Love Unbound: A Valentine's Day Romance Anthology

by Dee, Cassandra

  “See something you like?” I winked flirtatiously, wiggling my booty up and down.

  And the big man just growled, squeezing gel into the palm of his hand. Without any hesitation, he positioned me so that I faced away from him, helping me lift one knee so that my foot was braced on the seat, pussy open, ass pressed against his front.

  And his finger probed me then, pushing inside just a little.

  “Little girl,” he whispered in my ear even as the water pounded, hot liquid dripping on my most sensitive spot. “You’re going to feel me everywhere. And everywhere I touch, you’re going to love.”

  I sighed, shivering, bending over further. Unconsciously my hands crept backwards until I was pulling my cheeks apart, exposing everything for him as his finger wandered, tracing my curves, dragging over my clit, feeling up my hole.

  “Tristan, now,” I whispered. “Do me now.”

  And the big man didn’t hesitate. Licking his palm, he took his dick in his hand and ran it slowly into my vag, burying the hot rod in my depths.

  “It’s just to get my dick wet,” he explained, eyes alive as he fucked into my pussy, stroking in and out smoothly. “Getting Daddy’s dick wet is important before I take your back end.” And sure enough, in the next instant he’d pulled out and was probing at my anus, exploring the pucker.

  “Oh!” I squealed, my body shivering uncontrollably. “Oh oh!” I gasped again as he pressed his hips forward. My anus was unbearably tight, I’d never even played with toys back there before so it was going to be a snug fit for sure. But Mr. Marks was merciless. He kept up the pressure, pressing insistently against my rump until with a pop, my sphincter gave it up and he was in a few inches. I moaned, head dropping as I felt that fuckpole inch its way up my behind, hard, stiff, relentless

  “Oh god, oh god,” I moaned, holding perfectly still as his dick probed upwards. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, fuck me good.”

  And the big man just grunted, grabbing my hips firmly, filling his hands with luscious flesh, soft, squeezy and thick.

  “Daddy’s taken your pussy cherry and now he’s taking your ass,” he ground out. “Get ready baby girl, get ready.” And he began swinging his hips forward and back, running that huge rod into me until he bottomed out, balls pressing against my cunt, sacs banging against my clit again and again with each thrust.

  “Oh oh oh!” I screamed, bent over as the pole of fire reamed into my GI tract. “Oh oh oh!”

  But Tristan was only getting started.

  “Baby,” he said breathlessly. “I’m gonna put it in your cunt again.” And without missing a beat, he pulled out and slid that big dick into my pussy, the walls clamping around him, squeezing him, holding him tight. And Tristan continued the pattern, doing a few strokes in my cunt before moving up a couple inches and swinging once more into my ass. He alternated between the two holes, using my body, caressing me with his fuckpole, forcing me to take it until I was begging him, screaming with desire.

  “Mr. Marks!” I shrieked. “I’m going to cuuumm!” And the wail echoed off the walls of the en suite, loud enough to wake everyone in the hotel but did I give a fuck? Fuck no, because it was drowned out by Tristan’s roar, his low, guttural “SHIIIT!” as he spurted deep into my ass, the jism so hot, so copious that it ran out between us, trailing down my thigh, smearing against his pelvis.

  And after it was over, after our breathing calmed, the water still pounding hot on our bodies, I sighed languorously. It felt so good, both my holes filled by this man, violated so deliciously, so unbelievably overstuffed. I gasped limply, trying to catch my breath. I could hardly believe what had happened, my ass and pussy cherries taken in one go.

  But it was totally real as his big hand stroked over my back, smoothing those ivory curves, soothing me before swatting my rump playfully, the smack loud in the bathroom.

  And with a sweet smile, I turned to look at him over my shoulder, wet hair plastered to my back.

  “That was amazing,” I murmured coyly, reaching behind to pull my ass cheek up. Tristan moaned as he watched, eyes glued to my behind as bubbly semen trickled out my anus, pooling around his dick, mixing with the mess smeared on my vagina. I swiped my finger through the jizz and brought it up to my mouth, tasting the mixture before licking at it lasciviously.

