Mindgasm - A Bad Boy Romance With A Twist (Mind Games Book 3)

by Gabi Moore

  “Take me away, Dean,” I moaned as I let my head fall back onto the sofa.

  “Away? Where do you want to go, baby?” he said, and his hands soon found their way all over my belly, pulling my shirt aside with one hand and inching down the elastic of my panties with the other, his lips grazing warm against my skin.

  “Far, far away,” I breathed, and let my hands flop above my head. My skin pulled and ached underneath the tight bandages, but pain was nothing to me these days. Just one of the colors on an immense, multicolored tapestry that had somehow become my life lately.

  He slinked my shirt up and over my head and then wriggled my skirt down low to my ankles. The sound of scooters and chattering outside receded into the background and the sound of his warm, silky breath came rushing to the foreground.

  Dean was the quintessential ‘catch’ of a man. He was tall, wealthy, sexy and hung like a horse. But it was in moments like these that I saw what truly made him special – his delicate, gentle attention to the tiniest things. The way his breath hovered over my skin as he kissed me, not as a pit stop on the way to something else, but as though worshipping that little spot was his entire goal from start to finish. When Dean and I made love, he was there with me, and nowhere else. His body, his touch, his kiss filled to the brim each passing moment, filled it to bursting. That’s what made him special to me. All the rest could have floated away for all I cared, so long as he kept looking at me the way he did, kept touching me like that.

  My knees found their way higher up and spread apart, and he knelt on the ground before me, tucking each of his hands under my hips and lifting and opening wide that secret spot. Though I had seen those hands do brutal things, and though the veins on the back of his hands made them look heavy and strong, he traced only the daintiest thumb strokes down along the edge of my pussy and up again, framing that slick crescent, admiring it.

  “I love your cunt,” he breathed. I giggled.

  “It loves you right back.”

  He now introduced careful fingertips a little closer in, toying with the wetness there, parting those velvety folds and driving me wild. It was the kind of touch that felt more delicious the lighter it was, the kind of caress that was so slight and fleeting, my body and mind had to fill in the blanks itself and soon I was writhing and wet, aching a little with anticipation of how ‘far away’ he would take me.

  “I’m going to make you come, Nora, and when you do, I want to feel it.”

  The words sent a naughty jolt of electricity through me. I closed my eyes and zoomed in on the feeling of him teasing me, of his fingers stroking all around but never on that throbbing nub, where he knew I needed it. But he never did. He never placed his tongue against my pulsing clit, never sunk his fingers into that hot little hole, never gave me a second of relief with his lips or his tongue or even his words. When I reached my hand to his head to pull him closer to me, he laughed warmly and pinned my wrist back down again.

  “Impatient, are we? But no, I want you a lot wetter before we move on. Can you do that for me?”

  I groaned and realized that I was in for yet more delicious torture.

  Dean had fucked me more deeply than I used to think was possible. Dean had done things to me physically that took me days to recover from. We had fucked rough and hard and violently many, many times before. But what we didn’t often do was this – this fairy light, spider web sex made of nothing but suggestion and whispers and touches so slight they nearly don’t happen at all. He stroked and stroked, and I felt a furnace switch on inside me. I realized he had pinned both my arms down. I relaxed and let him do it. Who else could I trust like this, to let him do whatever he liked with me?

  When his tongue finally pressed down onto my soaking clit, I couldn’t help lifting my hips off the sofa to meet it. The bliss was strong enough to pulse right through to the tingling top of my scalp, and down to my toes. He expertly pressed full, juicy lips against that fiery slit, toying his tongue over precisely those quivering spots I needed him to, as though he could taste my desperation and knew precisely how to answer it, one teasing lick at a time. My own breath became jagged and quick as he stroked me higher and higher up to that sharp point of ecstasy. I loved the idea of coming in his face. I loved the idea of him feeling just exactly how excited he made me, of being as close as possible to my hot, twitching body. Just as I chased that shuddering feeling to what I felt was an orgasm for sure, he pulled back and laughed.

