Iron Soldier

by Katie Ford

  Oh my God!

  The first time he touches me in four years, and it’s his mouth clamped onto my pussy that’s already soaked for him. But any objections I have swim away with the wild desire flooding through me.

  My fingers reach for his head and slide over his low cut hair, unable to find anything to hold on to. My head falls back against the door with a dull thud. An aggressive tongue pushes against my clit, licking me through the cloth. His mouth opens wide on me, sucking me hard. Pleasure lashes through my body, and my cunt gushes in arousal.

  Oh my God! It feels like I’m melting from the inside out. Dripping. Soaked. Washed away in my lust for him.

  Oh. Oh. Oh!

  My thighs fall open wider. My body feels heavy and light at once, completely discombobulated by the only man I’ve ever loved.

  “Brent! Oh God!”

  My gasps and sighs, the wet sound of his mouth on my pussy, and his groans and grunts fill the air. He’s down on his knees, completely focused on my cunt, not looking up at me at all. If it weren’t for his frantic sounds of pleasure and the muffled sound of my name, I’d think he could be sucking off just any random girl. He won’t look at me.

  “Fuck, your pussy is good.” Strong hands drag off my panties, his nails scraping down my thighs and legs the whole way. The pressure of his fingers is firm against my skin. It’s hard, it’s ruthless, and—even though I didn’t know it before now—it’s just what I need. Lust and pleasure fizz in my veins. My pussy tingles and gushes, already so close to coming. Oh God, it’s been so long!

  Oh! His tongue slides deep into me, and his nose nudges my clit over and over again. Oh my God! That’s it, that’s it! Oh!

  “Brent!” I scream his name as the orgasm rushes over me—my first with another person, with him, in four years. My body flushes fire hot, sweat pouring down my back and into the crack of my ass. Cream drips from my pussy and drizzles all over his tongue.

  Cursing, Brent gets to his feet. He fumbles with the button of his jeans and then the zipper. “Turn around!”

  Orgasm drunk, I stumble on my high heels. I’m over-heated, over-stimulated, and I guess I don’t move fast enough because Brent grabs me and pushes me into the door. My cheek presses against the wood a second before I feel his hands shoving up my dress and his thick length nudging against my opening and then—Oh my God!!!—working to get inside of me.

  It pinches. It’s been so long that I almost can’t take him. Wet as my cunt is, aroused as I am, it resists at first, and then. God! Inside… Deep. Big. So big. The length of him is like a hot iron inside of me.

  But soon, my body gets used to his thick girth, and the pain fades away.

  “Your pussy is so damn tight,” Brent groans into the back of my neck. “So perfect.”

  He pulls back, his trembling hands hard on my thick hips, then he shoves deeply back into me. I’m so wet, so stuffed full. All I can do is gasp and brace myself against the door while he slams into my soaked pussy, grunting his pleasure. I lift up and shove my ass back, meeting him thrust for thrust. Sparks of incredible pleasure fire through my body as Brent’s big dick knocks hard at that place inside of me that makes me want more, more, and more!

  It’s been so long. I don’t want this to ever end. I sob his name.

  I’m panting and sweating and begging him to stay inside me. To take me hard. “Fuck me, Brent! Please, fuck me harder!”

  God, does he ever…

  “Your pussy is so good.” Slam! “Your ass is fucking big and juicy!” Slam! Slam! “I could fuck you all night.” Slam! Slam! Slam!

  He’s so deep inside me. His thick meat stirs up my shocked gasps and the beginnings of another orgasm.

  Brent’s shouts and my screams fill the apartment. Sounds of passion and lust. Sounds I haven’t heard in more than four years. But this is better. Hotter. Sexier. Even better than when we were first together. His dick knows just what to do, just where to reach. He grabs me, yanking my ass up higher and aiming perfectly for that spot every time.

  “Oh God, oh God!”

