Thresh: Alpha One Security: Book 2

by Jasinda Wilder

  And all those scars? I wanted to lick each one, kiss each one, and discover the story behind each one. He’d been shot so many times, stabbed, cut, and burned, along with other scars whose causes were less obvious.

  I carved my hands over his body, running them up the hard planes and ridges of his grooved abdomen, cupping his sides, and then skating up his pecs, circling the flat disks of his nipples, moving across his shoulders. Just touching him. Watching his face as I did so, watching his expression shift, eyes narrow, jaw tighten.

  Oh, and that bulge. No way I’d forgotten about that.

  I was just…working up the courage to do something about it.

  Once upon a time, I’d been…voracious. Courageous. Fearless.

  And then—

  NOPENOPENOPE.

  Shut that shit down, ASAP.

  I pushed away those whirling thoughts, and cursed again my inability to shut down my thoughts like guys seemed to be able to. I wanted to just shut them down and enjoy Thresh’s body, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t forget, couldn’t totally block it all out.

  All I could do was push through it.

  Who had I once been? I let myself feel it, remember it.

  I’d been young, sheltered, and horny. When I finally got out on my own, I’d gone a little wild, but I’d always preserved my sexuality, kept it under wraps, kept it private. Drink, party, do stupid shit with my friends, sure. Get a little wasted at a kegger and maybe dance on a table, or flash some frat boys? Sure. What’s the harm in that? Typical college girl shenanigans. But I’d felt it, though, the desire, the hunger, the raging hormones. The NEED. So much of it, so fierce, so hot, so primal and wild. But I’d kept it back, kept it private, kept it shut down. Tamped and bridled.

  Until I met—

  NOPE. Still couldn’t go there.

  Back to Thresh. Touch him. Feel him. He was real. He was strong, and he was safe. He’d kept me safe. I knew he’d never do anything to hurt me. The opposite was true: he’d do anything to keep me safe. I felt that truth in my bones.

  Try it again.

  I’d been young, wild, and horny.

  I met someone I wanted so much I’d let my guard down, let him in, let him bring all that up and out of me, and I’d discovered an insatiable animal waiting inside me, lurking deep down—and when it finally got free? I was voracious. Unstoppable. Nothing could satisfy me. There was never enough. He couldn’t keep up, truth be told.

  Then I’d been betrayed and had lost it all. Buried it all back down so deep I’d been sure it would never surface again.

  That was as close as I could get and stay in control of my emotions.

  Thresh was watching me, and seemed to know I was working through things, and was patiently allowing me to do what I needed.

  Damn the man, and how he always seemed to know exactly what I needed.

  Because right now? Inexplicably, something about Thresh was bringing that insatiable, voracious, hormone-saturated wild animal out of me again. I was remembering her, finding her again.

  And man, oh man…did she feel good. Powerful. Primal. Possessive. Full of need and hunger and desire and all those emotions I’d thought I’d lost…I was getting them back, and in spades…Thresh was giving them to me.

  I ran my hands over his body, letting myself roam the broad expanse of his rugged male beauty. I traced each muscle, each scar. The bullet holes low on his right side, two of them side by side; those had to have barely missed vitals. A six-inch-long knife-slice wound going from left nipple diagonally down to his ribs on the right side, a thick ropy knot of scarred flesh. I was a sucker for a six-pack, and good goddamn, did Thresh have that. They weren’t the kind of razor-sharp abs you see on the lean, rangy sort of dudes; Thresh’s six-pack was the huge, heavy slabs of iron-hard muscle that was more like armor plating than human flesh.

  God, I couldn’t help myself, then. I leaned over him, and pressed my lips to his chest. Right in the center, between his pecs. My palms scoured his abs, roamed down closer to the waist of his jeans. I felt his abs tighten, and I knew he wanted more, wanted me to unbutton him, unzip him, take him out. And god, I wanted that.

  I let that feeling percolate:

  Desire.

  I tried to remember how much I’d loved my sexuality, once it had been unleashed; I wanted that part of myself back.

