by Alexis James
She grins. “I’m gifted. I know.”
Done with all the bantering we do so well, I swipe my thumbs over her erect nipples and step closer, pressing my lips against the pulse point on her neck. “I’m going to fuck you hard, the first time. I think we both could use that.” Kissing my way up her neck, around her jaw, to her lips, I nibble on her lower lip, then whisper, “Then I’m going to spend a good long time running my tongue over your skin and making you beg. That sound okay to you?”
Head tipped back, eyes bright with need, she replies, “Sounds perfect.”
Our kiss this time is anything but sweet or nice or soft or gentle. In fact, it’s the complete opposite of what we shared on the boat—a hot mixture of lips and tongues that play together while our hands slowly get familiar with each other’s bodies. She kisses as I expected she would: intense and focused and so damn needy I think I could come from it. She’s not at all a passive participant, which I’ll admit is hot as hell. A confident, secure woman is a major turn-on for me.
Grasping her ass, I pull her tight against me, and she moans loudly at the sizzling contact. Her fingers skate over my back, lower to slide over my ass, then around to grasp my cock in her warm, tight grip. She starts a perfect rhythm, guaranteed to get me off, which any other time I might appreciate. Not today, however. Today, I want the real deal.
“Slow down, gorgeous, or I’m going to come in your hand.”
She shrugs, taking it all in stride. “Doesn’t bother me.” Right then and there I get this odd feeling that she and I are perfectly matched in every way. And that thought is cemented when she lifts her mouth from mine and looks me right in the eye, “Just make sure you get me off too, though. I’m done making myself come.”
I have a hunch that might have been an issue with her and good ol’ Vic, one I plan on rectifying right now. “Where do you want me to start?”
Her eyes light with happiness. “Let me count the ways.” She chuckles at her own comment, but sobers quickly. “That butterfly thing you talked about. I’m dying to know how that works.”
Good lord, is she for real? “Oh, sweet cheeks, you are speaking my language.” Lifting her off her feet, her legs immediately go around my waist as I move us to the dining area, where I prop her up on the table and force myself to take a breather. “Okay, we gotta get this shit out of the way first. I’m clean. Just had a physical last month. I’ve got the results if you want to see them. I’ve always used condoms.”
She shrugs again. “I’m clean too. I had a physical right after I became single and haven’t been with anyone since then. And I’m on the pill.” She grins broadly. “I’m okay with no condom if you are.”
I consider her request for about a millisecond then pull her to the edge of the table and bend over to run my tongue over one nipple, murmuring, “I’m very okay with that.”
I spend a good long time with my face in her tits, and while I’d love nothing more than to come all over them, that can wait for another time. Pulling back slightly, I slide my index finger between her folds, finding her dripping wet. Without being asked, she spreads her legs wide and tips her hips up, encouraging me to explore.
God … she’s perfect.
“Lie back,” I demand, and she eagerly complies, grinning as I ease her feet over my shoulders. “Hold onto the edge of the table.” I fucking love that she lets me order her around like this, and I have to consider what else she’ll do for me. Christ, I can’t wait to find out.
My palms skim the surface of her thighs, down to her hips, over her belly and up to cup her breasts. Her eyes are locked on mine as I play, though occasionally she’ll moan and they’ll drift closed briefly, especially when I slide one hand down and thrust my finger in deep. She groans and arches her back and is so far gone I wonder how much longer she can hang on.
“Don’t come yet, babe. I want to be inside you when you do.”
She looks right at me. “I can’t help it … your fingers … so amazing.”
Dragging my hand away, I pull her closer and line myself up at her entrance. I know I warned her, but I should at least take my time with this part, let her get used to me slowly. She must sense my hesitation, though, because she looks right at me and whispers, “Fuck me hard, Marco.”
