“Enjoy the high, baby. It won’t happen again.”
I up my game during round two. The harder I try, the harder she tries. She’s good. Better than good. I might even lose. She’ll have to go out with me again to drive my car, so I suppose I win either way.
“On your knees, motherpucker!” she shouts when she scores the winning goal. She grabs the puck and kisses it. Wearing a huge smile, she rubs it on her boobs.
I can’t believe she beat me. Again. Her cheeks are flushed and her breath comes in pants. Even I’m worked up.
“I want a rematch.” I take a step to the side, coming around the table.
“You’re a sore loser.” Violet moves in the opposite direction. “I won fair and square.”
“I still want to take you out again when I get home.” I take another step toward her and she takes one back.
“You didn’t win.” She shifts right, preparing to bolt.
I fake right and go left, mirroring her movement. I’m faster and more agile. She may have beaten me at air hockey, but she can’t outrun me. She shrieks when I grab her around the waist and pull her against me.
“I know.” My palm glides along her rib cage. “But you cheated.”
“I did not!”
“This dress is very distracting.” I skim her collarbone and follow the V of her bust line with my fingertip.
I dip my head down and press my lips to her neck. Sucking lightly, I kiss a trail from her jaw to her lips.
“I didn’t cheat.”
“Debatable.” My lips hover over hers. “I’d accept a victory kiss in lieu of a rematch.”
“I still get to drive your car.”
“If you’re good with stick, sure.”
“I’m great with stick.”
“I’m not talking about the one in my pants.”
Her outraged gasp turns into a sigh as our lips meet. Violet’s hands move up my arms and her fingernails bite into my shoulders.
Cupping her ass, I lift her onto the table, and then turn off the air. Her dress rides up her thighs as I step between them and she hitches a leg over my hip. I keep reminding myself not to have expectations for tonight. I don’t. What I expect and what I’d like are two very different things.
I hold her soft body against me, splaying my hand between her shoulders. “Tell me if I’m moving too fast.”
“You’re good,” she says, shoving her fingers into my hair.
I kiss a path to the neckline of her dress. Her heel digs into my ass as I bite her collarbone. Violet gasps. I push the fabric of her dress aside. Red satin and lace overlay never looked so good on a pair of perfectly delicious tits. I cup them and squeeze, deepening the line of cleavage so I can bury my face between them. “I love your boobs.”
“They love you back.”
I pull the satin and lace down until her rosy little nipple peeks out. I circle it with my finger, before I cover it with my mouth.
“Holy hell.” Violet’s fingers tighten in my hair, holding me hostage. “Why’s your mouth so magical?”
The question seems rhetorical, so I keep sucking and kissing and nibbling. Her legs tighten around my waist and she shifts her hips, moving against me, seeking her own relief.
I finger the tie at her waist. One tug and I’ll find out if she’s wearing panties to match her bra.
I seek permission to continue. “May I?”
“By all means.”
The bow comes loose, one side of her dress falling open. It’s not quite as momentous as I anticipated. There’s a second tie on the inside, preventing a full revelation.
“Did you pick the color for me?” I kiss my way to the neglected breast, rolling her nipple between my fingers.
“You like?” Violet pushes her chest out, her words a breathy moan.
“Oh, I like. Seriously, I can’t get enough.”
I move between her tits until Violet’s arms start to shake and she drops down on her elbows. We’re panting, rubbing against each other, adding friction for my lonely dick. Her quiet gasps and sighs grow progressively louder until she sucks in a harsh breath.
“Oh, God. Alex? . . . I-I-I . . .” She sounds confused, maybe a little desperate. “There’s no way—”
I never get to ask what’s going on. It becomes self-evident, anyway. Violet trembles, eyes closed, lips parting on a sexy moan. Her body goes lax, and her legs drop from my waist.
“Did you come on my air hockey table?”
“Uh-huh.”
“From this?” I circle her left nipple with my tongue. I’m feeling pretty good about myself.