  Once I’d had a taste of Thresh’s flesh, I needed more. I kissed across his chest, climbing closer to lave my mouth up his throat, under his chin, across his jaw, letting my hands roam further and further south along his abs, around his waist, back to his abs, up his chest, and back to his abs. God, they were so hard, so thick, so perfect.

  Finally, I felt ready.

  I let myself look at the bulge.

  It was mountainous. Straining.

  I cupped my hand over it again, feeling the straining power behind the denim. Rubbed a little, just to test it out, and felt Thresh shift under me.

  I glanced up at him; his eyes were heavy-lidded, his jaw tensed, his breath coming in deep drafting gusts, his fist clenched behind his head.

  A moment, then, with my eyes locked on his as I finally caught hold of the button snap of his jeans. Popped it open. He sucked in a breath, held it, and let it out slowly, watching me closely.

  I had to break away from his gaze, then, because it was so intense, so intent. And also, because I desperately wanted to see what I was unleashing.

  I pinched the tab of his zipper between finger and thumb and drew it down. Black stretchy cotton/rayon blend bulged out between the edges of the zipper, a thick fat rod bending against the fabric. Oh Jesus. His penis was curled sideways, pressing against the elastic waistband, and now that the jeans were opened, it was starting to straighten, the outline clearly visible. In a few seconds it would be peeking up over the top of his underwear, regardless of what I did next.

  Which was to tease myself, and him.

  I cupped the ridge, followed the curve, stroked up and down the curled length of him a few times, which made him harden, made the unfurling monster straighten all the faster.

  I glanced up at him, biting my lower lip, then tugged at his jeans with both hands. He lifted his ass up, and I tugged the jeans down past his butt, to his knees. By the time I returned my attention upward, a bit of pink was showing over the top of his tight black boxer briefs.

  No more wasting time. I wanted to feel flesh in my hand.

  I wanted to feel Thresh in my hand.

  I curled my fingers in the waistband of his underwear, an inch on either side of his now straight and still-burgeoning erection, glanced up at him, and then pulled down. He lifted up, let me pull the underwear away and down past his erection, past his knees.

  And then, oh….fuckfuckfuckfuck—he was bared for me.

  And I went literally faint-headed at the sight of him.

  Fucking twelve inches long and nearly as thick as my wrist, or I was a size-zero white girl.

  “Jesus Christ, Thresh.” I glanced up at him, dizzy, shocked, and now…feeling decidedly ravenous.

  He smirked. “No part of me is small, babe.”

  “No shit.”

  It was wreathed at the base by a neat crown of blond hair trimmed tight against his skin. Balls the size of plums, heavy. And the cock itself—oh god. I spent a few moments just staring at it. Straight as an arrow, standing up against his belly, a little paler than the rest of his sun-golden skin. Fat, plump, broad head, circumcised. Those veins, standing out dark against his pale skin.

  I glanced up at him again, nervous all over again. It was just…so—much—cock. I wasn’t sure what to do with it all.

  “I’m not moving a muscle, Lola,” he said, his voice tight with restraint. “I promised. This is all you. Say the word, and I’ll be dressed and we can go on our way.”

  “No!” I protested. “I just…it’s been a long time, and…” I looked down at his enormous, straining erection, “—you know what? Fuck it.”

  I reached over, wrapped my hand a
round his cock; he sucked in a breath, and I felt his abs tense again. “Okay?” I asked, darting a glance up at him.

  “Lola. You’ve got your hand on my cock, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m asking.”

  “I’m better than okay.”

  “You seem tense, is all.” I added my other hand, and there was still more of him peeking out above my fist and below.

  “I’ve had a hard-on for you since the moment I walked into that hospital, Doc.” His voice was a deep bass rumble, thick with need and lust. “And I haven’t exactly had time to do anything about it, if you know what I mean.”

  I slid both fists up, and then back down, slowly, gingerly, hesitantly, and dear sweet heaven, he felt so good in my hands. So good. Back, before…I used to love this, the feel of a cock in my hands. The power of it, as any woman will tell you, is knowing you can make him lose control, make him feel so good just with your hands, or your mouth—and I loved using both. Yeah, there was that. But I also just…I loved the cock itself. It was a beautiful organ, when erect. Soft, yet hard. Warm, and smooth. Erotica books liked the phrase “silk on steel”, which was cliché and cheesy and stupid, but so apt.

