by K. Bromberg
Making out became dry humping in seconds. Her hands clawed at me, her body trying to meld with mine.
I reached between us and popped open my jeans. I needed her, was desperate for her.
The loud clang of the church door closing echoed around, and we froze. After a quick pause to listen, my head popped up over the back of the pew. There was no one to be seen, but the faint clack of more than one set of footsteps on the stairs alerted me to people being near.
Looking back down at Hope made me groan and press into her.
“Fuck, baby.”
Her eyes were heavy and dark, and her fingers played with the waist of my jeans, pulling me to her. I took hold of her hands and lifted her up, wrapping them around my neck until she was standing. When she stood on her tippy toes to kiss me, I didn’t have to lean down as far to close the half-foot height gap between us.
“Come on. Let’s find somewhere a little more private.” Fuck, I was going to explode if I didn’t get inside her now.
I scanned the huge room, looking for some place to hide away. There was always the bathroom, but my gaze landed on the ornate, carved dark wood of the confessional booth. I took her hand and yanked her down the aisle and into the confined space of the small confessional box. As soon as we were in, I sat in the chair and pulled her down so she was straddling my lap. My hand grabbed behind her neck and brought her lips down to mine.
I wasted no time running my hand along the inside of her thigh and against the part of her that’d been torturing me for days. The heat that radiated off her pussy was intense. I slipped my fingers under the edge of her panties. Her folds were slick, wet with her arousal, and I moaned into her mouth.
“I need in you, now.”
Her hips rocked against my dick, driving me mad. I kissed down her neck, sucking her skin in, biting and marking her as I got my cock out.
I pushed her hips down, impaling her with my cock. She drew in a hard, sharp breath that turned into a shuddering, guttural moan. The sound, combined with her tight, wet walls squeezing me, was overwhelming. I groaned, my eyes rolling back, head resting against the confessional chair.
Fucking perfection.
The fires of hell felt heavenly with her wrapped around me.
“Ride me, baby,” I whispered against her skin.
I dug my fingers into her hips and guided her up and down my cock. My grip moved around to her ass, forcing her down as I thrust up. Little moans and whimpers came from her open mouth as she bounced on me.
Every feeling was too much. I didn’t know if I was going to go insane or not before I came. I picked up the pace—harder, faster, pull, thrust. The booth shook around us, her pussy clamped down on me, and she threw her head back in a silent scream.
The pulsing waves of her walls milked me, and I wanted to give it what it asked for.
“Are you on birth control?” A little late to ask, but her answer would make a big difference.
She nodded, uttering a barely audible “yes” as she continued to move up and down on my cock, still shaking from her orgasm.
“Good, because I’m going to fill your pussy up.”
My muscles were flexing and tight, my cock harder than it’d ever been. My thighs were burning, tired, and my balls were high. The pressure was too much, and I let go, roaring as I pulled her down hard and pushed up, burying my cock all the way in. Jizz shot out and into her—exactly where it needed to be.
She fell against me as we relaxed, and her head nestled in the crook of my neck. Neither of us moved as we caught our breath. I kissed down her neck, licking and nipping the whole way, tasting her as my hand moved up and down her back. She felt so perfect in my arms.
“I’m not done. I want more. Can we go to your place?”
She shook her head against my neck. “My roommate is home.” I cursed, wishing she lived alone. “We can go to your place.”
I laughed, my dick not liking the lack of privacy. I wanted to take my time and consume her.
“I’m living with my mom right now.” My eyes widened, and I moved my arm to look at my watch. “Shit. I have to go.”
She froze, her face dropping. “Oh. Okay.” Everything about her became stiff. She started to get up, but I pulled her back down and to my chest, pressing my lips to hers. She sighed and melted against me.
“My mom has an appointment with her oncologist.”
She blinked at me and nodded slowly in understanding. “Is she okay?”
“Not right now.”
She trailed kisses down my neck, and I nuzzled hers. Somehow she knew I didn’t want to talk about it but needed comfort at the same time.
A few minutes passed, and I helped her straighten her clothes out before stuffing my dick back in my jeans. When she was done throwing her hair back into a ponytail, I opened the door, the old hinges creaking loud and reverberating around.
Hope slid out, then me, and I ran right into her back. She’d stopped just outside the booth. Multiple sets of eyes stared at us, including one of the priest’s.
I smiled and nodded to them, then grabbed her hand and walked out.
“Well, guess I’m not going back there,” I said as we ran down the steps.
Her cheeks were bright red, hand over her mouth in horror. “That was the priest who did my Confirmation!”
I pulled her close and pressed my lips to hers. “That’s a bit mortifying. Especially because you weren’t all that quiet.”
She swatted my chest. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who made me make those noises.”
I grinned. “Oh, I know, and I plan on doing it again. So, when are you free this week?”
She eyed me suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because I really want to see you again. And as soon as possible. Like tonight.”
She smiled and looked down at the sidewalk. Fuck, she was cute when embarrassed. Her eyes widened, and her mouth popped open as she looked down.