  The orgasm drags a long scream out of my throat. Everything in me gushes out. Tears rush from my eyes. My juices trickle from my pussy. Sweat runs down every inch of me. It’s too much, yet not enough. Our bodies slam frantically against the door, a knock-knock-knocking I can only answer with the sound of my delirious screams. Behind me, Brent’s movements speed up, growing more erratic. He shouts. Puffs of hot breath bathe my neck. Hot wetness spills deep into my pussy, and I feel him all the way in my throat, in my heart.

  “Ah...” One last, soft scream leaks from me, and I begin to slide down the door, suddenly exhausted.

  From behind, Brent grabs me and pulls me harder against him. His dick is still buried inside me. I feel it pulsing, still ejaculating into me.

  “I’ve got you.” Slowly, he pulls out of me.

  The feeling is new and familiar at the same time, the thick length of his meat dragging out of my snatch. Sperm leaks from me as he withdraws. Somehow, he pulls me with him down a long hallway. I stumble along behind him into a shadowed bedroom. The bed is massive. It feels firm and welcoming under my back.

  My head swims. My thighs and pussy are soaked with our fluids. My heart beats fast and frantic.

  I just had sex with Brent. My Brent.

  Lying on the bed in my sweat-soaked dress, I stare up at him. Brent. My love. I will him to remember me, to say he loves me. But he only watches me, his blue eyes blazing even in the dark. It’s the look of a stranger.

  My stomach dives. My heart lurches. The pain is nearly unbearable.

  Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging me. But I don’t look away.

  Brent stands above me. His spent cock wet and still fat, hanging out of his jeans. Confusion wrinkles his forehead. He’s looking at me like he doesn’t quite know what to do with me. Then he drops to his knees and pulls my shoes off, then my dress. His big hands are surprisingly tender on my body, and for a moment, I allow myself to hope.

  Maybe he remembers me after all.

  “I don’t usually have strangers stay over,” he confesses, shattering my heart into a thousand pieces.

  Nausea climbs rapidly up my throat, but I swallow it along with the tears following closely after.

  I feel raw. I feel stupid.

  Then I feel Brent climbing into the bed next to me. He’s naked, and his cock is damp against my ass when he presses close. “Go to sleep,” he orders.

  So I do.

  Chapter 7

  Brent

  The deep ache in the muscles of my back and thighs is familiar and satisfying as fuck, like I put in some good work into making my lover of the evening come hard. And of course, I got something out of it too. I roll over with a groan, and my morning wood slaps my stomach, already rock hard and dripping. I bump into a soft, warm body. The woman I fucked last night. She shifts on the bed next to me, snoring softly in a way I don’t want to find cute at all.

  Cute? What the hell?

  My eyes fly open.

  It is the woman from last night. Claire. No last name given.

  Spread out naked on my bed, though, she doesn’t need any kind of last name. Maybe “Gorgeous.” Damn. She’s soft and curvy, just the way I like my women. Thick brown curls halo her face and spill around her head onto my pillow. Dark hair on dark blue sheets. Her pink lips are slightly parted with her soft snores.

  My eyes drift down, taking in the big and juicy tits, the soft belly, and the manicured landing strip on her pussy that’s tangled with my juices and hers. Yeah, she’s the hottest woman I’ve seen in a long time, maybe ever, but what the hell is she still doing here?

  This thought rolls through my mind the same time my mouth waters to just open up her thighs and feed on her cunt until she comes all over my face. Again. Last night, her plump nether lips were slick and hot under my tongue, in my mouth, dripping wet.

  God, it would be so damn good to have that again, right the fuck now.

  Wait.


  Nope.

  Absolutely not.

  Growling under my breath, I kick the thin sheets off of me and sit up. I look around. Claire’s clothes are neatly folded on the chair, and I vaguely remember taking the dress off of her, along with the high-heeled shoes, and putting them neatly to the side. Shit, like I was actually making room for her here in my room, in my bed, and in my life.

  No way.

  I don’t even have the excuse of being drunk.

  She shouldn’t still be here.

  My feet hit the floor, and I start looking around for my own clothes.

