by Donna Alam
‘Don’t tease.’
Her whispered admonishment brushes my cheek and I glance down at her lips at the exact same moment as she licks the pink flesh. Electricity surges through my whole body, the sensation as heady as though she’d licked not her lip, but the head of my dick. Jesus, I can almost see it—almost feel it—my arms trembling as I lower my mouth to hers.
‘Titch, I’m not teasing. I’m appreciating.’ My words are barely a whisper. ‘Feast with the eyes, then with the tongue.’
Our lips meet, and if intentions could be measured in kisses, this one seeks to possess. I can’t get close enough as I feed her my tongue again and again—feed her the taste of five hundred quid whisky, tainted by longing and need. Fear of this strength of feeling makes me tear my mouth from hers, my body heaving as I stare down. Bubble-gum pink lips in a face so pale.
‘Don’t stop,’ Fin whispers, curling her fingers in my shirt and leaving me under no illusion of the transparency of my expression.
I pause, but not for long, leaning on one hand as I use the other to grasp the shirt at my back, pulling it off. It’s like I’ve just handed her Christmas the way she trails her hands down my front.
‘These, too,’ she says, her fingers tugging my belt. ‘Hurry, Rory.’
‘Ladies first.’
Moments later, we’ve worked together to strip her of her leggings and sports bra and, in our haste, I can’t tell whether her own legs are helping or hindering in pushing my jeans from my legs. My belt clinks as they hit the floor and I climb over her, bracketing her thighs, a sudden jolt of pleasure coursing through my veins at the sight of her nakedness, the colour of her hardened nipples matching the flush of arousal across her chest.
‘Just look at you.’ My words are punctuated by nipping kisses as she shudders beneath me and I absolutely struggle to control myself. I trail my lips across her jaw—licking, sucking. Caressing her neck. ‘How did you get to be so fucking perfect?’
Fin huffs out some semblance of a laugh, her rueful words barely a breath. ‘If only you knew.’
My mind snags on her tone, though I don’t realise I’m sucking on her neck until my teeth tighten and she moans. It’s fucked up, but her answer boils my insides—takes me back to the kitchen, scrolling through my phone.
‘Don’t.’ I push up onto my knees, sliding her thighs wide, my fingers gripping them hard enough to mark. ‘Just fucking don’t. If I pay you a compliment I want only your thank you. Spoken or demonstrated—either works.’
Angry, hard and confused, I tighten my fingers, staring down at the ribbon of pink and swollen flesh. The sight is so fucking tempting that I reach out and lay the heel of my palm there, lightly rotating my wrist. My eyes track their way up her body, expecting to see some sign of shock or anger.
What I don’t expect to be greeted by are eyes so dark they appear black.
What I don’t anticipate is her body rocking up into my hand.
What I don’t imagine are her breathless, teasing sounds.
‘That’s better.’ I slide my palm downwards, trailing two fingers down her slick lips. ‘That’s what I want,’ I add gruffly, sliding them inside and hooking them forward once I’m knuckle deep.
Her reaction is electric; like she’s been struck by a live line. Her whimpers turn to moans, her sounds a little more desperate. She looks gorgeous as she brings her hands up to the pillow either side of her head; so different from the angry Fin of yesterday, or the hesitant Fin from before.
And the placement of her hands? Any man worth his pussy knows what that means.
She wants to be restrained, though can’t bring herself to say.
Without moving my fingers, I lean over her and tell her to put her hands over her head, my next words a harsh rasp.
‘You like that, don’t you, titch?’
As I grasp her wrists in my free hand, I don’t need to hear her affirmative whimper, her body clutching my fingers tightly as I trail my tongue down her neck. Licking. Sucking. Marking. ‘Ever been restrained before?’
‘A little,’ she whispers hesitantly.
Something twists in the pit of my fucking gut, her body stilling under my arctic tone. ‘With him?’
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I rest my forehead against her shoulder as I breathe deeply, trying to get a grip, to make sense of my reaction. Of how this makes me feel. Of why the hell I asked. Around about the same time I realise my fingers, though still inside her, have also stilled.
