by ANDREA SMITH
His lips were now soft against my sensitive skin as he kissed my shoulders, my neck and my earlobes gently and playfully. His fingers stroked my cheeks coming in contact with my tears. He rose up and gazed down at me quizzically.
“What is it? You wanted this, yeah?”
“I did. I do.”
“Why the tears, babe?”
“You kissed me while we fucked; you gave me an orgasm. I’m emotional, I guess. Those are both firsts for me.”
He pulled up and out of me, sitting next to me on the bed, his arms crossed over his knees as he gazed at me.
“Sunny, are you saying that your rat bastard husband never kisses you when you make love?”
“I don’t honestly think that we’ve ever made love, Slate.”
“Okay, then when you fuck?”
“It is a rare occurrence; even more so now since the whole incident with the black eye, but he never has kissed me during sex.”
“And you’ve never had an orgasm?”
“Not until today.”
“Jesus Christ - what in the hell is his problem?”
“I thought it was me,” I answered honestly.
“It’s not you, babe, at least not with me it isn’t. Your pussy was made for my cock.”
He propelled himself off of the bed and removed the condom. I watched as he tied it in a knot and tossed it over into a trash can. He zipped up his fly. He swaggered over to a dresser in the room and pulled out clean boxers and a tee shirt.
“I’m grabbing a shower. You sit tight. When I get finished you and I are going to have a discussion. I am going to educate you as to what is acceptable behavior now that you’re mine.”
CHAPTER 16
It had been a little more than three weeks since Slate had made me his. I hadn’t been sure what that would entail when he laid the rules out for me that day; now it was perfectly clear. I was at his beck and call. I no longer worked at Jewels; I was no longer allowed to go in there. He explained to me that Jewels was his turf and that I was not to invade it.
He had bought me a track phone. He had presumed that my rat bastard husband didn’t allow me to have a cell phone, so this was his means of communicating with me. His communications were generally text messages kept short and sweet: ‘My place in an hour. We need to fuck.’ Occasionally he would give it a more intimate touch by actually calling me on it; I would hear his husky voice on the other end, “My place in an hour; we need to fuck.” It was followed by a click.
I would always accommodate him. I dressed the way he expected me to dress; kept my hair long the way he insisted. (He hadn’t figured out it was a wig which was probably because I never spent the night.) He respected the fact I was married and said he wasn’t looking to steal another man’s wife, even if the other man was a rat bastard.
He made a rule that I couldn’t ask or expect him to share personal information about himself or what he did to occupy his time. I insisted the same rule apply to me. He agreed with one exception: if I needed to find another job to support myself, he needed to know where it was in advance and approve of my working there. He absolutely forbade me to dance anywhere.
I was never to come by his place without having first received an express order to do so by Slate. I was to notify him by text when my period started so that he knew I would be ‘out of commission’ for a few days. (That one had made me blush with embarrassment.)
I was not to phone him at all; text messages only. If the rat bastard was around, I was to shut my phone off; that was the only excusable time I was permitted to power it off. I was not to have sex with the rat bastard unless by refusing to do so posed imminent physical danger; in which case, I was to lay there like a limp rag doll and endure it. (I had wanted to burst out laughing when Slate had given me that rule. Jack didn’t care if he ever touched me again.)
I was instructed to text him the words “Code Red” if the rat bastard left another mark on me. He would then text me specific instructions on when and where to go with my husband in tow; there would be peeps there to take care of the rat bastard and make it look totally random. (That one had sent shivers down my spine.)
Of course, the obvious and major rule was that no other man could touch me; he was the only one that could do that and he intended to do so at every available opportunity.
I had asked him if the same applied to him and other women. He had said it did as long as our relationship was deemed active. He would decide when it was over. (That one made me feel a bit sad.)
I was to get no tattoos, body piercings or change hair color without obtaining his permission in advance. I was to work out to stay in shape.
He had inquired as to what type of birth control I was using as he didn’t want to continue using condoms since we were to be exclusive. I told him I had a diaphragm. He didn’t need to know any more than that. The truth was I did still have my old diaphragm in the bedside drawer gathering dust. It had barely gotten any use. He told me to make sure that I carried that with me when I was meeting him.
He had assured me that he was ‘clean’ as far as sexually transmitted diseases; he had asked me to confirm the same to him. That had prompted a trip to the county health clinic that had weekly free screening. I had decided with Jack’s travels it wouldn’t hurt to be sure. Everything had come back fine.
All in all, it was a fairly simple and uncomplicated relationship. I had decided that I would go with it as long as I was getting something from it, and I was; the best damned, toe-curling, orgasmic sex that I could ever have imagined. There was nothing Slate wouldn’t do to make sure I was satisfied multiple times.
I had received Slate’s ‘booty call’ about fifteen minutes prior; I was now slathering my make-up on and trying to get those fucking false eyelashes in place. Margo had always done it so easily. There, I finally had the second one in place. I finished applying generous amounts of the smoky, grey eye shadow from my brow line down. The eyeliner and mascara were midnight black.
