Heart of Stone

by Dakota Willink

  Shit!

  I hadn’t planned on staying the entire night.

  “Good morning, Krystina. Sleep well?”

  I rolled over onto my back to see Alexander standing at the foot of the bed, completely in the buff, and utterly shameless. He had obviously just showered and was towel drying his wet hair. Droplets of water rained down from his head and glistened on his shoulders and chest. He was a magnificent sight and I sighed inwardly.

  Does he have to look so flippin’ beautiful all the time?

  I gazed at him for a moment before chastising myself for ogling.

  Focus – you need to get home!

  “Very well, actually. What time is it?” I asked, looking around the room in search of a clock. Allyson was probably worried sick. I never stayed out all night.

  “It’s just after seven.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. Not before you eat something. I’m generally not good in the kitchen, but I can make a killer omelet.”

  “No, I really should. Ally is probably crazy with worry right about now. I don’t make a habit of not coming home.”

  “You’re always in such a hurry to leave me. You have to stop doing that. Besides, you’re a grown woman, Krystina. I’m sure Allyson will understand,” he said, slipping into a pair of jeans. “Just text her and tell her where you are if it makes you feel better.”

  “Fine. A quick breakfast then,” I conceded. Holding the sheet up to cover my chest, I sat up. Alexander may have been okay with parading around naked, but I wasn’t quite comfortable with the concept yet. “Would you mind grabbing my cloths from the bathroom? I left them there last night.”

  “They aren’t there. I sent your clothes out with Vivian for laundering when she was here this morning to drop off groceries. Your cloths should be back in about an hour. Until then, you can just wear one of my T-shirts. Unless you’re ready to take another crack at the naked thing…” he trailed off, throwing me a suggestive smile.

  I frowned at him.

  “I’ll stick with the T-shirt if that’s alright with you.”

  Alexander shook his head at me and moved over to his dresser.

  “Have it your way,” he said, tossing me a shirt that he had pulled out from the top drawer. “But the next time you come over, bring some clothes that you can leave here.”

  And with that, he left me alone in the room to contemplate his suggestion. He posed it very casually, but the idea sounded way too permanent for my tastes.

  Deciding not to put too much thought into it, I pulled Alexander’s T-shirt over my head. I breathed in the scent of it as it slipped over my shoulders. A mix of laundry detergent and male, the shirt was all Alexander, and potent to my senses.

  I rolled out of bed and made a quick pit stop to the bathroom to freshen up and take care of business. When I eventually sauntered my way into the kitchen, I found Alexander already working on our breakfast. Bacon sizzled in a frying pan, while he expertly cracked two eggs into a bowl.

  “Do you want help?” I offered. I felt useless just watching him while he diced up ham and bell peppers for omelets.

  “No, I’ve got this. Just have a seat. There’s coffee over there with your name on it,” he said. He interrupted the making of his egg creation to point to the small breakfast table at the far end of the kitchen. A cup of steaming hot coffee was waiting for me.

  Drawn to the aroma of a dark roast, I made my way over to the table and took a seat. I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, realizing for the first time how sore my behind was from last night. I hadn’t realized he worked me so hard.

  Ignoring the troublesome concern over that fact, I took a sip of coffee.

  “You make one hell of a cup of coffee. Aren’t you going to have some?” I asked after seeing that only one mug had been poured.

  Alexander looked over his shoulder at me and wrinkled his nose in distaste.

  “I don’t drink the stuff.”

  “That’s a crime in my books. It’s like sanity in a cup,” I said and took another drink, savoring the bittersweet taste on my tongue. “I can’t live without it.”

  “My sister is the coffee-holic. I never acquired a taste for it,” he told me. Walking over to the table, he placed two plates of piping hot eggs and bacon on the table for each of us.

  Suddenly feeling ravenous, I speared a piece of omelet with my fork and blew on it for a minute to cool it down before taking a bite.