  “Mmm,” I moaned with a sweet smile. “You’ve been eating right Tristan. Must have been the McDonald’s.”

  And the big man’s eyes gleamed wickedly, the blue going to a shade of black. Oh yeah. I was going to get it hard, fast, and rough, loving every damn second of this man’s touch.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tristan

  When I told her that she was going to feel me everywhere, it was no understatement. Daisy literally felt my touch on her breasts, her nipples, in her mouth, trailing down her back, down her hips, up into her pussy and finally, into that little back hole. It’s not that I meant to de-virginize her both ways, things just got out of hand. The brunette was so good, so tight and so willing that when she offered her ass, who was I to say no? I took it like a hungry man at his last meal.

  And as the grey light of morning drifted through the curtains of the hotel room, I cuddled the little girl closer to my chest. After the shower sex, I’d felt curiously compelled to stay, drying that beautiful body, patting those curves with a bath towel, getting Daisy wet and wanting again.

  “Please,” she begged, boobies jouncing, hips wiggling, and before I knew it, we were on her bed again, kissing ravenously, that curvy form warm and soft to my touch.

  And Daisy was gorgeous now in the first light of dawn. The brunette had swung her leg over mine proprietarily, like I belonged to her, and her ankle was hooked around mine, breasts flush up against my chest. Oh god, her breasts. I had a momentary flashback to last night, the woman riding me on top, bending over to kiss me as my dick went deep, those boobs smashed against my chest as I fucked my hips up, spurting my jism into that tiny body, hot and virile.

  Because the memory made me jerk because that was the other thing. We hadn’t used protection. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, it’s not like I’m a saint, I fuck women when the need arises. But I always, and I mean always, use protection. Fuck no, I don’t believe females when they say they’re on the pill, IUD or whatever, the rubber’s coming on, sometimes double for extra safety. But last night? I didn’t use a condom when I shot into her pussy much less when I came in her ass, and fuck, that white was all over.

  Shit, shit, what the fuck was I thinking? The woman was eighteen, fertile and ripe, her ovaries could probably sense sperm from miles away. But I consoled myself as the brunette continued to sleep peacefully against my chest. There was always the morning after pill, you could get that shit over the counter and all we had to do was drop by the local pharmacy before heading to campus. Oh yeah, I’d made more than one trip to the pharmacy during my student days, and it was probably the same cranky, bitchy old lady behind the counter, saying nothing, her eyes speaking volumes as I ordered up Plan B again.

  So I was no stranger to this shitshow and it’d be no big deal to pick something up on our way to campus. Slowly, I trailed a finger down Daisy’s tummy. It was soft, fleshy, with a tiny bulge to grab, real mass to hold onto during sex and I loved it. What would it be like to see her grow large with a baby, ripen with my child? But I slapped down the thought immediately. What the fuck was wrong with me? I’d just fucked my ward, taken her vaginal and anal cherries, and here I was dreaming about a baby? There was something seriously, seriously wrong with me. I was a messed-up motherfucker, no doubt about it.

  So I hoisted my legs over the side of the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping girl. The brunette looked so peaceful, a small smile on her lips, her hair spread across the pillow in a chestnut mass. She was so … precious. So innocent still, even after everything I’d done to her last night, everything that I’d done with her, sailing the seas together, exploring the edges of desire, making her mine. And there was no turning back,
I could feel it in my bones, something would be forever different between Daisy and I, our liaison changed, with more depth, more feeling, more fervor.

  But now, a shower. I snuck back into my room and blasted the spray, letting the hot water pound onto my back. Get with it, I growled to myself. You’re showing Daisy around your alma mater today, keep it real.

  But the thing is I didn’t want to keep it real. I was already falling for the girl and deep down in my heart … it felt right.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Daisy

  I’d woken up to any empty bed, no sign of Tristan except for a dent in the pillow next to me. I let out a breath, disappointed. Had he regretted what we’d done? Was it over already? After all, he’d gotten the milk without buying the cow. My head spun, the air suddenly thin. I wanted to believe that it was real, that everything between my guardian and I was true, but words rang in my head, beating down my self-esteem.