  All the noise I’m making ends up waking her up. Her soft body stirs and rolls over. Dark brown eyes open, and the long spill of curly hair falls around plump and soft shoulders as she sits up in the bed. For a second, I swear her eyes light up like the fucking 4th of July, so glad to see me. My chest tightens. I’m not sure if it’s because of fear or happiness that someone would look at me like this, ever. Then reality slaps me in the face, and I guess it slaps her too. Her face goes all horrified, then blank.

  Yeah, she must have expected to wake up in a different bed. Maybe the bed of the guy she actually wanted to be with. But whatever. I can almost relate.

  “Morning,” she mumbles and climbs out of the bed on the opposite side from me. Her thick and juicy boobs bounce with her movements, but she keeps her arms over them, covering them from my gaze.

  What the hell? After everything we did last night?

  Shit. Last night was incredible. Most one night stands were forgettable the second my jizz got cold, but not with this girl. I swear, I even dreamed about her last night. But whatever, I don’t have time to deal with that. It must be the leftover endorphins from the best sex I’ve had in a long time. That kind of sex is not easy to find. No point in sitting here and mooning over the meaning of busting a good nut when there was just no explanation.

  Mumbling in response to her low and awkward “good morning,” I leave the bed to root through the laundry for something to wear for the few minutes it should take me to kick her out of my apartment. Soft and faded jeans. A plain white T-shirt. When I turn around, she has the dress on from last night. It should look trashy on her, a gold dress for the walk of shame. But instead, sunlight spills across my bedroom and falls over her beautiful shape like a benediction. She looks radiant. Angelic.

  A grunt of denial rises up in my throat. No, this girl is just a one-night fuck. There’s nothing special about her. Nothing.

  “I don’t have much to eat here,” I tell her, heading for the kitchen and expecting her to follow me. “So if you want something to eat, you’re better off heading to the McDonald’s down to the road or something.”

  “Are you serious right now?” She stares at me like she can’t believe I’m not laying out a full continental breakfast just for her. Or is it because of something else?

  I shrug. “It’s just me here most of the time. I barely cook for myself, much less...” I gesture vaguely, hoping she gets that I don’t cook for my one night “guests,” and I’m sure as hell not going to cook for her.

  Last night at the bar, despite the flirtatious yet nervous way she’d carried herself at the table, a strange anger had simmered in her big brown eyes. It had quickly gone away, but as I watch her now, it comes back. Her back goes all stiff, and she looks pissed as hell to be walking around my kitchen. She looks in the fridge and in the cupboards, examining everything like she’s looking for clues. To what, I have no idea.

  “You want some coffee?” I reluctantly make the offer. This girl doesn’t need anything to make her any more high strung, though.

  She crosses her arms over her chest and looks around the kitchen again. “No. I... No. I’m just gonna use the bathroom and go.” The look she tosses me then is loaded.

  What? Does she want me to ask her to stay? Never gonna happen.

  “Okay,” I say with a shrug and fiddle with the coffee pot. The sludge at the bottom is nearly two days old and needs to be tossed out ASAP. I grab it and take it to the sink.

  When I look up, Claire is gone. Seconds later, I hear the bathroom door slam.

  What’s up with her? We had a good time, right? We both came, and she was practically singing praises to my dick last night when I let her have it.

  Hm. But her pussy was so good, though. Glad I got the chance to get on my knees and taste it. My tongue wets my lips, and I fall into memories of her from last night. The slick heat of her pussy under my tongue. Its humid tightness gripping my dick. Damn, she was a good fuck.

  A bolt of arousal zings down my spine, and my cock starts to chub up.

  Nope.

  With a savage twist, I turn on the water in the sink and start washing the coffee pot.

  By the time Claire comes out of the bathroom with her purse over her shoulder, her shoes on, and her phone in hand, the coffee is on. The earthy smell of the roasted Jamaican coffee beans fills the kitchen, an instant wake-the-fuck-up.

  “Coffee is on,” I say unnecessarily. “You want a cup?”

  “No. My Uber is on the way.” Her gaze darts around my living room and kitchen. “Uh, thanks.”

  “Sure…”

  She doesn’t look like she wants to thank me for a damn thing, though. More like she wants to kick me in the nuts. Or suck them.