‘J—just once. It was just one time.’ Her words, though meant to pacify, create other questions.
‘Once?’
‘We—he wasn’t interested in anything like that.’
What a fucking loser. To the victor go the spoils, pal.
‘What else didn’t he do?’ I try to bite back my sneer, ghosting my mouth over her lips and chin, keeping it just out of her reach. And, rather than returning to fingering, rest my thumb on her clit. ‘Didn’t spank you?’ I taunt, circling it. ‘Didn’t tie you up. What kind of pussy was he?’
That was a rhetorical question, by the way.
‘Rory.’
My name sounds more like a sigh, something I long to catch between my lips. Something I long to bite. I press my thumb a little firmer, her tits rubbing my chest, her nipples hard, lickable points. There are so many places I could take this, but the feel of her squirming against me means I’m not really paying attention to what’s coming out of my mouth. I don’t think I’ve ever been as hard as I am right now.
‘Come on, titch. What else didn’t he do? You can tell me.’
‘H—he never licked me like you. Licked me with a tongue piercing.’
Like a tongue piercing? I used to have a piercing; a bar through my tongue. Not that Fin would know; it was purely a teenage thing. Distracted. Fucking horny. Not listening. Brain on delay. Those things and more blur my focus. If I don’t get inside her soon, I’ll be manic enough to chew through the fucking bedpost.
‘And you like that, do you.’ My eyes track up her body to the desire glazing her eyes. ‘You’d like me to lick you from arse to clit.’
‘Oh, God, yes!’
‘Poor, pretty titch. She had a husband who couldn’t eat her out properly.’ I might be smiling, but I’m pretty sure this falls under the parameters of piss-poor sexual politics. ‘I could’ve given him a few pointers.’
‘You . . .’ she says panting and squirming, probably something to do with the way my thumb is petting and teasing. Pressure to a whisper. Firm to a bare caress. ‘You could teach a class and—and get rich from it.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere, though not tonight. I’m too desperate. I need to be inside.’
And, apparently, this I said out loud, judging by the way Fin tightens her legs around me, hissing, ‘Fuck, yesss!’
Moving over her, I take my cock in my free hand, sliding it through her slick heat. My legs jerk, my abs tightening and it’s all I can do to not slam into her right then. But I just want this. Want to feel her against me without any barriers. Want to push myself just that little bit further. And then, as she wiggles her wrist free from my hand, she reaches down to grasp my cock . . .
. . . and slides me home.
I hiss an expletive and her name—holy fuck, Fin—as molten lava barrels down my spine—through my veins. This is unchartered territory—bareback. It’s dangerous and against everything I’ve ever stood for or believed, but I can’t bring my body or mind in line. Especially as Fin tips her pelvis, her fingers still between us, slippery and wet.
I’m instinct—pure, rutting need. There’s nothing sophisticated or practised about this. I’m lusty and greedy, my hips rocking and pivoting. My mouth growing messy in my effort to touch, kiss and fuck.
And we absolutely are fucking.
‘Oh, God.’ Fin pants, her mouth a pink and lewd o. She draws her hand upwards over the ridges of my abs, pulling the muscles tight. ‘I love how hard you feel.’
I laugh raspily, gi
ven that this could be taken a few differing ways. Especially as she’s just had her fingers wrapped around my cock. How’s this for hard? I dig my knees into the mattress, the added leverage sending the headboard slamming into the wall.
Fin giggles, low and sultry, the first time the bed hits the wall, but just moments later we’re back to being serious. Serious in the pursuit of pleasure. She mewls, the moment changing again, my rhythm becoming erratic as her pussy starts pulsing around me, her back arching as she meets me thrust for thrust. My name on her lips is more roar than Rory, her fingers tight on my arse as she calls out.
The woman is beautiful at all times of the day, but this . . . this transcends everything.
I grind against her—grind into her, my mind not completely sentient. I desire this woman. Want to own and possess her. Her aftershocks killing me, kissing me, pull from me my own climax.
Draw my balls tight. I want to fill her.