Without preamble, I thrust in to the hilt, causing her to swear loudly in a string of words while her fingers tightly grip the edge of the table. Fully seated, I take a moment to regain some willpower and just look at her, gorgeous hair splayed out beneath her, nipples hard and begging for attention. My gaze lowers, looking down at the perfection of us joined together, and for the love of all things holy I pray I can hold out and give her what she needs.
“Marco, please. I need you.”
I withdraw to the tip and slam back in, and she rewards me with a nice hearty groan. I do it again and again and again, until I’ve set a harsh, fast pace and her mouth opens on a scream, one hand working her nipple to heighten the pleasure. It’s a sight to behold, and even though I’ve imagined something similar a few thousand times, nothing will ever take the place of the real thing of this flesh and blood woman coming slowly apart in my arms.
Her slick, tight body grips me, rippling with pleasure as she moans. “Oh … fuck … so good.” A few more deep, hard thrusts and she’s a screaming, writhing mess of pleasured woman, coming so hard around me that it would be painful if I didn’t welcome it so much. And that’s all the push I need to take myself over, growling her name as I come deep inside of her, thrusting repeatedly until I’m worn out and slumping down across her body.
Wasting no time, her hands grasp my face and our mouths meet, a hot sweaty tangle of lips and tongues that eventually slows to sweet, soft, gentle kisses—kisses that relay a bevy of emotions without one word being spoken. I’d love nothing more than to go round two with her right in this position, but she deserves comfort for what I’ve got planned.
Silently, I lift her off the table and carry her to the bedroom, shoving aside the bedding and gently lowering her to the sheets. Sated brown eyes find mine when I sprawl out next to her and pull her into my arms, but she still says nothing, which I fully understand. No words can express the intensity of what just happened. No words are really necessary actually. We can do all the communicating we need with our bodies.
We kiss some more, nibble on one another’s lips, and stroke skin with curious, warm hands. Wrapped around each other, it’s difficult to tell where I end and she begins. Limbs entwined, all of her strength and softness is pressed against my hardness. Speaking of hardness, it sure as hell isn’t taking me long to recover, not if the twinge between my legs is any indication.
Extracting myself from her embrace, I pad to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth. Wetting it under warm water, I return to where she’s lying across the bed, one leg dangling over the edge. She spreads her legs without having to be asked, holds my gaze while I clean her up, and grins when I toss the rag aside and stand back to inspect my work.
“You’re hard again,” she murmurs.
I glance down at her and smirk. “Cleaning does that for me.” Dropping to my knees, I grasp her hips and pull her ass to the edge of the bed, once more looping her legs over my shoulders.
She sighs even before I put my mouth on her, weaving her fingers in my hair and arching her back when I do. I start slowly, savoring the moment with a few long licks and a quick flick of my tongue on her clit. She moans her approval, whispering, “More,” like she thinks I plan to vacate the premises. No chance of that happening, since the taste of her is better than anything I’ve ever had in my mouth. She’s coconut and honey, warmth and woman melting against my mouth and urging my tongue to go deep.
I add my fingers to the mix, which makes her squeal. Then I finger-fuck her hard while stimulating her clit with my thumb, which makes her swear loudly and tear at my hair. The sensuality is immense, pain and pleasure melding with a driving need for more. So much more. The possibilities, as they say, are endless.
&nbs
p; “Oh God … yes … right there.”
“Marco … yes … that’s so good. Don’t stop.”
“Ah … I’m gonna come.”
And come she does, with a hefty scream that would make any man stand up and take a bow. I, however, forego the bow and instead surge upward and plunge my cock in deep, catching her mid-orgasm and letting her body fist me toward the edge. Forget my promises of a gentle, slow second time. I fuck her hard, too hard maybe, lost in my head, lost in her, so lost in what we’re doing to one another to care about anything else.
“Fuuuuck!” I come so intensely that my vision blurs and my legs weaken beneath me, and it’s a good thing she’s got a tight grip on my ass, nails digging so deep there’s a chance blood will be spilled. Not that I care, because I don’t. I’ve quite literally lost my head to the still-writhing woman beneath me. My heart … well, I think that was lost to her a long time ago.