  “Ah! Not so fast, my lovely. You’re wet, but still not quite wet enough,” he breathed. I moaned and ground my hips into the sofa, feeling myself back off from the brink of orgasm.

  “Fuck I love it when you want it so badly,” he said, and I could hear the smile on his voice. The desperation for him to touch me again was so strong I could barely think straight.

  “How close are you to coming?”

  I took a deep, cooling breath and tried to gather my thoughts.

  “Close. Nine out of ten.”

  “Hmm. Good. That’s good.”

  This time when his tongue returned to that spot where all my pleasure knotted into one swollen lump, I sped back up to that edge again, sure I’d fall off and into the void for good, but just as soon as I held my breath and braced, he pulled back and left me hanging again. The craving stirring up in me was so strong it almost burned.

  “Oh god.”

  “Good girl,” he growled instantly, and watched me writhing helpless, close to begging to be released from my torture and allowed to come, and hard.

  “Still at a nine?” he said, although he knew the answer perfectly well. I whimpered my response.

  “Good. Now, I’m going to fuck you.”

  I heard the soft clink of his belt buckle make contact with the tile floor underneath, and without looking I could picture perfectly that juicy, thick cock of his. I knew it better than the back of my hand. I knew the slight curve at its tip, I knew the way it smelled, the way it tasted, the way it pumped and jerked when he came.

  Head back and eyes closed, I allowed him to stroke my dripping slit, teasing me, before settling at the slippery pucker of my ass. I gasped. We hadn’t done this since Tilly was born. It sent a dirty little thrill through me. But I suddenly understood why he had wanted me to be this turned on before he started teasing around there. In this state, I was not about to say no to anything. I just wanted to be touched, anywhere.

  “You ok?” he said and stroked.

  “Uh huh,” I replied and swiveled my hips closer to him.

  “Good.”

  With a slight but firm shove, he popped the head of his dick into me and paused there, waiting for me to adjust, to catch my breath. It hurt in that wonderful way it always does for the first few seconds. I exhaled and relaxed against him, my body remembering this particular, naughty game we sometimes played. He stayed there and let his hands stroke my body again, down along my flanks, over my hips and across my belly.

  “Still at a nine?”

  I thought about it. Thought about the sweet pain that was morphing into pleasure down below, of that deep sensation of being opened somewhere forbidden.

  “No. A five or six,” I breathed, and instantly his fingers were at my clit, stirring up once more, and soon a hot, wonderful wave of pleasure was flooding through me again.

  “I love watching you take it,” he whispered as his fingers moved expertly over my wet clit. “I can’t wait to see you take all of me…”

  “Ok, a seven. It’s a seven,” I muttered.

  I could tell he liked this. Though his cock remained motionless inside my ass, paired with the bliss radiating from his quick fingertips, it felt like merely expanding to accommodate him was pleasure enough. Down below it was tight and painfully snug, but up above I was soaking, drenching him in my juices and getting desperately close to coming again.

  When he slid the next hard inch of cock into me, it took my breath away, but I soon adjusted around him, loving how astonishingly full and naughty it felt to have him viol
ate that secret part of me. He stroked and caressed, and even though my eyes were closed I could hear how turned on I was, could tell how liberally I was soaking his fingers.

  “Now?”

  “Eight,” I said, my voice laced with desperation.

  “Fuck yes, that’s hot.”

  I could feel him using his thumbs to part and open my pussy lips, to spread them wide to better access that quivering nub and stretch open that ravenous opening. I wanted to be opened wide and taken. I relished the thought that he could see and touch every hidden part of me. In went another inch, and this one stung.

  “Shhh,” he said as I gasped.

  “Eight and a half,” I moaned. He stroked my rock hard clit and seemed to send all that desperate pleasure through the rest of my body, till I couldn’t tell whether the bliss was coming from his fingers or from the solid girth of him now wedging further and further into my ass. I didn’t care. I just knew it felt good. Heavy and dark and naughty and thrilling and so, so good.

