The Wicked Pleasures Bundle (Wicked Pleasures: Volume 1/Wicked Pleasures: Volume 2/Wicked Pleasures: Volume 3)

by Cole, Abbie

  He eyes me suspiciously, but then draws back. Pressing his hands beneath me, he lifts me. Kneeling on the bed, he moves up it, laying me back down with my head on the plump pillows.

  He follows me down, and covers me as his cock rests against my thigh.

  I moan as he finds my lips and covers them with his.

  As his hands find my body they stroke. He runs a hand along the center of my body, from my throat, between my breasts, swirling in my navel and trails lower until he cups my mound with his fingertip against my clit.

  I arch into him, inviting his touch—begging for it. He languidly traces, caressing, effortlessly possessing, and I sigh.

  I writhe beneath him, helpless and yearning, soothed by his hands, by his lips, by the slow build of heat that wraps around us, that cocoons us.

  The moments roll together as we tangle on my bed; I am no longer interested in rushing ahead. This enveloping, caressing warmth is new, precious; it holds passion and desire, but also something deeper. Something finer.

  I’ve always been passionate, but this is a passion on a different plane, a deeper desire, a stronger yearning than I have experienced before.

  My hands spread on his back, I hold him to me, shifting beneath him as I kiss him back—only to be overwhelmed by the kiss he returns, only to fall back and let him surge in and fill my mouth. Letting him take it, mimicking the way he will take my body soon…

  We’ll hold off as long as we can; I suddenly know it—sense he does, too. With his thighs, he spreads mine wider, settles between; I feel the blunt head of his hard cock at my entrance.

  I expect him to simply thrust in and fill me. Instead, he breaks from the kiss.

  His breathing as ragged as mine, he reaches around, catching my hands, one in each of his, and drags them up, anchoring them in the pillows above my head, locking them there in one hand.

  Our gazes meet. Across the few inches of heated shadows between them, our eyes lock, held.

  With his free hand he reaches down, grips my hip and tilts my hips beneath him.

  And enters me.

  Slowly.

  He eases into me as though he wants this to take all night.

  His eyes on mine, holding me, his weight pinning me beneath him, he presses into my body relentless inch by inch…so slowly I feel every second of his possession. Every tiny nuance as he penetrates me, stretching my sheath, filling me.

  He won’t stop until he’s filled me to the hilt.

  His eyes still on me, he draws back—slowly, totally controlled—holding back for an instant, then surges slowly in again.

  The friction is intense.

  The sensations fill my mind. He stretches me as I have to bite back a groan.

  I close my eyes, arching beneath him as white-hot flashes of pleasure shoot through me.

  He continues to fill me, to command my body and me, to swamp my senses with pleasure and delight until my fingertips burn.

  My body is on fire beneath his—and I can feel his burning, too.

  More powerful, more intense, more all-consuming.

  It surges from deep within us—finally wrenching all control from him.

  In the last moments we are together again, helpless again, at the mercy of what, together, we’ve evoked.

  It racked us, wrecked us, broke us with its glory. Flung us into that never-ending void.

  Drained us.

  We float back to earth in each other’s arms. I have no idea how long it has been since I’d led him to my room, into my bed and given myself into his arms.

  All that I know is that beyond thought, beyond doubt, I belong here.

  As satiation drags me down, my only thought is a wish of what the future might bring.

  THE LOFT

  “You know it’s going to rain,” I observed looking up at the darkening sky. My ponytail whipped my face almost painfully due to the strong winds.

  Jake glanced up, “I can see that.” He grimaced. “There goes my plans. I was hoping this would be a really enjoyable day for you, Tillie.”

  “I’ve been having a great time with you.” I slanted my eyes towards him, with a huge grin on my face. “Maybe we should head to that barn over there.” The barn in the distance is exactly how I always pictured one in my head: big and red with a black roof and a big white X across the front. Perfect.

  “I’ll race ya,” Jake called as he was galloped ahead.

  “No fair,” I hollered, digging my heels into my mounts sides. I started racing after him and as I began passing him, I yelled, “Loser stables the horses!” Laughing, I raced to the barn and leapt from my horse just as rain started pouring from the sky. I quickly walked into the barn, leading my horse behind me and waited for him. I stood with a smirk across my face and my arms crossed smugly over my chest, boastfully yes and also to still the shivering caused by my wet clothes.