“And all the grinding.” Violet grabs me by the hair and pulls. “Careful. It’s sensitive from all the attention.”
“Sorry.” I’m keyed up, ready for speed and release. It’s the same feeling I get on the ice, only magnified and channeled into a very different, singular need.
I skim her side with my free hand until I reach the second tie. “Is this okay?”
Violet bites her lip and squeezes her eyes closed for a second. “Y-yes.”
Her uncertainty makes me pause. No matter how badly I want to get inside her again, I won’t push. “Are you sure?” I make no move either way.
“Yes.”
“I’ve been trying to get you to go out with me for a month. I’m not interested in forfeiting future dates, so you set the ground rules, okay?”
“Ground rules?”
“Do you want to instate a minimum number of dates before I get past second base?”
“You’ve already been past second base.”
“It doesn’t mean I automatically get to go there again, does it?” Man, do I ever want to.
“Why are you so sweet?” Violet runs a finger down the bridge of my nose.
If she knew what was going through my head, she wouldn’t be calling me sweet. I kiss her, soft and slow, telling her through actions I’m totally fine with it if this is as far as we go tonight. Violet makes the next move, freeing the tie on her dress. Satin slides down her arms and pools on the table. Her panties match her bra.
I run my hands up the outside of her thighs. “You are a wet dream.”
She laughs as she grips the hem of my T-shirt and pulls it over my head. “If I had wet dreams, you’d be mine.”
Her palms flatten against my chest and then drift lower until she’s cupping me through my pants. “God, you’re hard.”
“See what happens when a gorgeous, half-naked woman beats me at air hockey and comes on my table.”
Violet gives me a squeeze. “What else makes you hard?”
Slipping my finger underneath the elastic of her panties, I’m met with smooth, wet skin. Her eyelids flutter.
“Shit. You really did come.”
I go lower, finding her hotter, slicker, wetter. Twisting my palm, I slide my thumb under the fabric as well. Violet bites her lip, stifling a moan as I ease two fingers inside her. She holds onto my shoulders, closing her eyes tight as she rides my hand.
“Christ, you’re sexy.”
While I enjoy the feel of her hand on my dick—even if the sensation is muted by two layers of fabric—it’s impeding my view.
“Let go, baby—”
“I’m almost—”
“I want to see—”
She obeys my request and uses her free hand to brace herself on the table. Her whole body starts to shake. I look down to where my fingers disappear inside her. Her panties have shifted to the side, exposing more of what I want. For half a second, I’m in my own personal heaven. Then I’m not.
“What the fuck is that?” I jerk back.
Violet’s head lolls forward. “What?”
A huge purple mark mars the crest of her pelvis. I clench my jaw to keep from saying something I may regret and search my brain for a reasonable excuse for what I’m seeing. I can’t find one. It looks as if someone else has been touching my fucking pussy. I don’t understand why Violet would agree to go out with me if she’s been letting someone else get
all up in there.
My voice is a nearly unrecognizable growl. “Is that a hickey?”
VIOLET
Alex’s expression reflects nothing of the blissful serenity I’ve been rocking up until now. Confused, I touch my neck, feeling around for the hickey. It’s a fruitless action; you can’t feel hickeys, you can only see them. Besides, if I have one, he put it there.
His gaze is trained lower. I check out my chest. No discoloration there other than the usual blotchiness that’s a result of being sexed up.
His grip tightens on my thighs. I whimper, the sound drawing Alex’s attention to my face. Holy shit. He’s absolutely livid. His fury—similar to what I’ve previously witnessed only when he takes someone down on the ice—feeds the hockey hooker in me. I’m leaking on his air hockey table.
The fog from my orgasm-induced euphoria begins to clear. It’s my naked beaver he’s angrily eyeing. In my lust-induced haze, I forgot the ugly bruise from yesterday evening’s impromptu waxing session. I can see how he might mistake it for a hickey.
I gesture to the horrible mark in a flaily, manic way. “It’s not what it looks like.” In saying this, I’ve made it seem like exactly that.
