by Paige North
“Even just looking at you makes my cock hard,” Gabe murmurs, lowering his head and kissing my waist. “Getting your sweet little pussy in my mouth is going to send me over the edge, you know that?”
I make some sort of noise, half groan, half agreement. Gabe is moving further down my body, kissing my hip bones, now, his hands on my thighs massaging them roughly. He’s not gentle— nothing about him is gentle. I love it. Gabe finally pauses, his mouth just above my pussy. I can feel his breath. I whine and lift my hips up— which, apparently, was the invitation Gabe was waiting for.
His mouth presses against the most private part of me, and I gasp in surprise and delight and pleasure and relief. Gabe’s hands force my legs farther apart, and his tongue flicks along my pussy lips, sliding up and down the sides, pausing to circle my clit. He presses hard against it with his tongue, them closes his lips around it and sucks on me. I have no choice but to reach down and grab hold of his hair, frantic for something to hold on to.
Gabe reaches up and slides his arms under my body, lifting me up the smallest bit. I can’t believe how wet I am— it’s almost embarrassing, as is the fact that I’m writhing against him without meaning to at all. He finally leaves my clit, kissing it before he moves down and, in one sharp movement, slides his tongue directly into my pussy.
“Gabe,” I cry his name, the only word I seem to remember at the moment. He rocks his head back and forth, fucking me with his tongue, then moves one hand to massage my clit as he does so. I feel like I’m moments from passing out— lightheaded and dizzy and darkened with pleasure. I’m going to come again, and it’s going to be so hard that it scares me. I’m panting, fingers twisted into his hair, Gabe’s teeth brushing against my pussy now and again as he hungrily tongues me, explores me, opens me up to the pleasure that’s overpowering me. “I’m going to come,” I say weakly.
He moves his mouth to my clit and, just as the orgasm strikes me like a wave, slides a finger into my pussy. I moan, loud, almost a howl, at the feeling, the fullness, and buck my hips against him. He keeps his tongue tight to me, circling my clit as pleasure like I’ve never before known takes me. It feels like hours, days, maybe, before I catch my breath, before my eyes flutter open. I’m sweating and lost and shaking underneath him.
“You liked that,” he says. His finger is still inside of me, and I feel my pussy contracting against it, desperate to keep it there. “You’re so tight, Lucy.”
I mean to say something, but I’ve forgotten how to speak. I just nod, try to remember how to swallow.
“I want to fuck you, you know. I want to slide my cock into you. I want to bend you over and make you scream,” he growls, pumping his finger in and out of me. “And eventually, I’m going to. Right?”
“Yes,” I find the word, scared of it, but knowing it’s true.
“But…” he looks down at where his finger is buried inside me, then slowly tries to press another into me. I wince in pleasure, but also pain— he’s right. I’m so tight. “It looks like you need some work, for me to get in you. My cock is a lot bigger than this.” He pulls his fingers from me, then lifts them to his mouth. He licks my juices off them, eyes on me the whole time. “You look frightened, Lucy.”
“I,” I choke, still wobbly. “I’m new. To all this. I’m nervous.”
“I know. I like it,” Gabe says. He sits up on the couch, leaving me laid out before him, then reaches for his zipper. I can’t help but lick my lips at the sight of his cock, obvious through the gray suit material, straining at the front.
Gabe pulls the zipper down, undoes the button, brushes the fabric back. His boxers are tented at me; I can see the smallest amount of skin through the gap, but not enough to really see him. Not the way he’s seen me. He smiles, then reaches for my pussy, pressing two— no, this time three, fingers inside me. My hips rock against him.
He removes his fingers, then sits up on his knees. “Go on,” he says, nodding toward his waist.
I sit up on elbows, and realized that to reach his waist— his cock— I’ll need to reposition. I spin around until I’m on my knees, bent forward. Gabe reaches over my head and tugs my dress up, then spanks me once, hard enough that it makes me jump, but soft enough that I want him to do it again, harder. I reach toward his cock; glancing up at him, hoping he’ll give me some sort of guidance. He doesn’t— he’s simply looking down at me, waiting. Not impatiently, either. Hungrily, perhaps.