  She presses a button on her phone, and the screen lights up. “It’s seven minutes away.”

  “Okay.” Even though she said she didn’t want any, I bring out two cups anyway and pour coffee in both. I take mine black with no sugar, but for some reason, I put a couple of teaspoons of sugar in hers, but no creamer. I slide hers on the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room. She frowns at it but doesn’t take it.

  The phone screen lights up as she checks it again. Apparently, the Uber isn’t close enough because she doesn’t make a move toward the door.

  “So...um. How long have you lived here?” she asks.

  The question sounds like an interrogation instead of real curiosity. But whatever, I don’t have anything to hide.

  “Not too long.” I take a sip of my hot coffee, watching her through the steam drifting up from the mug. “A couple of years now.”

  I’ve been thinking of moving someplace different, but so far, I’ve had no real ideas on where exactly. A restlessness rides me hard, but it has no outlet, no clear thought of what it wants me to do. All I know is that I want something else. Something better than this limbo I find myself in right now.

  Claire makes a soft noise. “The whole time I’ve been here? Wow,” she says, or at least I think that’s what she says. A sadness drifts like a cloud over her face. She tugs on a curl of hair hanging down over her ear.

  For some reason, the sight of that unhappiness makes me a little sad too. Before I can stop myself, I’m walking toward her. “You okay?”

  Her eyes widen, and a look like hope replaces that sadness. I stop. Her face falls.

  “I... I’m fine.” A thousand emotions leap-frog across her face, and even I can see that she’s far from “fine.” But she’s a stranger, so I don’t ask her again. Blinking rapidly, Claire grips her phone and jerks it to her face. “My ride is here. I have to go. Thanks for... whatever.” Then, before I can even tell her to have a nice life, she practically runs out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

  All I can do is stand there and shake my head. Women–they’re crazy! Who does this chick think she is, anyways?

  Chapter 8

  Claire

  I’m on my way home now. Everything is not cool, but I’m alive.

  The “text sent” chime sounds, and I put my phone back in my purse. In the driver’s seat, the Uber driver is thankfully quiet. Only the sound of an oldies song, some rock and roll thing from the 90’s, plays in the car to break up the silence.

  Last night was the best, and the worst, night of my life.

  Once I’d realized that yes, I was going to get to be with Brent like that again, everything above my shoulders
had stopped working. We’d always been wonderful together in bed. The things he made me feel, the things he made me do. Always mind blowing.

  A blush runs rampant over my cheeks and down my throat, the heat filling my body from just the thought of what we used to get into when we were kids. But last night was nothing like that.

  It was better. Explosive. Beautiful.

  My body had blazed bright with lust and hunger every place he touched me. Even while the ecstasy was shaking me like a leaf caught in a storm, I couldn’t believe it. This man, who I know is my Brent, touched me like a stranger, and I couldn’t get enough. He’d made me come, twice, injecting life back into me after four years of me just existing.

  He wanted me. But he didn’t know me.

  I can’t understand it. How could the man I’d given everything to just forget all about me?

  Agony tears through my chest. I gasp and sag against the car door, sick with humiliation and grief.

  “Here we are, miss.” The Uber comes to a halt in front of my house.

  Blinking, I look around, not immediately realizing where I am. Right. My house. “Thank you.” I make sure I have my phone on me when I get out of the car.

  “Damn, you took forever to get here!” Mandy hugs me as soon as I get in the house. “Are you okay?”

  And because she’s like a sister to me, someone I could never lie to, I collapse in her arms, sobbing. “He doesn’t know me!” I cry. “How come he doesn’t know who I am?”

  “I don’t know, sweetie.” Mandy rubs my back and pulls me to the couch where she already has hot tea waiting for me in an insulated mug. The comforting scents of honey, lemon, and ginger curl around my nose when she takes off the cover.

  “Here, drink this.” She pushes the mug into my hands once I stop crying. Tears still drip down my face, but I bite back the sobs until they’re nothing but little whimpers.

  Ugh, I’m so pathetic right now.