Alex’s body is rigid aside from the twitching corner of his mouth and the pressing of his thumbs into the juncture of my thighs. He’s an inch shy of my clit on either side. While staying still is killing me, an explanation is necessary.
“I didn’t have time to make an appointment with my waxer because you sprang the date on me. My beave was getting unruly, and I wasn’t sure how tonight would go. I wanted to be prepared in case this happened . . .” I motion to his hands.
Alex follows the movement with his eyes. His thumb moves over the purplish-red spot. Sadly, this means his thumb also moves away from my clit.
“I thought I could do it myself. You know, wax my beaver?” Alex’s brows come down low. Of course he doesn’t know. “I do my own legs sometimes, and I figured it would be easy. Judging by the result, I was wrong.” I finish with a poke at my bruise. I cringe; it hurts.
He tilts his head to the side, his expression doubtful. “Waxing?”
“Only you and your fingers, and your mouth, and your behemoth dick, and my fingers, and my collection of vibrators have been near me in the last six months. Oh, and the gyno—”
Jesus, why can’t I shut up?
“The gyno?”
I nod vigorously. “Uh, yeah, she’s female, so no worries there.” He doesn’t ask why I went to the gyno. I don’t want to tell him the truth. After sleeping with him I developed acute paranoia, afraid I contracted a contagious hockey whore disease.
Thankfully, Alex focuses on the other tidbit of information I let slip in the midst of my verbal vomit.
“You have a collection of vibrators?”
His thumbs inch in closer. Actually, it’s more like millimeter in closer. I do the damn moaning thing followed by an odd sobbing sound, wishing I could lie.
“Not a collection, a few . . . a travel one I ordered through one of those pervy sites, one I bought at a smut store, and one Charlene bought me. I think it was supposed to be a joke. It’s weird looking and textured. Like all these balls fused together? It’s not very effective for getting off—unless I’m using it wrong.”
Alex looks simultaneously disturbed and turned on. He blinks a few times and licks his lips as if trying to decide what to do or say next.
He doesn’t respond with words, but his lips are on mine again and his tongue is in my mouth. At the same time, he grazes my clit with both thumbs, causing me to make another odd sound he seems to like. All of a sudden we’re in motion. Alex grips my ass and lifts me off the air hockey table.
“God you’re sexy,” he says, carrying me to the expensive-looking leather sofa.
I have to wonder if he actually heard my ramblings about my waxing malfunction and my plastic penis collection.
He lays me on the couch; one of his knees settles between mine and the other hits the floor. Reaching behind me, Alex nabs a throw pillow and tucks it under my head. He’s so considerate.
I run my hands from his chest to the waistband of his pants. Unbuckling the belt and popping the button, I slide my fingers between the material and his skin. He’s commando, which I find interesting since he has a lot to contain.
I wrap my fingers around the hard, damp shaft of his monster cock. We’re both making noises similar to the soundtrack of a porno—they’re coming from me because I’m finally touching his ridiculously huge dick again; and I assume it probably feels good for Alex, too.
He kisses his way to my mouth. “I can’t wait to be in you.”
I can’t and don’t want to say no. A very small part of me clings to the belief I need to make him wait for sex. Like maybe until our next date. Two weeks from now is a long time, though, and it’s already been a month since we’ve been naked together. If I hold off, my beaver might explode from lack of use.
Alex pushes up on his arms. I get an awesome view of his broad chest and the treasure trail leading to monster cock land. He seems unsure of himself. “Sorry. I’m sorry. We don’t have to have sex. I don’t want you to do anything you’ll feel bad about later.”
When he says those kinds of things, paired with his earlier comment, I want to be his love slave. An image of me in a black corset wearing a collar with a leash attached to it pops into my head. Maybe stupid Lydia was right to cut the smut from the book club for a while.
“I won’t feel bad.” I’m pretty sure I’ll feel good, actually.
“You’re sure?” Alex trails his fingers down my side.