  “Wow, this is no joke. You really do make a killer omelet,” I appreciated.

  He merely nodded, seeming confident in his superb breakfast making skills, and dug into his own food. We sat there and ate in quiet for a while, both content to enjoy our start of the day meal. After a while, Alexander started perusing the front page of a newspaper that was on the table. The entire scene was very domestic and it made me uncomfortable. Rather than mention it, I continued to eat my food quietly, suddenly anxious to get the meal over with.

  “Do you know that you talk in your sleep?” Alexander asked, looking up from his readings and breaking the silence of the kitchen.

  I felt my face flush in embarrassment. I had been dreaming about Alexander while I slept.

  “So I’ve been told by my mother and Frank. It used to drive Frank crazy because he’s a light sleeper. Hopefully, I didn’t say anything too crazy.”

  “No. You just said that you shouldn’t do something or another. It wasn’t clear. You were kind of mumbling.”

  “Hmm…I’m not sure what it was about. I rarely remember my dreams once I wake up,” I lied.

  The truth was, I remembered the dream very clearly. I had dreamt about the wild images that I found on the internet, and Alexander doing many of those things to me. In my dream, I had been gagged and spread out, and tied down with black rope while Alexander reined a riding crop down on me. Even in sleep, I knew that I shouldn’t want it, but I did. I tried to leave, but I couldn’t. I wanted him to push me to see how much I could take. I had a vague recollection of waking up at some point during the night, wishing that Alexander would do those things to me in life.

  The fact that I may have revealed myself while I slept was absolutely mortifying.

  “You talk about your mother and stepfather a lot, but what about your real father?” Alexander asked.

  I suppressed a sigh of relief at the opportunity to change topics, as I was finding last night’s self-discovery of my inner freak to be very disturbing.

  “I don’t know him. The sperm donor left my mother when I was just a baby,” I said flippantly, using the term I had adapted whenever I referenced my biological father.

  “That had to be tough on her. And you for that matter.”

  “Honestly, I don’t really have an opinion about him one way or another, except when I think about my mom. That’s when I get a little mad. She struggled pretty bad trying to make ends meet. There were many nights when I woke up to hear her crying in the kitchen. I would come in, see the pile of bills… but I was young and I didn’t really understand.”

  I felt a small lump begin to form in my throat as I thought back to all of those nights, my mom rocking me to sleep, telling me it would be okay. She said that her job was to worry about the grown up problems, and it was my job to be a kid.

  “So when did your stepfather come into the picture?” Alexander asked, pulling me away from the memories of my youth.

  “She met Frank when I was around eight or nine. They were married just after my tenth birthday. After that, my mom didn’t have to worry about money anymore. Frank takes care of everything,” I finished with a shrug of indifference. I didn’t elaborate further, as my own feelings on the subject were mixed. Frank was a good man, but I had often wondered if my mom married him out of necessity, or if she married for love.

  “Hmm,” he mused with a frown. “That’s interesting. From everything you’ve said in the past, you seemed to be a lot like her. But now, I’m thinking you’re very much the opposite. You’re too indepe
ndent.”

  “Well, I try,” I said with a sardonic grin. I squirmed in my chair, and not because of my sore bum. I simply did not want to get into a discussion about the differences and similarities that I had to my mother. “Do you mind if I grab shower?”

  “Help yourself,” he said, accepting my dismissal in stride. “Towels are in the linen closet.”

  “Thanks.”

  After clearing my plate, I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom, eager to get away from our very unusual breakfast exchange.

  This conversation is way to deep for this time of the morning.

  Between the recollection of my dream and the chatter about my mom, I was ready to climb back into bed and hope for a do-over.

  CHAPTER 32

  I had been in Alexander’s bathroom before, but I never took notice of the details in the grand shower stall. Floor to ceiling tiles lined the walls, with an intricate mosaic overlay in the middle of one wall. There was a built in bench lining two of the walls as well, with various jets cleverly placed around the area. I reached for the nob to turn on the water, and was pleasantly surprised to see the waterfall stream that came down from the ceiling.