It’s just past six and we’re still in bed, a sticky, sweaty tangle of arms and legs. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve done the deed, but I do know that just when we’re coming off one round, I’m thinking about the next one. Pretty sure it’s the same for him, although we haven’t exactly talked about it. In fact, we’ve spoken very little since he propped me up on the dining table and introduced me to the magic butterfly. There has been a whole host of dirty talk, a little begging, and some demands that make me so wet I’m fairly certain I could come just from him standing there telling me what to do.
This is all so strange. I’m not a passive person, and while I’ve certainly gone all-in with him, I’m very happy to sit back and let him dictate our course. It’s hot as hell, as is he, with all those gorgeous rippling muscles and that long, thick cock. Oh my. If I’d known about that from the beginning, things might have been different.
No, that’s a lie. Big cock or not, neither of us were ready to go where we’ve gone today. And while I’m sure there will be truckloads of doubt from here on out for each of us, I do know that we both went into it with wide-open eyes.
“We should shower,” he murmurs into my neck, one large hand cupped around my breast, his thumb doing wicked things to my nipple. Again.
I nod, stroking my fingers through his disheveled hair. “A shower sounds good.”
Lifting me to my feet, he grasps my fingertips and leads me into the large, brightly lit bathroom. There’s nothing like a wall of mirrors and some well-placed canned lights to highlight every imperfection. I shrink away from my image, but he just stands there and looks me over like it’s the first time he’s seeing me, tearing his eyes away only long enough to get the water going.
Pulling me forward, he slides his hands over my ass and grins. “Sweet cheeks, you’re perfect, you know that.”
I roll my eyes and glance into the mirror, appreciating the view of his firm backside. “I doubt that.”
He frowns. “Shut up.” He kisses me hard and steps back to test the water. Finding it to his approval, he once more loops his fingers with mine, pulling me into the large space and back into his embrace.
The water flows over us from the rain shower above as he lowers his head and kisses me softly. I’m quickly growing to appreciate the range in which he kisses me: hard when he’s trying to make a point, lots of tongue when he’s trying to get me wet, soft and gentle when we’re coming down off the precipice. Like the man himself, his kisses display a wide variety of diversity, a depth which I never realized was there before. Marco is a passionate man, and not just about sex. He’s passionate in his beliefs, even if those beliefs are that I somehow wronged him by not coming clean about Vic. He’s passionate about his family and has proven time and time again how intense their connection and love is. At one time he was passionate about our friendship too. I am anxious to have that back, but I do wonder where we go from here.
I have no expectations. He told me he doesn’t do forever, and sadly I believe him. I do believe he has the capacity for it, however, just that he has to want it badly enough, which I doubt he does. As intense as our connection is, even that won’t sway a man who is dead set on living his life alone.
He squirts shampoo into his hand and sets about washing my hair, gently working the lather through my thick waves. Once he’s finished, he rinses it thoroughly, then takes a step back to assess his work. “You cut your hair.”
I nod. “I did. The stylist got a little heavy-handed though. Took off more than I wanted.”
His hands cup my face, and he moves closer once again. “I like it.” I can feel him hardening against me once again, and I must say I marvel at the man’s endurance. Makes me wonder how many more rounds he’s got in him. I sure can’t wait to find out.
Pulling away, I pour shampoo into my hands, and he eagerly bends down to assist. I never knew washing a man’s hair could be so sensual, but if the tingling between my thighs is any indication, I’m more than willing to repeat this. Frequently.
From there I move onto the body wash, squirting some in each of our hands and chuckling when our fingers trip over one another. I wash his arms, and he gives my breasts a thorough cleaning. I wash his back, and he makes sure I’m spotless down below. Then I grasp his hard cock in my hand, slip and slide over his length, giving him the hand job he jokingly asked for so long ago.