  Jake dashed into the barn a few minutes later, grabbed me around the waist and planted a big, wet kiss on my mouth. “Give me a minute to stable the horses—” He wriggled his eyebrows comically. “—then I’ll come find you.”

  “Ooh, sounds promising. I’ll look around for a comfortable place to wait out the storm, while you do all the hard work,” I attempt to smooth my wind ruffled hair.

  Finally I find a ladder leading up to the loft. Glancing back at Jake; he’s still busy with the horses so I decided to climb on up, carefully checking each rung. The ladder is sound. The barn is definitely well-maintained even though it seems to be in the middle of nowhere.

  From the top of the ladder, I survey the loft. A wide chamber built over most of the barn, it houses a quantity of hay, some baled, some loose. The floor is made of sound timber. Stepping up, I brush my hands down my jean clad legs, then cross to where the hay doors are fastened against the weather.

  Lifting the latch, I peek out. The hay doors face away from the storm. Satisfied no rain will drive in, I open the doors, admitting soft grey light into the loft. The wind cools off the inside of the barn almost immediately. The view now reveals the gently sloping meadows we had just ridden over, now all is seen through a grey screen of rain. It is very soothing. I feel cocooned with Jake from the rest of the world for the afternoon.

  Glancing around, I lift a brow. I can’t wait to get Jake alone. It is long overdue. With plenty of hay, there is no reason we can’t be comfortable, even if I would prefer a soft bed somewhere, instead of rough, itchy hay.

  In the barn below, I looked to see Jake still tending the horses. The rain shows no sign of stopping. Not that I’d expect it to; having seen the extent of the clouds, I know we might be trapped for hours, which is exactly what I hope for.

  Turning my head and smiling, as his head cleared the loft floor, washed by the soft light falling through the open hay doors, I sit in the midst of a huge pile of hay, my expression welcoming, my body radiating a sensual tug to which I am sure he is already vulnerable. My body softening into the thick pile of hay, my eyes close, as a toasty, warm feeling radiates through the barn and the soft patter of rain makes relaxing music on the roof.

  I hear Jake draw in a deep breath, and I open my eyes. Watching as he climbs the last rungs and steps onto the loft floor. With every evidence of his customary cool command, he strolls towards me. Jake is gorgeous. Big and broad and strong, he stands six foot three with jet black hair and always a mischievous twinkle in his eye. That’s what drew me to him the very first day we met. He always looks as if he is up to something and I have wanted to find out what.

  He shatters my calm with just his smile. I swallow hard. My breath comes faster, and my heart races in my chest. I want to do more than sit together and look out at the rain and he looks the same. My eyes are instantly drawn to the bulge pressing insistently against the zipper of his jeans that he doesn’t bother to hide; my tongue instinctively flicks out to wet my dry lips.

  I hold out my hand. He takes it, fingers closing firmly. He looks down at my face; I look into his eyes, bright green, warm and alluring.
r />   I give him no time to think about anything—I tug; he sighs and sinks down to the straw beside me.

  He must have a trick or two up his sleeve. Before I can turn to him, he wraps his arms around me and draws me back, settling the curve of my back against his side, so we can study the scenery together.

  I relax against his hard, warm muscles, my softness, my curves, fitting against him.

  I slide my hands over his arms that are currently wrapped around my waist; they come to rest on his hands, my palms curve over the backs of his hands pressing them against my quivering belly. Outside, the rain continues; inside, heat rises.

  I turn to him. My head turns first—and my lips are mere inches from his, hovering hotly over his mouth. My body follows, sliding sensuously around in his arms; he tightens his grip, sinking his fingers into my soft flesh.

  My gaze fixes on his lips and then I touch my mouth to his. His muscles tense, I can tell he strains to not crush me to him. We sink back into the hay, the pile compressed under our combined weights. Within seconds, we are close to horizontal, with me stretching against him, half-atop him. I feel him groan.

  His lips part, and I kiss him—and he kisses me. His firm lips taking control. I moan, opening my mouth wider, kissing him deeply.