‘Oh, fuck, that feels—’
Like nothing else ever could.
‘Fuck me, Fin. Oh, fuck me.’
Just fuck me now and forever. Let me fill you with my—
‘Christ!’ I pull away with a jerk, the almost electrified kind.
‘What is it?’ Her voice is soft and hoarse as she pushes up on her elbows, her fingers reaching out to touch my arm. My cock bobs between us and I’m sure I must look like a mad man.
‘I nearly came.’ I hear myself hiss as I pinch the head of my cock. ‘We’re not—I didn’t grab a condom.’
‘It’s okay,’ she says. Curling her knees sideways, she pushes up, matching my stance.
‘No, you don’t understand. I never, and I mean never fuck without something on.’
She cocks one brow, a look I’d ordinarily call adorable. But not now.
‘Socks? I had sex with a bra on once. I could loan you something like that if you like.’
Jerking back from her hand, I bite my lip to hold back my thoughts; this isn’t all right and it isn’t fun. Unwanted pregnancies are the bane of everyone. I should know, and fucking her like this makes me a hypocrite.
‘Hey,’ she tries again, her hand reaching for my cheek this time. ‘We’re fine, I promise. I’ve had the shot. It’s still in my system, at least, for a little while yet.
Her expression is so transparent, her words so sincere. Why do I feel sliced open wide?
‘Let me,’ she whispers, her breath soft against my face. ‘Let yourself.’
Her hands on my shoulder, it’s like I’m having an out of body experience as I allow her to push me back against the bed. Slipping her legs over my hips, she pushes all breath from my chest as she slides my cock home for a second time.
‘Oh, Rory.’ My name is a sigh as she begins to undulate softly, the ache in my stomach released as my hands find her hips. ‘When will it go away?’
‘Titch?’ My answer is a rasp, my lips dry and my throat hoarse.
‘This. Us.’
Her words, light and pondering, lick at my heart rate. My jaw clenches tight even though I’ve no answer to give, because I want this; now and forever, whatever that means.
‘Don’t,’ I say as she closes her eyes. ‘Keep them open, watch me. Please.’
And she does, her hands against my chest, our bodies colliding in flesh and need. Above me, Fin throws her head back, my name on her lips part moan, part battle cry as she falls apart and I realise in that moment, that very moment, this woman is something I’ve never wanted and everything I need.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Fin
Sometime during the night, nature calls, and as I swing my legs from the warm cocoon of the bedding, a strong arm appears around my waist.
‘Don’t go.’ Rory’s voice is thick with sleep and something else; something I find hard to place.
‘I need to go,’ I reply, whispering in the darkness, though for whose benefit I’m not sure.
‘Go?’ His grip on my waist tightens.
‘Nature calls.’
‘You’re coming back?’ A crack in his composure; those three words stripping him bare. I don’t need his further clarification; don’t need my eyes to adjust to the darkness to see his expression, though I’m thankful he can’t see mine. ‘I don’t want to wake up and find you gone.’
My stomach twists and my eyes burn as I take his wrist from my waist and bring it to my lips, placing a kiss against the solid underside. ‘I promise,’ I say, laying it against the mattress as I slide from the bed, turning back to look at him as I open the door. Lying on his side, eyes closed, Rory’s mouth is a soft pout, almost resembling a kiss. He looks almost sweet, like sleep has washed the man out of him leaving behind only the boy. I wish the sight of him didn’t make my heart feel so . . . full.
I wish I didn’t want him like I do.
His lips. His hands. His heart. All of him.
I turn away, swallowing the lump burning my throat.
When I come back to the room, he’s sprawled out on his back, his sheer size taking up most of the bed. I pull back the covers, slipping into a bed that smells distinctly of him, of shampoo and spice; of something earthy and very male. Of sex.
The mattress dips a little with the weight of my body, Rory’s arm reaching for me and folding me closer, my head finding a pillow in the hollow between his shoulder and chest. Curled into him, I slide my palm lower from where it rests against the kaleidoscope of colourful ink, down past the line of hair dissecting the hard planes of his stomach, where I halt, suddenly aware of where my hand is going. Doubly so as his muscles tense under my hand.
