“Don’t think about it.” His eyes were wild and dangerous, pitch dark as he dug into her hips.
“Think about what?” What was he talking about?
“That’s right.” His hips were popping hers in the air with the unbridled force he used. Jamison knew if he were on top of her right now, she’d be lucky to use either leg again. The harder his hips butted hers, the more of him she wanted. It didn’t make sense at all. How in the world could she enjoy being battered like this? But then again, how could she not? Soon enough Marq must have tired of their position, and he scooted forward before sitting up. But even the seated position they were in didn’t appease him as he slid them both into the floor. From there he rolled them over and proceeded to dig in. Each stroke was liquid, fluid motion designed to melt her inhibitions and increase her desire. She was damn near gone, and nothing mattered more in these seconds than coming. She was going to combust. She could sense every muscle tensing and quivering with lust and need. He was just as close as she was if not more. She could see each vein mapping his body from the neck down as if the vessels were too engorged to do more than allow the life giving fluid to pool instead of flow. It was too much.
“Ahhh…please.” She was almost there. Nothing could hold it back now.
* * * *
“That’s right, Jamie, baby. I’m going to please you.” Marq slowed the brutal servings of cock he fed Jamison’s succulent snatch to resume the measured silken strokes from before. She groaned and screamed for him with ease. The way she responded to his hands and cock was beyond anything he’d ever had before. With him, she had no inhibitions or even simple hesitation was beyond her when they were together like this. She was impeccable. Every single inch of her begged him to throw caution to the wind and pound her into the ground. But he had never savored a woman this way, and only now was he grateful that he always wore condoms before today. That simple fact gave their sex-slicked glide more meaning than any experience before. He had never trusted a woman like this before. But as each clash of hips and lips deepened, there was no more time for reflection or resistance left in him to hold back.
When she shook in his arms and groaned his name as if it was the only word she knew, Marq was done and gave into the burn sparking along his spine, following wherever she led. There was only enough presence of mind to pull his cock from her and scatter his seed over her belly before he crushed her lips under his. The searing kiss lingered until his heart slowed. Jamison’s mouth gaped open and dragged in each breath as if it were her last. His semen wetly coated their chests and the glide afforded him a seamless slide down her chest to pop a perfectly pouty raspberry-shaped nipple in between his lips. He tugged the pert protrusion before teasing the erect flesh with his teeth and tongue. When she began to shiver underneath him, he stopped cold turkey and eased off of her. The natural fibers of the woven rug had to feel similar to a scrub brush against that soft skin. When he stood, he felt just this side of light–headed, and he covered his minute stumble by leaning over her prone form.
“Come here.” He wasn’t asking. He was telling her and took each of her hands within his. They stood, and Marq turned back to the couch just behind him and sat down. He was wiped out for the moment, but he would definitely be coming for more of that later. He tugged Jamison south to kneel and straddle his lap, the robe still drunkenly hanging off her arms. When they finished shifting and settling onto the seat, they found the best possible position that wouldn’t force them to move again. The movements were slight, an inch here or there. An arm would slide south and remain there. A leg would scoot to one side a bit.
They settled together so slowly he had a flash in his mind of a statue easing its way over time into the earth that braced the foundation of manmade art. Once all motions ceased, Marq had wrapped his arms around her. She faced him, but her weary body drooped, leaving her head to rest on his shoulder. His sexual secretions flaked and dried up between them, and even sticky, she was the best thing to ever be cradled in his lap. Both of them verged on sleep when the door opened quietly.
Chapter Nine:
Statute of Limitations
“Ah, this is perfect.” Makenzie was back, her voice at half its normal volume and slightly hoarse. She walked over to them still seated on the couch and tugged on the right sleeve of Jamison’s robe. “The tail curves over the right side, I think.” Jamison nodded her head as if she didn’t trust her voice to speak yet. By the time Makenzie finished her tug-of-war with the sleeve, it hung behind Jamie’s back, exposing a thick patch of leg, hip, and half her back. Marq grasped the tail end of the mauve robe silk and ensured that at least most of her thick ass was covered. Before he could sling the garment over his hip, Makenzie broke the soft silence.
“Wait. Keep your hand right there for me.” He stilled, his fingers were left with a pinch of fabric, and his hand was filled with her soft hip when they settled once more. Jamison was smooth at every place they came together, and he felt his dormant member stir once more. At the moment his cock rested between their bodies, and his fairly turgid length was the only thing able to come between them. The scrape of sketching was the only sound audible in the room, mingled with shallow breaths and anticipation. She rolled her pussy forward, the sluggish slide of her clit nuzzling the skin as she went along. His fingers clenched, and he felt the snap of fingers as the fisted fabric fell away, re-exposing her.
The flurry of sketching was now a crescendo of motion, and he was surprised that the pencil lead hadn’t snapped off yet. He also noted that the paper she used hadn’t caught on fire either. But the look in Makenzie’s eyes was glazed over as if she were high from the release of her natural gifts. Jamison was boneless, and the only movement coming from her end was that of her quickening pussy, the lips sandwiched around his cock suckling at his flesh. When they got out of here, he planned on keeping her stuffed full of cock for the rest of the weekend. He was sure that by the time he finished with her, any moment he wasn’t inside of her would feel awkward as hell. For certain, he wanted her to feel empty when he wasn’t fucking her brains out. It was his new occupation, keeping this woman fully satisfied at all times.