  Once the water was to temp, I stepped back to strip out of Alexander’s T-shirt, looking forward to enjoying his luxurious shower. Just when I was about to get in, Alexander slithered up behind me. I jumped, having been caught off guard.

  “Oh, you scared me! I didn’t hear you come in!”

  “Mmm…” he murmured into my ear. “Watching you walk away in my t-shirt…I couldn’t resist. You have amazing legs. Do you know that?”

  He ran his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, then back up to cup my breasts. Grabbing a handful of curls, he pulled my hair aside and started nibbling his way down my neck.

  “I’m never going to shower if you keep that up,” I chided halfheartedly. A shiver raced down my spine and a small moan escaped me.

  “I could just turn around and go back to the kitchen. Is that what you want?” He teased. He slid his hands down my belly, but deliberately stopped short at my pelvic bone.

  “No,” I breathed, frustrated that he didn’t continue traveling south.

  “Well then, Miss Cole. Do you mind if I join you?” he propositioned.

  “Why, not at all. Sir,” I played in return. I was about to make a jest about calling him sir, but was abruptly silenced when he spun me around. In one swift motion, he picked me up under the arms and had my legs scissoring around his waist. Before I knew it, I was in the shower, back pressed up against the wall, his mouth pressed against mine.

  “Mother of god, you’re perfect. The things I want to do to you…” he trailed off, moving his lips down my neck. I pressed my back against the wall, pushing my hips up hard against him, only to discover the rough feel of denim.

  “Alex! You still have your jeans on!” I exclaimed in shock.

  “I guess I do,” he said impishly. He spun us so that he could lower me down onto the shower bench.

  After unbuttoning his fly, he pushed the wet material down his legs. I giggled when I saw him struggle. His movements were normally so graceful, that to see him wrestle with the soaking wet jeans was quite comical.

  “You should have thought things through a little better before you assaulted me,” I laughed. He ignored me, so concentrated on the task of removing his pants from around his ankles. Once they were completely off, he tossed them out of the shower into a wet heap on the bathroom floor. Turning back to me, his eyes were dark.

  “I’m going punish you for mocking me,” he promised. “I’m going to make you crazy with need, so much so that you won’t even be able to think straight. But you’re not allowed to come. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I whispered. I tightening in my belly formed, turned on by the idea of being kept on the edge.

  “Spread your legs. I want to see your sex wide open for me. And no matter what I do, you’re not allowed to move unless I tell you to.”

  My breathing quickened in anticipation as I did what he asked.

  Alexander pulled down a detachable showerhead from the wall and performed a slow dance down my body. Starting with my head, he moved the water flow down each arm, over each breast, until the pulse of the spray stopped over my mound. He rested the showerhead on the bench, keeping the water flow shooting against my now throbbing clit. However, the spray was just enough of a tease, lacking enough pressure to actually get me off.

  It was outright torture.

  Standing up, Alexander retrieved a bottle of body wash. Squirting some of the soap onto his hand, he made quick work of building a soapy lather. He began massaging my shoulders, fingers slipping up and around my nipples, and eventually working all the way down to my feet. When he moved up me again, his hands slowed to knead my upper thighs, making his way ever so torturously over my pulsing clitoris, that was still aching for release from the subtle pressure of the shower head.

  “I’m going to shave this glorious pussy of yours. I want to see your juices glistening all over your lips.”

  What?!?!

  I supposed it wasn’t that out of the ordinary. A lot of women shave or wax it. But it was one thing to take care of the business yourself, and another to let someone else do it for you. I could help the foreboding thoughts over allowing another person to put a razor on the most sensitive part of my body.

  “Um,” I hesitated.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked, exerting just a little more pressure onto my clit. I leaned my head back and moaned, savoring the way he fondled, pinched, and flicked at the swollen nub.