“Oh, no…” Her legs snapped closed, thighs clenching.
I groaned and grabbed her ass. “Fuck, baby, is my jizz slipping out and down your thigh?”
“Yes.” She whimpered.
“Good.” I smirked at her, my hand still in hers as we walked to her car. “I’ve marked you as mine.”
Chapter 9
Mom was right—one time wasn’t enough. Having Hope only made my cravings for her worse. Compression shorts became a constant part of my daily wardrobe—I had to contain the beast somehow.
Especially when she walked into my gym unannounced.
I licked my lips at her sexy hips swaying as she walked my way. She smiled at me and wrapped her arms around my waist, not caring that I was sweaty. I pressed my lips to hers, nipping at her bottom lip.
“Excuse me.”
I pulled back and sighed, looking over at Teri, who had her arms crossed and was huffing in annoyance.
Hope waved at her. “I’m just going to lean on your pole.” She motioned over to the support beam a few feet away.
I smirked, unable to resist. “You can lean on my pole anytime.”
Her mouth dropped open, and I couldn’t stop from laughing.
It’d been two days since we defiled the church. Even though we hadn’t gone on a date, one was in the works. Until then, neither of us could stay away for too long, which was one reason she was in the middle of the gym.
It also happened that my client, Teri, was her roommate.
“Oh, come on! This is my hour.” Teri smacked my chest with a gloved hand. “You two can fuck later.” She pointed to me. “But stay away from the kitchen! I spent an hour bleaching it this morning.”
My devilish laugh came out, and I turned back in time to see her face drop. She was in for it. “Oh, you’re in trouble now. Blitz!” Usually Teri punched ten to each side before switching, then taking a break, but she was going to hurt for that comment. “Again.”
She glared as me and muttered “fucker” under her breath.
“Come on. Push it! Harder!”
“Okay, break.” I tossed the mitts on the floor and reached forward, removing one glove before pulling on the other.
Hope handed Teri a water bottle, and she attempted to drink between hard breaths. A few rounds later, we were done. Hope was still leaning on the pole, and as soon as Teri went off to the locker room, I closed the gap, pressing my body against hers. I pushed her into the pole as I wrapped my arms around both, trapping her.
“Hi,” I said, smirking at her and pressing my cock into her stomach.
She nabbed her bottom lip in the fuck-sexy way she always did. Her being coy drove me and my cock insane. “Hi.”
“Come here often?”
She rolled her eyes and fought a smile. “My boyfriend works here.”
I quirked a brow at her. “Boyfriend?” We hadn’t really talked titles… Well, we really hadn’t talked—mostly fucked—but we were getting there.
“Boyfriend.” She was firm in her word choice and gave me a little attitude with it. “Got a problem with it?”
I shook my head. “No, but, baby, let me be your boyfriend. I own the place.” And soon I would fully own a place, without Monica.
“Own the place? Well, then, you have an enticing proposition.”
I leaned in and kissed her neck, humming against her skin. “How about I offer up another enticing proposition?”
“All right, break it up.” Teri tapped her foot next to us. “Come on, Hope, we have to get to class.”
She looked to Teri and then back to me, a small pout on her lips. “Sorry.”
I groaned and gave Teri the evil eye.
“Don’t look at me like that, you devil.”
I bent down and gave Hope a last kiss. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She nabbed her lip and looked at me from under her lashes. “Maybe I can act out one of my fantasies.”
I smirk and pulled her closer. “What’s that, my naughty girl?”
Her lips were close to my ear, tickling the hairs on the back of my neck. “I want to service my customer.”
I groaned and squeezed her ass. She pulled away, blowing me a kiss before turning to catch up with Teri.
I knew the Devil and lust were in us both.
But if I was going to hell, the trip would be worth it with Hope by my side.
About K.I. Lynn
K.I. Lynn spent her life in the arts, everything from music to painting and ceramics, then to writing. Characters have always run around in her head, acting out their stories, but it wasn’t until later in life she would put them to pen. It would turn out to be the one thing she was really passionate about.
Since she began posting stories online, she’s garnered acclaim for her diverse stories and hard hitting writing style. Two stories and characters are never the same, her brain moving through different ideas faster than she can write them down as it also plots its quest for world domination…or cheese. Whichever is easier to obtain… Usually it’s cheese.
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kick.
Songs of Perdition - Book One
CD Reiss
Kick
Copyright © 2014
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental
Cover Art designed by the author
one.
My ankles were shackled. The chain between them clicked when I rolled over, and the steel bit my anklebones when I rested my feet together.
My brain chemistry had been set for arousal at the touch of hard metal edges on my skin, and even though I felt a growing swirl of lust when I pressed my legs together, I was preoccupied. Deacon hadn’t put the leg irons on me, nor had I squeezed them tighter than I should, just to feel them holding me while he played me like a musician at an instrument.
I didn’t know what had happened.
The last thing I remembered was rain.