Makenzie only had the opportunity to set her implements to the side table before the door opened and her husband crossed the room only to take her hand. They walked away without a look back. Marques was curious as to what the mass of pages held. There were more than he thought there would have been time to create based on the haphazardly stacked paper on top of the table. But a quick glance at the watch on his left wrist revealed his only modeling experience lasted for nearly three hours.
Marques finally peeled the clammy-skinned siren from his lap and carefully helped her dress before he donned his worn garments and slid on his loafers. Jamison looked limp and boneless. He couldn’t resist kissing the slackened lips on offer. Before they left, he let his curiosity get the better of him, and he picked up the crumpled pages. Makenzie’s innate gifts were evident in the featherlight strokes over paper. The pictures all had a different focus. Some were close-ups of varying items. In one, the main image was his discarded clothes framed by his feet. Another highlighted his hand clutching at Jamison’s hip. The next page was of their faces and shoulders. When he was deeper into the stack, he saw a pair of entwined hands and mingled lips.
But the one that struck a chord within was of them looking at each other. The sketch captured so much more than just them, it had captured something, emotions, and the conversely heavy strokes gave him a window into his own soul. His need for Jamison was tangible, as were more serious feelings that he knew it was too early in their budding relationship to speak on.
Marques drove to his condo in silence. He was better left alone with his thoughts, and Jamison’s nap in the car was wholly welcome. At this point he didn’t want to look his Juliet in the eye, lest she see what she made him feel. When he pulled into his garage, he made the conscious decision to let the revelations of the last hours go. Although he didn’t know why he just didn
’t let himself do what his needs and nature dictated to him. But he had been alone for too long, and the spice of love was too new to him to accept with the grace and ease that his brothers had. Everyone around thought he was suave, polished, and a man of the world, but really he was a certified shut-in. Not only was he sarcastic, but he had the tendency to manipulate other people around him with his words.
He’d rather relax at home and watch his own videos of fucking than run the street, hobnobbing with the rich and lazy. There was some part of him that recognized the fact that he played into the expectations of those around him. He couldn’t help that. He liked filling needs where he found them. His only real rebellions were the tats and his discreetly concealed fetish for film. But there were really very few who even knew of his peccadillos and temperament for trouble. For certain he wanted it to stay that way. He had no longing within to be in the gossip rags as many of the other trust fund babies were. He didn’t want people speculating on his every word or action either. He and his brothers came from much, but they wanted to be looked at like regular men, albeit with a little more money. Between the three of them there were in the neighborhood of a billion reasons to live simply, well at least as simply as they could under the circumstances.
Hell, he could drive a different car every day of week for the rest of his life and still have money left over to live on. But it wasn’t about that for him. All he really wanted was a quiet life, one filled with joy. He was one of the lucky few in the upper echelons of society to have two parents that loved each other. Even now his mother mourned his father’s passing, nearly seven years later. He wanted that, someone to love him for him and not gobs of money. That was the reason none of the tape he ever saw truly satisfied his urges for more. Each film something was off, the lighting, her reaction, his reaction, the chemistry. Nothing could appease him. At first the film was a novelty, then necessity, and now just a vague urge sporadically. But he knew he wanted Jamison on tape again. The pictures Makenzie drew were special. He knew it. On the paper was the very thing he’d coveted without understanding, the right woman looking at him with the perfect mix of love and lust.
* * * *
Jamison woke the next morning and felt great. She stretched and rose, ready to start her day. Today she decided to vary her morning workout by concentrating on arm poses. She hadn’t done any in weeks. Honestly, she never felt confident enough to work those postures with him watching, and her fear was that she would fall flat on her face. She started out simply, just with a round of textbook sun salutations, but only two sets. Then she would do a round of preparatory poses. Let her see what Marq did when he saw the finale she had planned, Jamison thought.
When Jamison started the first of her prebalance poses, Marq was sitting in the wingback chair by the bed with a big smile and a covered tray on the floor. She started in bound angle pose. It was similar to a lotus or even the grade school Indian style, but the bottoms of her feet were touching and her knees met the floor on both sides of her body. She grounded herself with her hands completing an ohm circuit, holding the position for several minutes to loosen her hips. When she left the pose, she moved to her hands and knees, then moving into a push-up, and attained her next asana of the four-limbed staff. The only motion needed was to bend her elbows so they firmly pinned her sides and her arms were held at a ninety-degree angle, perpendicular to her body. When she held the posture for several minutes, she decided to move into her showstopper.
Jamison stood up and planted her feet into the floor in mountain pose, letting her feet stand wider than the norm. From there she sank into Uttasana, the standing forward bend. Her hands were planted on the floor outside her firmly rooted feet before she bent her knees a touch, and the motion was just enough to move her right arm between her legs and plant the hand back onto the floor and place it in the same spot as before. It took a moment, but she was able to work her right knee onto her shoulder, and it was worth it to hear Marq breathe harder. The tortured inhalations supported her and gave her strength to strive for the rest.