  I got accused of teasing more than once simply because I would take my time, just playing, toying, feeling, enjoying. Playing with his cock just for my own enjoyment. Which, apparently, wasn’t cool. I wasn’t in a rush to get the guy I was with to orgasm, I just liked feeling him in my hands, touching him, stroking him. And yeah, I’d taste him too. Kisses, and licks, and maybe some sucking, but again, that was usually not for him, but for me.

  And that’s what I found myself doing with Thresh, just touching him, toying with him. Stroking his length with one hand, then the other, then both. Not really pumping or jerking or caressing with any rhythm, just…touching. Memorizing the feel of his monster cock in my hands, the veins rubbing against my palm, the head squeezed in my fist, his huge balls in my hands, toying with them ever so gently, carefully.

  I lost track of time, lost myself in the sheer pleasure of just feeling this again, of finding enjoyment in the physical. I’d lived in my head for so long, lived just for work, keeping everything else at bay that now, reveling in physical sensation, and finding pleasure in something I’d lost…

  I didn’t ever want it to stop.

  “Fuck, Lola. You’re making me crazy.” He growled this, his voice rough, low, taut.

  I looked up at him, and he was visibly tensed, straining. Jaw clenched, gripping the back of his neck with his good hand, staring at me. Every line in his body was hardened, tensed, tautened.

  “I’m sorry, Thresh, I just—I don’t mean to tease you.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he growled. “I told you this was about you. You want to just touch me and nothing else, then I’ll sit here and let you. I won’t always be this passive or accommodating, just so you’re aware, but for right now? This is only for you. Whatever you want. I know you’re not teasing me on purpose.”

  “I’m not, I swear—I’m just…reacquainting myself with my own desires, I guess you could say.”

  “Reacquaint away, then. But if you keep doing that, eventually I’m going to blow my load—you know that, right?” He groaned quietly as I stroked his length from tip to root slowly, squeezing and twisting my fist on the way down. “Fuck, Lola. I really do love watching you touch me, feeling your hands on me. I’m counting sheep like crazy over here.”

  “Counting sheep?” I paused and glanced at him, confused.

  “To hold back.”

  I frowned. “I thought that was for falling asleep?”

  He shrugged. “Never did shit to help me fall asleep, but it does wonders for keeping me from coming too soon.”

  “So you’re actively holding back right now?” I asked.

  I glided my fist up to the head of his cock, squeezed, twisted, and rubbed my thumb across the top. Stroked down again, pumped my fist at the base, then took his balls in my other hand, cupped them, massaged them. He groaned, and then, when I caressed his length in a slow rhythm, began to flex his hips, the only movement he’d allowed himself, thus far.

  “It comes and goes. I can hold it back, then it starts rising up again and I push it back, and then you do—holy shit, that—you do something like that…and I—oh fuck—fuuuuuuuuck, Lola, that feels so good.”

  His eyes closed and his head tipped back, but he quickly wrenched his eyes open and watched as I began to stroke him more rhythmically. Slow, long, leisurely trips of my fist up his length, toying in soft squeezes and caresses around the head, then back down to the root, where I would twist, stroke back up. I added my other hand, stroked him hand over hand, faster and faster until he couldn’t help the way his hips flexed into my touch.

  God, he was so fucking gorgeous. His abs tensed and hardened as he flexed into my fists, and his jaw clenched and loosened, and god, his cock, that beautiful perfect organ, it throbbed in my hands. I knew I’d been playing with his cock for a long time at that point, and I knew he had to be dying for the orgasm. I knew I had to give it to him—I wanted to bring him his release.

  Because I remembered how much I’d loved that, too, once upon a time. Watching the guy lose control, go animal, pumping, going wild, shouting, grunting, cursing, sweating, all just because I was touching him. A big, strong guy, and he was a slave to my two little hands, and my mouth.