I steel my nerves and let my fingers wrap around his cock through his boxers. I held it last night, but that was through a layer of pants; now I can truly feel it throbbing beneath my fingers, can feel how impossibly hard it is, how powerful it feels. I explore it with my hand, careful to never stray from the fabric-covered area. It’s big, so big that it’s hard to imagine it fitting inside me, especially when his fingers felt so large.
I take a breath and finally dare to reach through the gap in his boxers. I mean to pull his cock out slowly, but it springs out at me, startling me. Gabe laughs quietly, then places a hand on the back of my head.
“Put me in your mouth,” he says.
“I don’t know how to do that,” I say, trying to find the best way to apologize for what I’m sure will be a disappointment. So far, Gabe has only gotten me off. What if I can’t do the job, and he doesn’t want to do this with me anymore?
“I know,” Gabe says. “But you’ll learn. Go on. Put me in your mouth.” This time it’s said firmly, like he doesn’t want to hear any more excuses.
I lick my lips, take his cock in my hand, and guide it toward my mouth. My lips slip over his head easily, and the sweet, salty taste of sweat and sex causes a whole new wave of wetness to drench my pussy. Gabe groans, tilts his head back; I feel his cock pulse against my tongue. I push him farther into my mouth, but it hard feels like any time at all before his cock strikes the back of my throat. I strain to take him in farther, like I’ve heard you’re supposed to—
“No, baby,” Gabe says, shaking his head. “Not yet.” He pulls his cock out a bit, till the head is positioned right in the center of my tongue. I want to ask questions, I want to stammer apologies, but I can’t speak with him in my mouth like this.
Gabe rubs my head with his thumb comfortingly. “There we go. Now, take your tongue and swirl it around my cock, like I did with your clit.” I nod— or try to nod, and comply. Gabe groans again, and I feel him clench in me. It thrills me— it makes me want to keep going, gives me confidence I didn’t have moments ago.
Gabe reaches behind me again; I brace for another spanking, but instead he runs his fingers up and down along my slit. He’s big enough that he can reach my pussy without much effort, but the position does push him a little deeper into my throat. Now, though, I’m motivated— I can take it. I want him to come. I twirl my tongue around his cock again.
“See? You’re great at this,” Gabe says, but his words are staggered and panting. He pushes a finger inside me, and the fact that he’s managing to penetrate my mouth and pussy at once makes me writhe in pleasure. I press my tongue up against the underside of his cock and rub it there; when he groans and pushes a second finger into my pussy in response, I do it again, and again, and again.
“You’re so fucking hot, Lucy,” he mutters, but it sounds almost like a fever dream. Knowing I’m doing this to him, feeling his cock continuing to grow in my mouth…it makes me feel powerful, even though I’m the one beneath him, taking instruction, being fucked. “I’m going to ruin you, you know. You’re so innocent. I’m going to take that, I’m going to fill this sweet little pussy—” he stops to groan again. “I’m going to come.”
I try to push my mouth farther on to him, but to my surprise, he sits up, pulling his cock from my mouth. I’m worried I’ve done something wrong until he tilts my chin up and, with total confidence, slides his cock right down the front of my dress, pressing between my cleavage, all the way past the edge of my bra. He grabs hold of my waist, then slides his hands down to squeeze my ass cheeks hard.
> It’s his orgasm, but it fills me with pleasure— a very different kind of pleasure than when Gabe makes me come, but in many ways, every bit as satisfying. He moans, and I feel his entire body shuddering seconds before I feel hot wetness splash down my chest, the force behind it powerful enough that with my skirt hiked up, runs past my stomach and drips onto the couch below us. He’s panting against me, trying to hold himself up as he finishes. I rock back and forth a little, enjoying the feeling of his cock against my breasts, the feeling of his hot come on my skin.
Gabe finally pulls away; when his cock emerges from my cleavage, I instantly drop my head down and take the head back in my mouth. I want to know what his come tastes like, a curiosity I would have been ashamed of before. Gabe gives a satisfied laugh as I take him in my mouth again, sucking the come off his cock.