She used her knee as a brace for her shoulder, leaning to her left slightly to allow her left leg room to slide forward. Her hands supported her weight as she used her core and pelvis to assist raising the dead weight of the limb from the ground. The next part wasn’t quite as hard as what she just did, but wasn’t going to be a cake walk either. She bent the knee propped on the right shoulder low and dipped forward slightly to swing her left ankle in the crook of the right ankle joint. Now to finish the pose she had to concentrate, she pulled her legs to the right and extended the crossed limbs out to the right side. Then she was able to bend her elbows and lowered her chin toward the ground with a supple motion from the hip, sending her torso to a parallel with the ground beneath her.
When she finished, Marques was panting. He sounded as if he were going to choke on the forceful gasps of air. She decided to show off a smidge and unwound her legs, intending to try to attain the second part of the pose. But before she could take her legs into the split that made up the second variation of the asana, she felt Marq grasp her and wrap his arms around her to cup a breast in each smooth palm.
Of course, after that she was on her back, being fucked within an inch of her life of the rug beneath her. She spent most of the time begging him to stop, and then in the next breath he was giving her more of it. He bit her lip, sucking her skin in bruising patterns meant to enflame her. The stinging skin simmered to a tingle and left the injured areas radiating waves of heat that rippled over her. If what he did with his mouth wasn’t enough, his hands clutched at her and were greedy in their possession. When his mouth left her seized flesh, she shuddered in thanks, but he put the unemployed orifice to good use. He whispered how tight and hot she was in one ear, and she could feel it, too. He asked her to come for him in the other ear, and she did. He watched her, and even his eyes were greedy as if the molten orbs could steal her orgasm from her with a single scorching look. He suckled her lip in his mouth and rocked himself deeper inside her. The end result was her being fed additional peaks tailing the first one in a chain of desire.
* * * *
The days left to them flew by in Jamison’s opinion. It just seemed that she laid with him for the first time, but even then she felt like her body knew his. She had one week left of her fantasy month with Marques, and the thought sobered her. She needed to c’est la vie, but she couldn’t. It was too hard to think about her last days with him and the end of the world as she knew it. On the last Wednesday she was to spend with Marques, the day was as normal as any other, except the fact that her heart was breaking. He actually went into the office today, one of a handful of days where he wasn’t at her disposal. She updated her blog and checked her e-mail.
Now that she wasn’t working, there was more time to devote to movies. She helped out at Screen Gems studios every now and again but had to refuse more jobs than she accepted due to her day job. But now that was a non-factor and she could take some of the dozen or so offers that she found in her inbox. The next one available would be on location, in sunny Jamaica, starting Saturday. But as that was her last day with Marq, she would turn it down. There was another offer in Alaska for an oil rig documentary. Normally she would call herself crazy for taking the frozen north tundra over palm trees and the tropics. But she had to eke every moment out of her affair, and the extra hours with Marq would be worth it.
As she dug through the pile in her spam box, there was an e-mail from an unknown address. She was going to delete it, sure the e-mail was one of the Nigerian scam e-mails, but the username sounded slightly familiar. When she opened the e-mail, she realized it was Duke, the dancer from the hole-in-the-wall house party.
Jamison,
This is Duke. I know you are probably still with your man, but I was wondering if you would like to have lunch with me today? I’m back in the area, and I want to see you again if you’ll let me.
D
Jamison was shocked to say the least. She didn’t
think the stripper would really contact her. He deserved a response, but what could she say that even made sense? It wasn’t like she could say, No he’s not my man, even though I want him to be? Or He’s my lover and its temporary? Then there was the lingering thought of, why can’t I want a man who wants me as much as I do him? Most of her life was spent in relationships were that were fairly one-sided. Growing up as she did was hard on the soul. It made her wary and untrusting of other people. But her escalating sense of loneliness and sadness forced her to open up. But the men that she chose weren’t worthy of the honor. She was a good woman, but seemed to choose the worst men of the bunch. Her last ex, Aiden, was an asshole. She cooked and cleaned, worked hard, kept herself available for even the most minute of needs, and never so much as looked at another person with any type of interest. She stayed with him for years, and he didn’t have enough respect for her to keep his dick to himself or women out of her bed. It was not like the sex was great, and that was the saddest part. In fact her neighbor, the trollop, got the short end of the literal stick. A small cock was able to satisfy her, but if a man couldn’t row the boat right, the size his oar was inconsequential.
When she sent back a brief reply to the surprise electronic message, Jamison felt a little guilty. She felt like she shouldn’t have entertained the idea of lunch with the luscious Duke and worse agreed to meet him for the midday meal. But the vague disquiet she felt niggled at her as she went back to working on her latest blog post in an attempt to forget. When she checked the time, she had spent an hour and a half staring at the word “the” and nothing had really gotten done. She couldn’t get her mind wrapped around the fact that it was soon over, and her work suffered as a result. Duke had responded quickly as if he was waiting to hear from her with baited breath.
Willows, Jennifer - A Harem of One [The Moreland Brothers 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 13