With a growl, he shoves my hands aside, rinses us both off, then lifts me off my feet and slams me against the tile wall, ramming in so deep I gasp out loud. Then he’s moving, fucking me hard with his face buried between my tits, causing me to orgasm so quickly I’m caught off guard. While I tremble in his arms and beg for more, he slows the pace just enough to let me catch my breath before taking one nipple between his teeth and resuming his fast, frenzied pace.
He lifts his head, blue-green eyes dark with need, and holds my gaze while he pummels me again and again. Never once does he look away, and when my eyes close briefly, he growls a demand for me to open them, which I do all too willingly. We remain just like that, even when I fly into orgasm number two and even when he groans his release against my lips. And then we’re sliding, falling, drifting to the floor, while the warm water washes over our breathless bodies.
We leave the confines of the shower only when the water starts to cool. He helps me to my feet, wraps me up in a thick beige towel, and gently dries my entire body. I do the same for him then squeeze the water from my hair and finger curl it so it can dry. Once more he takes my hand, leading me back to the now destroyed bed, pillows and blankets all pushed onto the floor and the fitted sheet undone in one corner.
Easing me down and reaching for a pillow to slide under my wet head, he stands upright and smirks. “Jesus, you’re something else, you know that?”
I trail my eyes over his body. “So are you, Mr. Moran.”
The look on his face hints at further discussion, but the quick slide of fear that passes through his eyes says otherwise. I wish I felt confident enough in us to tell him that I understand what he’s feeling, that while being together is quite possibly the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me, it’s also the most terrifying. It’s more than sex, whether he wants to admit it or not. And that’s the scary part. It simply can’t be.
“I’ll go see what I can find for dinner.” He moves toward the door, the tight muscles of his mouthwatering ass causing my breath to catch.
Sitting upright, I scurry to my feet. “Marco, wait a minute.”
When he turns to face me, I see that fear cross his face once again, like he believes I’m all of a sudden going to start ushering demands about the two of us. “What is it?”
Stepping up in front of him, I place one hand on his firm chest and say softly, “I can go.”
He frowns. “You don’t have to go.”
Tilting my head to the side, I reply, “Staying might make things difficult.”
His brows rise. “Babe, we crossed that line the moment I took you on the kitchen table.”
I feel heat in my cheeks, which is stupid considering we’re standing here nake
d, having this discussion after spending the better part of the day screwing. “Yeah, I know. But if I leave now, it will be more like a one-night stand thing. If I stay … well, it won’t.”
Pulling me into his arms, he tips my face up until we’re looking directly at one another. “Do you think this is a one night stand?”
I shrug and reply honestly. “I hope not.”
Leaning down, he whispers, “It’s not” against my lips then kisses me hard before pulling away and slapping my ass with his large palm. “Mexican or Chinese. Name your poison.”
Thrusting out one hip, I give him a sultry look and drawl, “I prefer my men Spanish.” My eyes roll up and down his body. “And naked.”
He chuckles. “Food, sweet cheeks. I need food if you expect me to entertain you all night.”
A slow grin slides over my face. “All night you say? I like the sound of that.”
He smacks me again, reddening the other butt cheek. “Behave dirty girl.” Moving out into the hall, he hollers, “I’m ordering pizza.”
By the time we’re seated on the balcony, stuffing our faces with an extra-large pepperoni and sausage, I’m fuzzy-headed with the knowledge that what we’ve done together could effectively cause me to lose him for good. Fear sits heavily on my chest, as does the realization that whether we admit it or not, we’re more than friends. I know we both said we don’t do forever, but my heart is sure saying otherwise.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His bare feet are propped up on the railing, same pair of shorts covering the goods. He’s left his chest bare and that beautiful head of silky black hair is completely disheveled due to my fingers, thank you very much. He’s gorgeous, mouthwatering, and just cocky enough to turn to me and smirk like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.