  When he hooked a finger from each hand inside my pussy and spread them wide, opening me even wider still, I nearly lost my mind.

  “Nine and a half,” I whimpered and he groaned his appreciation.

  “Look,” he said. “Look at yourself.”

  I opened my eyes and glanced down, and what I saw surprised me. He was much deeper in than I had thought. His cock was jammed in almost to the hilt, so only a half inch of him remained, ringed with that dark, coiled hair of his. I looked on as he spread my swollen pussy wide open, stretching that aching hole open with two fingers… and the view drove me wild. It was so dirty. Wrong but so, so right. We looked on like voyeurs, unable to tear our eyes away from the sight.

  “I want to see you come. I want to feel it,” he said, and I watched as the base of his cock twitched in anticipation. Locked firm into that tight passage, I realized how close to coming he was himself. His fingers still pulling me open, he moved his thumbs to my clit and stroked again, but this time, I didn’t want to hold off. This time he wouldn’t stop me, wouldn’t tease me. I was soon leaping towards that full orgasm, and his fingers worked furiously, rubbing me hard to an orgasm that felt for the first few seconds like I had stopped breathing.

  For a moment, everything went white and silent, and soon I tumbled down, coming hard and screaming as the pleasure ripped through me. Anchored against his fat cock, there was nowhere to pulse except against him, and this prolonged those deep, juicy waves, making me shudder and thrash wildly.

  “Yes! Fuck, Nora, keep coming. Oh, god yes,” I heard him cry, and instantly his cock kicked and jerked deep inside me, and I knew he was coming too. I threw out my hands to grab his hips and pull him even further inside me, as deep as he would go, and the knowledge that he was bursting his hot load right into my belly was so wildly delicious that I was sure I was starting to come again, right on the tail of the last orgasm.

  Locked so tightly into one another, we bucked and convulsed like this, the waves of the one’s pleasure rippling through to the other and back again, in a perfect, intoxicating feedback loop. Something about having him fuck me there felt so primal and raw. We didn’t do it often, but it was this feeling, this sensation of being completely and utterly exhausted afterwards, that made it all worth it. I felt spent, literally fucked, and it was perfect. I loved how he winced and tenderly pulled his still stiff cock from me, before collapsing beside me and gathering me up in his arms like he hadn’t already kissed me so much and needed to do even more.

  “You have the most beautiful fucking body in the world, do you know that?” he breathed into my damp hair.

  “I love doing that with you,” I said, letting my eyes close and my awareness return to that dull ache in my arm.

  “Far enough away for you?”

  I turned to look at him and his sweet, open face, beading with sweat at the brow. I loved that he could make me come with only the slightest movement. I loved that I could make him come just by coming myself.

  “Oh, it’ll do,” I said with a playful smile, and reached over to peck his cheek.

  We cuddled like this for a moment in silence, and then showered together, and then went to sit out on the terrace hammock and watch the scraps of distant clouds pass us by.

  Jeff Cane was not only dead, he was beginning to feel like a ghost to me. And life without him in it was looking surprisingly peaceful.

  Chapter 10 - Dean

  One year later

  When what you’re offering is a proven female sexual enhancement medication, your marketing efforts don’t need to be anything special. The patent still had two years left in it and even before anyone had done a stitch of marketing, word of mouth made sure that the only new drug on the market to catch anyone’s attention this decade was ours. The FDA approved wonder drug Amitral was a wet dream for business, and the only problem was keeping up with the burgeoning demand.

  The stars had aligned and we were producing more than ever, even being able to scale back with some of our other products since everything in the labs was being refitted for production of that coveted pink pill. It was a medical and financial breakthrough. Women everywhere swallowed one before their husbands came home and were insatiable sex kittens 15 minutes later. The only known effects of overdose were surprise bonus orgasms and deeper sleep, meaning the entire female population of America was seemingly turning into blissed out zombies, walking around looking very well rested indeed.