“If I’d known you were interested, I’d have come in your mouth,” he says through steadying breaths.
“Next time,” I say once I’ve released him.
“Next time I’m fucking you,” he says, voice almost grave. He’s serious— I have no doubt that he’s serious. “But maybe the time after that.” He tilts his head when he sees I’m smiling eagerly. “Look at you. So eager to be dirty for me. Aren’t you at least a little afraid of my dick in your tiny little pussy?”
I bite my lip and nod. “But I want it anyway.”
Gabe shakes his head at me, his mouth a firm line. “Talk like that and I may have to do it right —”
He’s cut off by the sound of a door opening— the door leading into the basement. My eyes go wide; I leap up, frantically tugging my panties back to their proper place, tugging my dress down. I’m so relieved it’s black— it masks the wetness from his come, or at least, masks it better than any other color would have.
Footsteps on the stairs; I hurriedly run my fingers through my hair and wipe my lips. Gabe is moving slower, but through his easy confidence I can see he knows that us being caught down here is more trouble than it’s worth. He finishes zipping up his pants just as the intruder rounds the corner.
It’s my dad.
My pulse pounds.
It takes a moment for my dad to see that someone’s in the tasting room— he was clearly just coming to peruse the wine offerings. When he sees me, however, his face morphs into anger. On most parents, this would look red-faced and hard; on my father, however, anger is a stiff smile and unblinking eyes. He makes his way to the tasting room door.
“Who is that?” Gabe asks.
“It’s my dad,” I mutter. Gabe laughs— a single, bright sound that says, of course it is.
“Lucy,” Dad says. “What are you doing down here? Chandler is looking for you.”
“Nothing,” I say with a shrug. I’m a good liar, but then, my dad is good as seeing through liars. I’m just hoping we even out, in this situation. “Dad, this is Gabe Forest. He’s a football player? He’s also one of my residents.”
“Mr. Shaw,” Gabe says, rising and extending a hand to my father. My dad shakes it stiffly, his eyes darting between us.
He knows.
I mean, he may not know exactly what happened, but he knows something was going on. He releases Gabe’s hand.
“Lucy, why don’t we head upstairs? Mr. Forest, a pleasure,” he says.
Gabe pauses. “We were nearly done with our discussion. We shouldn’t be much longer,” he says.
My dad blinks. So do I. Did Gabe really just do that? Challenge my father’s authority? No one does that, except perhaps political rivals, whom he always crushes.
“Mr. Forest, I know football players enjoy a certain degree of swagger here at Harton, but this is my daughter, and she will be coming along with me now. I also wager that you did not have permission to venture into this area of the home.”
“Did you have permission?” Gabe asks.
Gabe, shut up shut up shut up, I plead.
“I did. Mr. Wright, in fact, is a family friend. I doubt you know him personally— Lucy, you remember that summer we went on his yacht for a week?”
I nod mutely, and see Gabe’s face tighten.
My father goes on. “Anyhow. Mr. Forest, if I see you back upstairs in a matter of minutes, I’ll refrain from telling Mr. Wright that you were here, and that perhaps he needs to check the catalog of his wines to be certain all is accounted for.”
Gabe growls— an animal, again. “I didn’t steal that rich asshole’s—”
“See you tomorrow, Gabe,” I say swiftly, and grab for my father’s arm. I practically pull him out the door and up the stairs, thankful to have avoided glancing back at Gabe the entire time.
Re-entering the party is almost culture shock; the air is thick and boozy and so incredibly loud with trilling conversation. My hand on my father’s arm becomes not a lead, but rather, a tether— he nods and smiles at people as we brush out the front doors, down the stairs, into the drive. The valets are the only people in sight, and they’re busy on their phones, just out of earshot so long as the verbal thrashing I know I’m about to receive is kept at a whisper.
“Lucy Shaw, you tell me what the hell you were doing in the basement with that thug,” he hisses at me.
“Nothing. We were just talking.”