‘Don’t stop.’ Rory’s words are husk and need, his hand covering my own and drawing it further down his body. ‘Please.’ Eyes still closed, his chest rises with a deep inhale as he tilts his head backward, pushing his hardness into both our hands, hissing out an expletive as he tightens my fingers over his silken head.
I push myself up onto my elbow, his soft breaths now feathering my skin.
‘Yeah, like that,’ he says, directing the tempo, my hand still in his.
Sometimes you want something so badly, you almost try to forget all the hard stuff. The thoughts crowding your brain; the why’s and wherefores. The reasons you’re holding back and protecting your heart from further hurt.
And other times you just want to suck cock.
Right now I’m not sure which of these apply as I slide myself down his body.
Rory’s hand falls away as I position myself over him, kneeling between the power centre of his hips. Bending forward, I skim my tongue down his length, my body coming alive with his gasp—the sweet shock of it tightens my nipples, sensation taut between my legs.
‘Fin.’ My name is a whispered plea, his hands bunching and then opening against the bed in an effort of restraint. ‘Take me in your mouth,’ he whispers hoarsely, following it up with a more desperate, and even sweeter to my ears, ‘Please.’
Rory releases a groan settled somewhere between torture and delight as I push my lips over the smooth head. His hips lift and his body twists as though almost pained as I take my lips almost to the base of him. I work him slowly, my technique all tight lips and sloppy tongue. I push my mouth down over the slick hardness of him, again and again, using my hand to grip his base as I lick, swirl, and lap.
As I fuck him with my mouth.
Increasing my rhythm, his movements become more erratic as he grates out a harsh sounding curse.
‘Fuck.’ It’s more statement than swear word. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, I’m so fucked.’
I’m so turned on that I can affect him this way, that the intimacy of having him in my mouth strips him so bare. Hips flexing, he finally pushes his hands into my hair and, without warning or apology, comes thickly in my mouth.
‘Christ almighty, I think my heart almost burst.’ Palms flat against his corded thighs, I start to giggle and the next thing I know my chest is flush with his. ‘I’m serious,’ he says, his gaze not serious at all. Chest to chest, his words vibrate through u
s both. ‘I think my heart might’ve stopped.’
‘Good job I know CPR.’
‘You kissed the life right out of me.’
I giggle again, ducking my head against his and snuggling in. There’s a lot to be said for snuggling. And that’s pretty much the last thought I have.
A pale sun shines in through the open drapes; the bed is warm, but the air around us frosty. My nose feels a little like an icicle as I burrow further under the quilt.
‘Mornin’, titch.’ Rory’s mouth is at my shoulder, his lips pressing small kisses there as his hand tightens on my breast, the other around my waist, pulling my ass into the cushion of him. ‘Seems the heater went off.’
‘Yeah, it does that sometimes.’
‘Are you ever gonna tell me why you’ve been staying here?’
Tilting my head over my shoulder, I look at him. ‘I told you. I got caught by the tides. It was just easier to stay here a couple times.’
‘A couple times?’ His eyebrow quirks like a question mark. ‘There are an awful lot of clothes in that bag at the front door for someone who’s stayed here occasionally.’
‘I’m a girl. We don’t travel light.’ I let my head fall back to the pillow. ‘Creeper.’
‘Nah, that would’ve been me last week when you stood me up. Quite a collection of smalls you’ve got.’ Though I’m not looking at him, the smile in his teasing is more than evident. ‘Though I’m no’ sure the word small covers some of the stuff I found. Some of those scraps of lace wouldn’t cover much of anything.’
‘Double creeper.’ I scoff. ‘I just shoved some stuff in a bag. I have no idea what was in there.’
‘That’s disappointing,’ he replies, mockingly contrite. ‘Fancy knickers,’ he murmurs, rolling the r lavishly against the sensitive skin of my neck. ‘And none of them for me.’
‘That’s right,’ I reply, shivering. And not because of the arctic temperature in the room. ‘I’ve been trying to avoid you, not encourage you.’