I had put my diaphragm in after my bath this morning as I figured I was due for a call. It had been three days. I tucked my own hair under the wig cap and securely put my long, shiny, brunette wig in place, wearing it down. I secured some extensions to it so that it was even longer; wearing the extensions had proven a deterrent in keeping Slate’s fingers out of my hair, therefore protecting my wig’s identity.
I pulled a black, long-sleeved spandex top with a plunging neckline over my head; I pulled a pair of my tight Calvin jeans up, and shrugged a pair of brown leather boots on. Once I put my jacket on, I was good to go.
I always parked at the same Park and Ride lot and then took a bus to Slate’s. His apartment was a half block from the bus stop. It was a freezing cold day; there were light snow flurries as I walked the distance from the bus stop to his house. Just as I approached the staircase, two bikers were coming down the steps. I recognized the OMC badged one as ‘Slash’ the main dude for the Indianapolis chapter. The other one had the same badging as Slate; it was his buddy, Taz. He recognized me from the club.
I waited for them to get to the sidewalk before continuing towards the steps. Taz gave me a nod as they passed. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was not comfortable around bikers, with the exception of Slate; I just never knew when they might fuck with me.
Slate had the door open for me when I got to the top. He was in the kitchen in front of the sink washing out his coffee cup. He was wearing Levi jeans, no shirt or socks; his hair was damp which meant he was fresh out of the shower. I loved the way his jeans hung low on his hips; he was so freakin’ hot.
He turned as he heard me come in and that’s when I saw the butterfly stitches over his left eyebrow. There was a huge gash beneath them.
“Oh my God, Slate; what happened?” I hurried over to where he was standing to get a better look.
“Just a little misunderstanding with a couple of business associates the other day. It’s no big deal.”
“It looks like a big deal to me,” I said, “I th
ink you need real stitches on this, Slate. It looks deep.”
“The mother fucker had a ring on; snagged me pretty good. Trust me babe, he’s in worse shape than me right now.”
I frowned at him. “Still, I think you need to go to the hospital and have it sewn up; what about a tetanus shot?”
“It’s fine.”
“Do you have any hydrogen peroxide here?”
“Sunny; stop fussing over me. That’s not why I called you over here.”
I had already headed into his bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet where I found a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a box of cotton swabs. I headed back to the kitchen.
“Sit,” I instructed him in my no-nonsense tone. He rolled his eyes but complied, straddling one of the two kitchen chairs at the table. I soaked one of the cotton swabs with the peroxide, squeezing out the excess. I dabbed it gently against the wound, carefully cleaning off some of the dried, crusted blood. I got another clean swab and repeated the process until it was pretty well cleaned up.
I dug through my shoulder bag that I had thrown on his kitchen table upon my arrival and found my make-up bag. I knew I had a small tube of antibiotic cream in there from when I had scraped my heel against an exposed nail in the dressing room at the club. I squeezed out some of the antibiotic cream onto a fresh cotton swab and dabbed it gently on the wound.
“There,” I said, “Hopefully that will keep it from scarring. I’m going to leave this here with you so keep applying it several times a day until it’s healed, okay?”
“Yes bossy,” he said, getting to his feet and coming towards me. My heart fluttered at his nearness. He pulled me against him, his chin resting on my head.
“Thanks, babe,” he said softly, holding me closely against him. He kissed my lips softly. My tummy did flip-flops. My hands rubbed his muscular back, loving the feel of his skin against mine.
He pulled back, taking me by the hand. We headed into his bedroom. Slate stood in front of me and undressed me slowly and methodically. I shivered as he hooked his thumbs into the waist band of my jeans once he had unfastened them and tugged them downward. They fell into a heap at my ankles. He instructed me to raise my arms so that he could pull my black top over my head; he was careful not to snag my extensions.
I was standing before him in my black lace bra and matching panties. He unhooked my bra, cupping my breasts roughly in his hands; massaging them. He pulled my bra off then hooked his forefinger in my panties and lowered them so that I could step free.
He pulled his jeans off; he was totally naked standing next to me.
“Sit on the edge of the bed,” he instructed. I did as I was told; Slate knelt in front of me, spreading my legs with his hands. He grabbed a pillow, lifting me to place it underneath my ass. He placed each of my feet on each of his shoulders, and pulled my hips closer; I arched my back instinctively.
I felt his fingers touching me down there; pretty soon his lips and tongue followed, tracing a hot path of pleasure beneath the folds of my sex. His tongue continued to roll and explore my clitoris; flicking it gently; his fingers were probing inside of me now. I was soaking wet down there; partly from him and partly from me.
“God your cunt tastes good, babe,” he said, his warm breath against it sending waves of pleasure through me. My hips were gyrating in a circular motion as his tongue now joined his two fingers going in and out of me.
“You like it when I fuck you with my mouth, don’t you babe?”
“Mmmm, I love everything you do to me,” I moaned softly, thrusting my pelvis into his face which was now wet with my arousal. He kept it up until I knew I was going over the edge into major orgasmic pleasure. I felt myself contract as I whimpered and writhed beneath his touch, my body taking control as my climax unraveled around me.