“That’s a lie,” he says through his teeth. “You know what— I don’t care what you were doing. Whatever it is, it does not happen again. Are we clear?”
“Dad, we weren’t—”
“Is that clear?” he repeats, eyes fire.
I swallow, look away, and nod.
“I don’t know why the hell you would allow anyone like that near you when you have a boy like Chandler Harrison scouring the party for you, worried about you. What would he say, if he heard you were allowing some boy that looks like he belongs in a prison yard to do god knows what to you?”
My lips part. “Dad, he doesn’t look like he—”
“Don’t you interrupt me,” he snaps, and I’m quieted. My father isn’t particularly tall or strong, but when he’s angry, he’s imposing. I shrink beneath him as he continues. “Whatever is happening with that boy ends now. I hope that means I don’t need to get you moved to another dorm, or have him moved from yours. I hope it doesn’t mean I need to start keeping a closer eye on you.”
“You don’t,” I whisper, certain I’m now small enough to be crushed beneath a careless footfall.
“Now, you will go back into this party. You will apologize to Chandler Harrison for disappearing. You will remember that a girl like you belongs with a boy like him, not some deadbeat that’s killing brain cells weekly. The Harrisons are a good family, and we need their support in this election. You’re not going to ruin that by playing with Chandler Harrison’s heart.”
“Dad, I’m not playing with his heart, I’m just not into him—” I try.
“You barely know him. Though might I add, he barely knows you, but has managed not to disappear into the wine cellar with some trash that’s beneath him. Maybe keep that in mind.”
Trash? Did my father seriously just call Gabe trash? I shout, I shove, I rage in protest— but I do it all silently, my face stone still. My father breaths like a bull in front of me, angry, heavy breaths that threaten to knock me over. After a few moments, he takes on large, gulping breath of air.
“Get back inside,” he says, and turned sharply to walk back up the driveway, leaving me to follow behind.
And I do.
Chapter 7
If there’s one thing I can rely on, it’s school.
I’m good at school. Always have been. I like the fact that there are clear rules, as far as academia is concerned: do the work, do it the way you were instructed, and be rewarded with a high grade. So much in my life was purchased by my family with money or influence; my car, my clothes, my hair, my future internships, my future house, my future career. My grades, however, are mine and mine alone.
Right now, they feel like the only thing that’s mine.
My body? Apparently, that belongs to my father,
and he’s the one to dictate who should or should not have access. My brain? That’s Dad’s, too, I suppose, since I abandon all my own decisions in favor of his. My heart?
Well. I don’t want to say it belongs to Gabe, but it definitely races when I hear him moving around in the room next door. He knocks on my door at least once a day, the sound crisp and hard and unamused by how steadfastly I’ve been avoiding him. He doesn’t plead, doesn’t talk through the door, doesn’t slide notes through the crack. He just knocks, and when I don’t answer, he leaves.
I never answer, but I’m always relieved to hear him knock. At least he hasn’t totally given up on me? It’d be easier if he did, of course. I know I can’t be with him, not really— my entire life would go up in flames if I defied my father like that. He’d never loved my attending Harton to begin with -- he just felt like he didn’t have a choice since so much of his constituency is here. If he finds out that I went behind his back with Gabe, I’ll be transferred to some all-girls college in England.
So I throw myself into my studies for the next two weeks. People think majoring in Public Relations is just knowing how to use Twitter, and honestly, it is for some people— people who are getting the degree just to leave college with something other than a spouse, anyway. It’s serious to me, though. I’ve seen the power a good PR person can have on a career, the sway they can have on everything from Hollywood casting to a White House election. Hell, good PR is why my dad wants me to date Chandler Harrison so badly.
So badly that he sets up a date for me with Chandler on Friday.
I try to look on the bright side.
I don’t need to worry about impressing him, or about him not liking me, because I don’t give a single damn. My father will be pleased to know I went out with him, which will hopefully get him off my case, and as for Chandler himself? I’ll just be boring and unavailable, emotionally and physically. He’ll move on, and I’ll go back to working on forgetting Gabe Forest exists.