  “Yes,” I sighed.

  “Then close your eyes. I just want you to feel.”

  When the shaving cream hit my mound, I found myself spreading my legs even wider to give him better access to spread the cream over the tender folds. When I felt the initial swipe of the razor move across my skin, I gasped with pleasure over the unique sensation.

  Alexander was careful, moving the blade with calculated precision, intent on the task at hand. My initial anxiety was replaced by pure desire, a most erotic turn on that was unexplainable and indescribably intimate.

  “You’re so wet,” he said, sliding his fingers along my cleft. “Slide down a little on the bench.”

  Once I shifted my position, he took hold of both my legs and placed them over his shoulders. Spreading me wide, he ran the razor across the newly exposed areas, stretching me open so as not to miss anything.

  When he was finished, he gently massaged the freshly shaved lips while rinsing away the remaining cream. Without warning his finger pushed against my puckered rear hole, the sudden pressure catching me by surprise.

  “One day I am going to claim this ass, Krystina.” My pulse accelerated at the mention of the taboo act, my breath hitching irregularly. “Relax your body. Let me show you something new.”

  When his finger tried to push into my tight entrance, I tensed in response to the foreign intrusion. I tried to relax, but my body fought it. He moved the spray over me again, letting it pulse on my clit. I gave in to the pleasure, and felt myself melting under the beating force of the water.

  Taking advantage of my distraction, he persisted and managed to push his finger inward to the first knuckle. I felt my tight opening greedily clench around him as he began to twist and stroke. Giving in to the moment, I allowed myself to feel the unfamiliar touch. He pushed in a little deeper and continued to prod and caress. Before long, I was twitching with need.

  When he paused in his stroking and pulled his finger out, I gasped in dismay. It was almost shocking. I was actually wishing for him to put it back, which was the complete opposite of what I wanted five minutes before.

  “Oh, please…” I arched against him, feeling wanton for craving his finger once more.

  “My angel likes this,” he observed and pushed into me once again. But this time, I was ready and relaxed enough to take in more of him. “That’s a good girl. Feel my finger while I taste you.�
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  His tongue swiped against my swollen labia. Once. Twice. And on the third time, I cried out.

  “I’m going to come!”

  “Oh, no. Not yet. This is your punishment, remember?”

  Suddenly, he stopped everything. He had removed his finger, and gone was his tongue. All of the air in my lungs left with a solid whoosh, my frustration reaching its ultimate peak. I was desperate, and my body begged for release.

  “Please, Alex! Just…just take me. I’m yours,” I panted, barely able to get the words out.

  At that, he pulled me into a standing position and spun me around so that I was facing the bench.

  “Bend over. Place your hands on the seat.”

  I did as instructed without delay, and within half of a second, I felt his cock plunge deep, stretching the tissues that were still swollen from the night before. He splayed his palms across my backside, running his fingers down the seam of my ass. Using his thumb, he pressed against my rear hole without quite inserting it.

  “Yes, please…” I begged, not quite giving the specifics of what I desperately wanted.

  “You want something?” he asked.

  “Yes, I want it,” I said, surprised at how bold I suddenly was. The thought of both holes being filled at the same time was a sinful sort of thrill, causing a dark shiver of desire to snake through my veins. My little devil applauded me for being so scandalous.

  “Tell me specifically, Krystina. I want to hear you say it.”

  “Your thumb!”

  “Here?” he taunted, circling the rim of my tight entrance. He stood completely still and unmoving, only allowing me to feel the rotation of his teasing thumb and his throbbing cock that was still buried deep.

  “Alex! Please,” I whimpered, straining my hips and pushing against him.

  “I don’t think you’ve earned it yet. You can’t keep still. I told you not to move, remember?” I immediately stopped thrashing, although it was a difficult thing to do. My body had mind of its own at that moment, writhing and twisting on its own accord. “That’s better. Now, tell me what you want.”