  I wanted to feel Thresh lose it. Watch him come apart. Know I could level a giant like him, know I had that power, still. Know that my hands could give him pleasure, that my lips and my tongue could make him crazy.

  Could I do that to him? Right now? Did I dare?

  Fuck yes, I dared.

  Something about Thresh made me feel brave. Made me feel in charge. Made me want to put my fears out on the street, face them and triumph over them. Not let the past get in the way of my present or my future. Yes, I really liked Thresh. I was really attracted to him, both physically and for who he was as a person. But while that was true, I had no illusions that this thing between us was going anywhere serious. I knew the score. But he brought things out in me, he elicited strong emotions and desires, things I hadn’t felt in a long time and had truly believed were dead and ruined. So I was absolutely prepared to let him help me past my issues, especially since he seemed willing to do so without knowing the details.

  I just couldn’t look too closely, or think too hard about what it was we had or where it was going. I couldn’t let myself get attached.

  But I could enjoy the hell out of what I had when it was in front of me.

  And right now, I had a twelve-inch cock—at least twelve inches, if not more—in front of me, and it was hard and beautiful and just begging for more than my hands.

  It was begging for my lips. For my tongue.

  I clutched his rigid erection in both hands, leaned across the space between us, pressed a kiss to his chest. Another, lower, tucking my legs under me. Again. And then I was kissing his abs, each ridge and groove, flicking my tongue over and between each delineated muscle. Lower, and lower, closer with every kiss to his cock, to my fists, which were stroking him leisurely, slowly, both of them at once, gliding up and down.

  “Lola?” He sounded pained, speaking past grinding teeth.

  I was there, guiding his cock against my cheek, across my closed lips, tilting my face to look up at him. “Thresh?”

  “You don’t—”

  “Hush,” I said, and squeezed him hard enough that he listened. “You didn’t think I’d leave you aching, did you? I just had to work up to this.”

  “But I don’t want you to think—”

  I caressed his cock at the base, and nuzzled the upper portion of his erection with my face. “Let’s get one thing straight, Thresh. I’m doing what I want. I lost this part of me for a long time, and you’ve somehow managed to give it back to me. So make no mistake: I’m doing what I want to, for me. And what I want right now is for you to stop holding back, and let me make you feel
better than you’ve ever felt in your life. No more holding back. Just let go.”

  I emphasized my statement by taking him in my mouth, and holy shit, I had to stretch my jaw to cracking to fit him. I couldn’t take much, and didn’t try. That’s not my thing. I enjoyed the feel of him in my mouth, the taste of his flesh, the tang and smoke of his leaking essence on my tongue. I kissed him, lips to the broad springy beauty of his cock-head, as if I was making out with him. Licked up the side, slowly, long fat licks along his length, then turned my head sideways and took his length in my mouth horizontally and slid up to the tip and moved my head back upright to take his head between my lips. Let him slide into my mouth until he pushed against my cheek, widened my jaw enough that I could slide him in and out in quick strokes, tongue fluttering against him.

  “I can’t—I’m—shit, shit, Lola—I ain’t gonna last much longer, babe. It’s too good. So fucking good, the way you do that.”

  I gave him another look as I slid my tongue up his length, watched him as I made love to his cock with my mouth. That’s what I was doing, the way he’d worshipped my tits, I was doing that to his cock.

  And I couldn’t help a thought from popping into my head, and then out my mouth. “When we get somewhere private, will you—”

  I didn’t get the rest out. He interrupted me, his voice feral, like the rumbling of a grizzly bear. “Lola, sweetheart, the moment I’ve got you somewhere we’ve got privacy, I’m gonna do so many things to you—god, you have no idea. I’m gonna make you scream so loud they’ll hear you in fucking Miami.”

  “What will you do?” I asked, feeling bolder by the second.

  His hand left the back of his head, finally—I’d been wondering how long he’d last. He gripped my braid, a light but firm hold, and didn’t apply pressure, just held it as I took him into my mouth and worked back and forth, slowly at first but faster with each stroke of my lips and tongue.