“Positive.” I’m still holding his cock; it’s still massively hard.
“I should take you upstairs.”
I have no desire to stop touching him long enough to make the trip upstairs. “I’m good here. I like your couch.” They seem like good luck charms where Alex is concerned.
“My bed is more comfortable, and there’s more room.” He drops his head into the hollow of my throat, his lips touching my skin.
“I’m sure you’re right, but then we’d have to stop doing what we’re doing.”
“You make a good point.”
Alex reaches behind me, and with a quick flick, he opens the clasp and tosses my bra on the floor. My panties follow.
I slide his pants over his hips. His cock pops out, nearly smacking me in the face. I bob and weave to avoid getting poked in the eye by his swinging dick. My lack of coordination is an unfortunate issue, and I inadvertently whack it.
Alex bows forward, swearing. I grab his dick to avoid additional mishaps and apologize for beating on the monster cock. It’s level with my boobs. I have an idea. He seems to have an extreme fascination with my chest. Keeping my eyes on his, I circle a nipple with the tip.
One second he’s all soft and tender and “is this okay?” and “are you sure?” The next he’s got my hair wrapped around his fist. His body is wound tighter than a coiled snake ready to strike, which is fitting since I’m rubbing his “snake” on my boobs.
“You can’t even . . .”
I run the head of his cock across the valley to the opposite nipple. He angles my head to the side and takes my mouth as I stroke him. Alex deepens the kiss until I’m dizzy, and breathing seems like an unimportant function. Bearing down, he covers my body with his. No longer able to maintain hand-to-cock contact, I use my feet to push his pants down to his calves. There are a few awkward moments where he struggles to kick them off, and I ineffectively attempt to help with my toes.
Impatient, Alex uses his free hand to get them the rest of the way off. We both sigh with relief when he settles between my legs again. He’s right there, hot and thick, eliciting one of my porn moans. That’s before he starts with the controlled glide.
Skimming the length of his arm, I tug gently on his wrist. He’s been fisting my hair like reins.
“Sorry.” He massages my scalp.
“S’okay. I’ve been reading a lot of Do
m-sub stuff in my book club lately.”
Hair pulling isn’t even close to the same thing. It’s not like he’s tied me up and makes me call him Sir or Master.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Nothing. Never mind. It’s not important.”
I knead his ass to distract him; otherwise I’m liable to start ending sentences with Mr. Waters.
It seems to work. Alex’s eyes flutter shut and his mouth drops open as we rub against each other. I run my hands up his back, appreciating all those tight, hard muscles.
His lips are close to my ear, his voice soft. “You feel so good.”
I remember getting it on with my first ever long-term boyfriend in high school. The progression from dry humping to naked humping happened in stages.
We’d get mostly naked—the pants might come off and the shirts stay on—and line our parts up. Then we’d slide against each other without really having any fucking clue as to how to get each other off. In all the uncoordinated wet humping, the slip-and-bump would happen. Everything would stop. We’d look at each other and ask the question: “Just the tip?” It almost always led to the-whole-damn-thing.
This is what happens. Except Alex’s tip is beer-can wide. Okay, it’s not that thick, but it’s close. The sensation is a teaser, like one of those tiny spoonfuls of ice cream they give out before committing to a whole cone. I’ve already eaten Alex’s cone before, so I know exactly how good it’s going to be.
What I do next is highly irresponsible on so many levels. My justification is this: I’ve been on the pill since high school, Alex isn’t the hockey whore I assumed he was, and the gyno results came back clean.
All objections I may have die on my tongue as I dig my fingernails into his rock-solid ass and push down with my heels. He’s halfway in, give or take a couple of inches. His head snaps up and his face registers desire-hazed alarm. “No condom!”
We stare at each other, mutual conflict clear in our lack of action. Should Alex be wearing a condom? For damn sure. However, he’s already partway inside me and it feels incredible. This is an example of a lapse in judgment. It seems to be frequent where Alex is concerned.
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