it. At me? At my arse? So as her hands slid around my waist then slipped lower, it was like a red rag to my bull.
I’d wanted to slam her against the wall.
Pull her thighs around my hips.
Kiss and suck.
Bite and fuck.
Feed the burn in my gut.
But still, I held tight to my restraint. Usually, I’m all about the tease; a little spanking. Holding their wrists while making them wriggle. A little light bondage, if they seem up for it. But not last night, because as I pushed my hands under her skirt, I’d found fucking tights.
I’m not some kind of a deviant—I like garter belts as much as the next fella—but there was something hot about seeing the outline of her tiny knickers beneath the nylon. It was like her blouse all over again. Yeah, I’ll admit it. Standing at the bar, I might’ve thought I could see right through it at one point, convinced it wasn’t a trick of the lighting. I’d struggled to hide how this affected me, my fingers just millimetres away from reaching out. And even as I’d leaned in to whisper in her ear, my mind was working the angle. Could I manage a subversive brush without being caught?
And then tights. Thick and black, but not quite obscuring the pale scrap beneath. Now you see it, now you don’t; but I was definitely seeing this time. Feeling. Peeling them away from her waist to fuck her with my
hand.
Fingering is so underrated.
Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and feed one hand beneath my head, while the other reaches for my cock. So I didn’t think I’d be in the mood. Obviously, I was wrong. The whole evening isn’t so much a reel of fucking as much as it is a montage; flashes of memories and sensations. Of freckles peppering the sun kissed skin of her chest. Of how she’d panted against my mouth as I licked her pink stained lips. Of how her clit was as slippery as satin under my thumb.
We hadn’t even made it to the bedroom. At least, not the first time, the reflection of her hungry eyes eliminating all thoughts of a bed. I needed to be inside her. To see the need on her face as I slid between her legs. To see the reflection of this, too. I fucked her soundly, and I got to watch. See all of her. See her taking all of me, her raspy breath misting the mirror as she’d exhaled those unintelligible sounds.
She’d already half collapsed by the time I shot my load, whipping the rubber off and lashing her arse in hot jets of come. God, her face as she’d turned her head over her shoulder. I don’t know whether she’d been impressed or horrified. Though I reckon it had turned her on, if her eyes were any indication, her mouth falling open in a soft o.
A first for her, it seemed, and definitely for me. Not sure what exactly possessed me, except to say that in that moment, I’d wanted to own her. Leave my mark. I wanted in—truly in—and the next best thing was painting her in the stuff.
My fingers tighten around the head of my cock and I suck in a deep mouthful of air. If it’s possible, I’m harder now, need drawing my balls tight, every inch of me hot and prickling. My body jerks against the bed, hips rising and rolling into my hand. I stroke firmly—once, twice—as I remember how, later, we’d stumbled to the forgotten bed. Of how she’d gasped as I’d slid once more between her legs, her back arching and chasing my touch. Of how I’d fucked her mouth with my tongue, swallowing her eager sounds. Of how I’d rammed myself into her tight pussy again and again.