  You’re just a little girl to him, the voice sneered. Now that you’ve given it up, he’s not interested.

  So I got dressed slowly, carefully, my fingers numb even as my mind ran in circles. As I stared into the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize the girl looking back. On the one hand, externally nothing had changed. My hair was still mousy brown, freckles still dusted my cheekbones and my mouth was the same pout, peachy and ripe. But internally, I was a woman re-born. I’d been inducted into a world of power, power to make a man cry, to make him come, to make him kneel before me, and it was a newfound glory, something I’d never experienced before. And so I glared at my reflection in the mirror, giving myself another mental shake. Are you ready for this Daisy? You think you can handle him? You think you can handle an older man, a man like Tristan Marks?

  But I shut down the voices momentarily. At the very least, I figured Tristan would be nice to me for the rest of our trip. Even if he ignored me once we got back to Jersey, he’d committed to another night here upstate. And I was good enough for that right? I hated the self-doubt, the not knowing, and resolutely flattened my mouth into a line. If only things weren’t so confusing, so dizzyingly unclear.

  But as soon as I strode into the living room, every shred of doubt evaporated. Because Tristan was there, smiling, and my heart flipped before I could stop it, before I could even fully process his presence. The man was ungodly handsome, black hair swept to the side, blue eyes gleaming, dressed in jeans and a button-down.

  “Tristan, I’ve never seen you look so … casual,” I said lightly, shooting a smile his way.

  And he merely laughed.

  “Daisy, I’ve never seen you look so … sore,” he shot back, making my cheeks flame, my entire body flush. Because it was true, I was practically limping from our lovemaking last night. My movements were stiff, hips twisted out of joint, the place between my legs more than a little achy. And he knew, he could tell, his eyes like x-rays straight to my little cunt with a knowing grin.

  “Well then you better carry me during the campus tour,” I sassed back, eyes sparkling. “I hear Hudson is huge, I can’t be traipsing up and down hills, walking ten miles to see your alma mater.”

  Tristan merely smirked.

  “I can do better than that, baby girl,” he shot back. “I’ll get you a motorized wheelchair, how about that? You want to be wheeled around, see the sights like an invalid? I’ll tell the Dean you’re flat on your back because of female matters,” he cracked.

  And I merely swatted him on a big arm, face flushing again. Because it was female matters alright, just not my period. But oh god, right, my period and the lack of protection during our escapade. We hadn’t used anything last night and I had to bring it up, make sure he knew how serious this was.

  “Tristan,” I began, “about female issues. I’m not on the pill, I don’t have an IUD or anything, and we didn’t use condoms last night. Or did you?” I asked confusedly. “Maybe I missed it?”

  The big man’s eyes grew sharp, his expression sobering.

  “No, I didn’t use anything last night,” he said softly, “We didn’t use anything and yes, I came in you more than a few times. It was my fault, I should have made sure because it was your first time after all. You’re new to this,” he rumbled, cursing softly under his breath.

  And I took a deep breath.

  “I just,” I began hurriedly. “I hope you understand but it’s just not the right time for me. I mean, I’m eighteen and about to set off for college, I can’t have a baby, it’d ruin everything for me, not now, not for years,” I added.

  Tristan was merely silent for a moment, quirking his head at me, eyes thoughtful.

  “You don’t think you’d be a good mom?” he said softly, eyes giving nothing away.

  And I shook my head.

  “It’s not that, it’s that I’m not ready,” I stressed. “I’m sure if it happened I’d figure it out, but this isn’t the right time. A baby is a ton of responsibility and Tristan, I don’t even pay my own bills. You pay my bills,” I said with a meaningful look.

  That made him throw his head back and laugh, showing off that handsome smile.

  “But if there were a baby, and this is a big if, I’d pay the bills for him or her too. You didn’t think you’d do it alone, did you? That I’d leave you to fend for yourself, throw you to the wolves?” he asked, eyebrow quirked.