  On good days like this one, it was easy to think that my little manufacturing plants were quickly changing the whole world, one satisfied woman at a time. Even the latest mess-up with the new contract for some remote robotics we were installing in the UK plant couldn’t dent my mood today.

  “How many units has Jeffrey agreed to have installed?” I said, and thumbed through the stack of notes handed to me.

  “Fourteen, Mr. Cane.”

  “And this takes ten hours off the total production time?”

  “Yes sir. Ten hours, four minutes and nineteen seconds.”

  I quickly calculated that it would cost us at least 600 grand to halt the factory for that long, but the new machines were necessary.

  “What do you want me to tell him, Mr. Cane?” my PA asked.

  “Ask if we can get twenty units installed,” I said. “If we’re down, we’re down. Might as well make use of the time.’ She nodded her head, then flipped the page to the next item on our agenda. I nervously looked at my watch.

  “We need to respond to that offer from BlenCorp,” she said, tilting her head like a cockatoo as she pored over the documents.

  “Remind me who they are?”

  “The coatings people. They’re small but they’re angling to hitch a place on the Amitral train, I suppose. They’re really undercutting our current suppliers.”

  I thought carefully.

  “No, turn it down,” I said, glancing at my watch again.

  “Sir…? I’ve sent you their proposal and we’re looking at a huge savings with them, plus they have their vegan varieties which marketing have already told us is a good idea.”

  “The answer is no” I said and closed the pile of documents. I never trusted anyone who was willing to sell themselves cheaply. If they didn’t believe their product was worth it, why would I? I was looking to make money, like everyone else. But I’d only do that by offering the highest quality product I could, end of story.

  “Sir, have you got somewhere to be, or…?”

  My PA gestured to the remaining documents and lifted her eyebrows at me.

  “Sorry, uh, yeah, I’m a little distracted. Can the rest wait till morning?”

  “Yeah, of course,” she said and straightened her glasses. “Where are you off to?”

  “Meeting with the minister of the department of home affairs,” I said with a smile. “You know how it is.”

  She smiled and nodded.

  I liked that everyone here knew that my priority was Nora, and always would be Nora. I’d gone through so many intern
s and assistants, and all the female ones always tried their luck, tried to make a suggestive comment about “test-driving the merchandise” or sneakily suggesting that a man as busy as myself must surely wish he could get away from it all sometimes.

  But that wasn’t me. In another world, maybe a worse version of myself could imagine taking advantage of the women who threw themselves at me like this. There was certainly no shortage. There’s a kind of woman who gets drunk on just the suggestion of wealth and power. She stops thinking, believing that she’s the first woman in the world to make a lewd suggestion to me out of earshot. But again, I never liked dealing with people who didn’t value themselves. Why would a married father be willing to be seduced by a woman low enough to seduce a married father? It didn’t make sense to me. I took my cue from Nora when she laughed at the occasional inappropriateness, and laughed it off myself.

  Nora was right about so many things. Funnily enough, she had never tried the pill. She said she didn’t need to. She said that all women really want is to be heard, to be listened to and to have their needs and wants acknowledged. It wasn’t a sexy revelation or one I could sell for millions each year, but I had to agree with her. About six months ago she asked me if I wanted another woman, if I would have liked a ‘pass’ to explore any opportunities that came up, and that she didn’t mind at all, if it’s what I wanted. I considered it for all of three seconds before realizing, why would I need another woman when I had barely scratched the surface of the one I already had? Every year I knew Nora, there seemed to be two years’ worth of new things to know about her, to learn and love all over again.

  The sun was still shining when I left the office and rushed over to the appointment I had really been waiting for all day. This morning I had already picked up a second hand, beat up old piece of luggage from Craigslist, an outfit consisting of leather pants, a torn biker jacket and some costume piercings, and a bottle of red nail polish. They had posted my custom fake ‘passport’ the day before and now everything was ready – everything except these fake tattoos, which had to be just right.