No. The last thing I remembered was being in scene with Deacon and entering subspace, outside of myself, where pleasure and pain merged.
No.
Nuzzling Snowcone as he huffed and clopped his hoof on the stable floor, I held his bit. I thought, he’s slow, it’s over, he’s slow, he’s old, it’s over, he won’t take the bit, he’s slow. My thoughts repeated as if they were stuck.
The last thing I remembered was hanging from the ceiling, listening to rain on the windows. It never rained in Los Angeles—unless it did, and then it rained like a holy hail of fuck yous.
The last thing I remembered was wet thighs. Feeling so sore I couldn’t sit. Thinking about fucking. Finding someone to fuck.
There was so much fucking.
The last thing I remembered was snorting a line of flake off Amanda’s tits.
And then?
Nothing.
Anxiety sat in my chest like a kinetic weight, but I wasn’t scared. I knew I wasn’t thinking right, that I was little more than a jumble of emotions and half sentences. I thought in colors, and saw in bursts of silence. The aggressive white light above illuminated the angles of the corners. The tight space and soft white walls were the product of some kind of regulating entity. Was I in prison? A hospital? Was I even in the United States? When would Deacon come for me?
Soon.
He’d come soon, and everything would be in control again.
Until then, I’d submit to the fog of my half-formed thoughts and nothing would go wrong.
***
“Do you know where you are?”
His voice was so gentle in powder blues and jazzy notes, but he was a stranger. I’d never heard a voice like that—thick and soft as heavy cream, a satin sheet on a bed of sand. I opened my eyes to bright white fog and a charcoal blur that must have been attached to the voice. Not a cop. Not a lawyer. Not an ER doc.
“No,” I croaked.
“I’m going to ask you some questions. All right?”
I nodded. I didn’t realize how quiet it was until the noise of the sheet rubbing against my ear sounded like an electric guitar amp set to eleven.
“Can you tell me your name?”
It wasn’t loud, that voice. Like Deacon’s, it had its own kind of authority, but unlike my master’s, it was gentle.
I cleared the frog from my throat. “Fiona.”
“Hi, Fiona. My name is Doctor Chapman. But you can call me Elliot.”
My eyes cleared a little. The charcoal smear turned into a beige oval with two green-grey dots for eyes and non-committally colored hair. His skin wrinkled around the eyes, but his mouth was young. He was either in his late twenties, or forty-ish, like Deacon. Or maybe somewhere in between.
“Good,” he said, crouching to meet my gaze. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Where do you live?”
That was a hard question, with its own complexity.
“The first thing that comes to mind,” the doctor said.
“Number three, Maundy Street.”
He nodded, so my answer must have been satisfactory. “Get cleaned up, get something to eat, then we can talk.”
I nodded, and the noise in my ear was less shocking. He stood and went for the white door with the little window at eye level.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“Westonwood Acres.”
***
They fed me in my room from a metal tray. I didn’t eat much. I was shown to a small bathroom, where I was expected to clean up and change out of one light blue jumpsuit into another. I had never been squeamish about germs or ickiness, but in the soft cotton of my mind
, something seemed inherently wrong with the space, the room, the clothes.
Deacon would find me. He was probably in some office right now, demanding my release from the mental ward. He had a way of sniffing me out, even when I snuck away, as if he and I were connected by a vibrating fiber. No matter how far I went, no matter how fast, he knew. If there was anyone in the world I could count on, it was him. He was coming. All I had to do was behave long enough for him to arrive.
Just thinking of him, the bones of his wrist, the tendons tight on his forearms when he gripped my body, his growl—mine mine mine—sent a wave of pleasure between my legs.
I knew who I was. I was a celebrity without talent. I was an heiress. I was a whore. I was a party waiting to happen. I was an addict. I was his, and in that last definition—that I was owned by Deacon I knew my place in the chaos.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, the headache came like slowly tightening wrenches clamped to my temples and the back of my neck. As the pain bloomed, my mind cleared. Though I couldn’t remember shit any better than before, I gained the good sense to worry about it. I gained details. Cast-iron grates on the windows in a decorative pattern. No doorknob. Walls of suede microfiber. Cork floors. Soft wood bed with Egyptian cotton sheets.
There were people around me, but I felt more than saw them. Intuited their presence. How long had I been walking through plasma? Where was the other side?
The last thing I remembered… What was the last thing I remembered? It was Deacon in the kitchen of number three, sweatpants and no shirt, with his arms out. He was saying something. Pleading. He was telling me I had to kick. Kick? What did that mean? And was it the kitchen or the stables? Whatever space he was in was plagued by his raw pain. He was mad and resigned at the same time, two things I’d never seen from him.
Was that the last thing I remembered? Whatever it was must have landed me here.
There had been a dream with red and blue lights.
There had been a party, possibly before the lights, maybe after. I was on my hands and knees. I was high, so high, flooded with endorphins and knocking around subspace. My ache was dulled to pleasure, and I wanted something desperately.