  Jake rolls and presses me into the hay. I accept the change readily, clinging to our kiss. Jake deepens it, plundering my mouth, framing my face and drinking deeply; I meet him, sliding my hands under his T-shirt, spreading them, sending them questing over his thick, muscular chest, around his sides and back, his skin burns as I pull him closer and feel his chest press into me.

  My hands, my lips, my body, arches lightly beneath him, urging him on. As he lifts my T-shirt and closes one hand over my satin covered breast, I sigh and kiss him more urgently.

  Under his hand, my breast swells; my nipple is a tight bud under his palm. I gasp as he squeezes, arching as he strokes. Moaning as he kneads, pressing more firmly into his hands.

  I feel his other hand sliding behind my back, and he expertly undoes the hooks of my bra, pushing it out of the way, setting my breasts free. My softness fills his calloused hand as if he is testing the weight as I whimper against his mouth and open my mouth wider, kissing him more deeply. His rough hands scrape over my soft skin inflaming me, arousing me further.

  As he breaks our kiss to raise his head, I watch from under heavy lids as his eyes brighten in approval as he looks down at me. Watching as his head descends to take my nipple into his mouth and moans against me. I arch my back, the erotic sensation of his tongue rasping against my hard, puckered pink nipple, I lean my head back, he suckles, and my eyes close as he nips, and bites, his teeth scrape against my tender flesh, I moan, as his tongue sooths my marred flesh, flicking against it.

  I want more, and he gives it, drawing my soft T-shirt over my head, he removes my bra, in one expert tug, to bare my body fully to the soft grey light, the gentle coolness of the air, and his heated attention.

  I burn, running my hands everywhere, desperately searching as I lift his shirt and greedily reach and caress frantically.

  I now realize that control is far beyond me. I don’t have a shred left—he’s stolen it from me and thrown it away. This is abundantly clear, panting; I draw his face to mine and kiss him greedily.

  Half-beneath him, I lift, my body caressing his in flagrant appeal—the oldest method of beckoning known to woman. I want him—and I know he wants me. Now.

  His body is rigid with need beneath mine, tense and heavy with it. I want him to claim me, to slide into my body and find release. His fingers are already on the button unfastening my jeans.

  With a groan, Jake pulls back from our kiss. On his elbows above me, I can sense he is waiting for me to open my eyes. I draw in a huge breath, my lashes flicker. I feel his sharp intake of breath—and my hard nipples brush his expanding chest which makes me shiver. He shudders—I shiver again, quivers ripple through my stomach to my trembling thighs where his impressive hardened cock is pressing into my leg.

  Jake’s eyes shut.

  I want him—with every ounce of my body, every ounce of my blood. And he wants me. And I glorify in it—in the hardness of his hands that possess my breasts, in the hardness of his lips as they return to mine. I cling tightly, hands clutching, now kneading the broad muscles of his back, a moment later I find myself sliding around hungrily exploring his chest.

  I can’t bear to wait, to drag out the frustration. I arch lightly, responding to the demand in his hands, in his lips, in the steady plundering of his tongue.

  He is all heat and shockingly hot hardness. I want to draw him into me, to take his heat in and quench it, to release the fevered tension driving him—the same tension slowly suffusing me. I want to give myself to him—I want to take him into my body.

  I will give myself up to it gladly—to the shiver of excitement as he pulls my jeans down, rolling me over he spreads them out, to make a soft blanket, beneath me.

  Sharp delight is what I learn as his hands, hard and knowing, possess me, tracing every curve, every soft mound. One hand is sliding beneath my waist, the other sliding lower to cup my bottom. Strong fingers kneading, caressing, the sweet fever spreads, pooling in my belly, dewing my skin. His hand slides lower, tracing the long curve of the back of my thigh all the way to my knee, then slides to the front reversing direction. He makes his way now to my hip, to that sensitive join where thigh meets torso. One finger gently, insistently, strokes downward along the crease—I shudder, suddenly desperate for breath.

  As he parts my thighs, he gently but firmly spreads them with lavish soothing caresses along the sensitive inner faces. His lips are gentle on mine, allowing me to focus on each touch, each searing response. On the excitement, the frantic, barely reined passion that has both of us in its grip, I throw my head back as his hand reaches the end of his last caress and drifts higher, stroking my clit.