  And I flushed again. I guess I’d always thought of teen pregnancy as a blight to be avoided, something that happened to other girls, blowing up their lives, leaving them barefoot and pregnant, living in trailers on the edge of town. But it sounded like Tristan was hardly the man to abandon a woman he’d knocked up, leave her scrambling for cash, benefits, struggling to get by.

  I took a deep breath.

  “I just don’t think it’s me,” I said softly, breathing out slowly. “At least not right now, I’m not ready, not after one night.”

  And the big man laughed again, a growl low and deep in his throat.

  “Of course not,” he rumbled, throwing an arm around my shoulders, hugging me tight to his side. “I get it, and for now,” he continued, “we’ll get you Plan B, you can take it this morning to make sure there are no accidents. We’ll pick it up at the campus pharmacy, I’m sure co-eds are popping that stuff all the time,” he said, playfully swatting my bottom. “But we gotta be quick. I told the Dean we’d be there at eleven and after the tour, I want to take you to my favorite lunch place on campus.”

  I smiled back at him, shy suddenly.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said softly. Who knew the big man would take care of business so quickly? It was just like him to take charge, to be totally confident and in control.

  So we finished breakfast and zoomed off in the Maserati, the air light and flirtatious, laughing and teasing, throwing barbs back and forth, trading quips with Tristan’s hand on my knee like it belonged there the whole time, comfortable and casual.

  “So how’d you get into the news business?” I asked curiously.

  The big man shot me a glance.

  “My story about Clark Kent working at the Daily Planet didn’t get you?” he asked quizzically, eyebrows raised. “What, you don’t think I started out as a cub reporter and climbed the ranks?”

  I laughed then.

  “No, I believe that. What I don’t get is why you have so many tattoos. It’s hardly newsroom-appropriate, those guys usually wear button downs and khakis. Well, at least in the movies they do,” I amended, thinking about Spotlight, a movie which detailed the Boston Globe’s investigation of Catholic priests gone bad.

  But Tristan was far away mentally, and he thought carefully before answering.

  “Yeah, but my tattoos were always covered,” he said slowly. “There was nothing I couldn’t hide with a short-sleeve shirt and the khakis you keep mentioning.”

  I pulled my mouth into a droll smile, eager to change the sober tune.

  “No worries,” I said wickedly. “Dockers are for dads anyways,” I smirked.

  And the hand on my knee sudd
enly squeezed, this time hard.

  “Ouch!” I squirmed in the passenger seat. “Ouch ouch ouch!” I gasped, before swatting his fist away. The pain was slight, the heat from his big hand arousing, and the minute he moved off, I regretted it. Who knew I’d feel so warm, so possessed and possessive, just from his hand resting casually on my leg?

  But Tristan was determined to avoid the subject, or at least slide around it without my noticing.

  “Tattoos are something I’ve always liked,” he remarked casually, “Part of being an artist. I always saw myself as an artist when I was a reporter, you know? My words were my art, crafting them into sentences, making readers visualize the story I wanted to tell.”

  I hummed thoughtfully.

  “But Tristan you’re the head of an international conglomerate now. Do you still see yourself as an artist? Or is that long gone?” I asked, cocking my head at him. The big man was the opposite of my preconceived notions of what an artist would be like. He was dark and dangerous, always dressed to the nines in a suit, commanding billions, boss of thousands of employees, if not hundreds of thousands.

  And Tristan just shook his head ruefully.

  “I’m not an artist anymore, although I miss it sometimes,” he growled. “Back then, there were entire weeks when I ate ramen, scrambling to meet deadlines, that shit sucked for sure. But now all I do is go to meetings,” he snorted. “Sure, peoples’ lives, their careers are decided during those meetings, but yeah, I miss it sometimes,” he said a little wistfully, blue eyes shaded for a moment. “I miss being in the thick of things, affecting the way a story develops, crafting a narrative. And you know what? Sometimes I wish I could go back. Maybe that’s why I like you, baby,” he said lightly. “You remind me of my youth, with your desires, your dreams, your determination to change the world. Maybe it helps me reclaim a little slice of myself, of who I used to be.”