  The shudders that rack me are pure excitement—pure sensual anticipation. Sinking into the soft hay, I gasp and spread my thighs wider—and feel the caresses grow firmer, more deliberate. More intimate, more evocative.

  My soft folds are slick; he parts them.

  I moan aloud as his knowing fingers find my throbbing clit, and bolts of delight lance through me. Fiery delight, hot and urgent, it strikes deep inside me, catches hold and grows. Pressing my head back, I break from his kiss. He lets me go as he continues to play in the softness between my thighs; I haul in a too-shallow breath and fight to lift my lids.

  I see him, his face a mask of concentration etched with passion, watching his fingers as they stroke and twirl. Then one probes.

  The sound that escapes me is more of a gasp than a moan, more scream than anything. He glances at my face; his eyes lock on mine. I feel his hand pressing between my thighs—and feel the intrusion of his finger, gently but insistently penetrating.

  I gasp again, and close my eyes as he presses farther, deeper.

  Then he strokes me—inside—deep within, where I am all slick and hot and so full of desire. So full of molten passion. A passion he has been stirring, deliberately inciting, stoking that inner furnace.

  On a shuddering moan, I feel myself melt, causing my senses to soar.

  He gives me more, slowly he drives me upward, turning the wheel of the rack of sensual excitement with practiced ease.

  Still, I don’t break. I gasp, moan, and arch—and my eager body begs for more.

  He looks at me—at my face lightly flushed with desire, at my eyes, glinting from beneath heavy lids. And I feel him holding his breathe.

  From sheer lust—from sheer need. The need to be inside me.

  With a soft oath, he draws his hands from me.

  “Fuck me, Jake.” I barely whisper, my fingers slide down, gliding over the deep ridges of his stomach, then gently close about his cock. He jumps, my touch, tentative at first has him locking his jaw. I can feel him locking every other muscle as well, before moving away.

  He pulls off
his T-shirt. His boots taking an impatient minute to get off, he stands to strip off his jeans. He must feel my gaze on him, trailing down his back, because he glances over his shoulder. He flings his jeans aside. I lay naked, sprawled in the hay, calmly waiting, simmering. My right hand moves over my breast pinching my nipple, down my stomach to delve into the wet heat between my legs. I find my aching clit as I watch him and moan. I move my fingers lightly over the turgid nub between my spread legs, my breathing shallows as my eyes roam over his wide shoulders, down his back to his firm ass.

  My breasts rise and fall rapidly; my skin gently flushed.

  Finally naked, his cock juts straight up, fully aroused as he turns to me.

  His brow rises as he sees my hand moving between my legs and there is a definite wicked glint in his eye. “Starting without me?” His voice is a growl, his hand fists around his hard dick, stroking his thick erection.

  My mouth waters, my gaze lowers, stopping at his heavy, thick cock, then slowly rises to his face. “No, priming the pump.”

  He chuckles.

  I lift my arms to him.

  He comes to me—covers me—takes my lips in a searing kiss and without hesitating, eases himself into me. I am hot and tight and primed.

  He holds still, for one long, achingly tense moment, now I ease about him. Instinct claims him—he thrusts powerfully, deep into my body—and claims me.

  Driving him, driving me, into a frenzy of a rhythm.

  Far beyond thought, beyond reason, beyond anything except feeling, I hold tight and let our passion take me. Every sensation, battering in on my mind, my overloaded senses, yet I cling to each thrill, each new intimacy, determined to miss nothing, determined to feel all.

  To know the sheer delight of his hard body heavy on mine, his chest hard, hair-roughened, rasping against my sensitive nipples and the soft swells of my breasts. To glory in the hardness that fills me, the steely velvet that presses deep into me, stretching me, claiming me. To experience, with every gasp, with every desperate pant, the power with which he repeatedly drives into me, the flexing of his spine, the rhythmic fusing of our bodies. To sense the freedom in my nakedness, in the weight that anchors my hips, in the blind wanting that drives me. To revel in the excitement, shamelessly hot, unquenchably erotic, that swells, grows, builds, and floods us, in a raging tide avidly seizing us.