His mouth continued to work my sex, more gently now as I enjoyed the last remnants of my orgasm. My face was flushed, as was the rest of my body, post-climax.
He lifted me gently and pulled the covers back, placing me on the sheet of his bed. He was right beside me, kissing my lips, my neck and then moving downward to my breasts. He brushed his lips across each one; my nipples became erect for him immediately. His tongue played and teased my nipples; I arched my back wanting his mouth fully on.
“My sweet girl is greedy,” he teased, taking his time and enjoying my impatience. His tongue lingered on a nipple, circling it over and over again before taking it into his mouth. He suckled it roughly; I liked when he did that. A few minutes later, he moved to the other breast, teasing and then suckling it fully.
He straddled me, moving up my torso. This brought my hands instinctively to his ass, pulling him towards me as he guided his stiff cock into my waiting mouth. It was my turn to suckle and I did so with pleasure, loving the feel of him and the control it gave me. His hips gyrated back and forth as his shaft moved in and out. I watched the pleasure revealed in his face; his blue eyes were hooded; his breathing was coming harder and faster.
In an instant, he pulled himself from my mouth and flipped me over onto my belly. I pulled my legs forward and raised myself up on my forearms. Slate’s fingers were splayed underneath on my abdomen, raising my backside to tilt in front of him.
“Diaphragm in babe?”
“Yeah,” I answered huskily.
He plunged his cock into me deeply; I cried out in pleasure. He backed out and then slammed into me again and again. His hands were braced on my hips as he continued to rock in and out of me. I was moaning with each deep thrust; he was groaning loudly as he increased his momentum. I felt his hands dig deeper into my hips as he braced me for his orgasm; mine was close behind. I rolled my hips in a circular motion allowing him to hit my special spot. We came together in our usual frenzy. I could feel his cock throbbing as his warm jism squirted inside of me. My pussy was contracting around it, squeezing every last drop out of him.
He pulled out; collapsing on his back beside me.
“Fuck that was good,” he said breathlessly, his hands running through his still damp locks. I curled up next to him, breathing in the smell of our sex that permeated the room.
My fingers traced along his treasure trail, then northward towards his chest. I gently fingered his silver cross that lay across his chest.
“Something you want to say, babe?”
He knew me so well for not knowing who I really was at all.
“Did we make love today, Slate?”
“We fucked baby. That is what you and I do. We fuck. And today we did it damn well.”
He was so freakin’ careful about never letting his feelings show; my woman’s intuition told me it was more than just ‘fucking’ with him. He was simply not clued in on that yet. I wouldn’t let it spoil my afternoon with him; I hadn’t given my heart to him yet. I probably never would.
Several hours and three orgasms later, I dressed to leave. As I sat on Slate’s bed putting my socks back on I heard him holler out from the bathroom where he was taking a leak.
“You have family plans for Christmas, Sunny?” Christmas was the day after tomorrow. Lindsey would be home this evening; Jack tomorrow.
“Sort of,” I replied, “My period is due that day.”
“Good,” he said, emerging from the bathroom dressed and smiling. “I guess that kills two birds with one stone then.”
“How’s that?” I asked, frowning as I zipped my leather boot up.
“I’m going to be out of town. So I guess I’ll see you after the New Year.”
“I guess,” I shrugged, acting way more impassive than I felt. “Have a happy holiday.”
I went to the kitchen and picked my jacket up from the chair, shrugging it on. Slate was putting his jacket on as he followed me out. He always walked me to the bus stop and waited until the bus got there.
It was already starting to get dark out. I needed to beat a fast path home to shower and scrub this make-up off before Lindsey got in. Her best friend, Julie, was picking her up at the airport. I had offered to but sh
e said she and Julie needed to catch up.
We walked in silence to the corner. There wasn’t a lot to say outside of the bedroom. So many topics were off limits between us.
“Can I ask you a question, Slate?”
“You can ask away; doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll get an answer.”
“How old are you?”
“Doesn’t that break our ‘no sharing of personal information’ rule?”
“I suppose it does,” I replied, looking downward as we reached the corner. I could see the bus coming down the street. I stepped to the curb.
Slate’s arm reached out and hauled me back. He lowered his face to mine, searching my eyes with his.
His lips found mine as he kissed me sweetly and tenderly; his fingertips tilted my chin upward so that I could see his beautiful eyes. He kissed my lips a couple of more times quickly as the bus pulled over.
“Twenty-six,” he said to me softly. “How about you Diamond Girl?”
“I’m a little older than that, Slate. Merry Christmas.”
I boarded the bus and took a seat by the window. He was still standing there, watching me from the corner. The wind was blowing through his thick, dark hair. Damn. He was only twenty-six. Shit.
CHAPTER 17
I got through the Christmas holidays by the grace of God and having Lindsey home. Jack always acted more amendable when she was around. My parents had come home on Christmas Eve. We had dinner with them and exchanged gifts. They were all excited about leaving for Florida before New Year’s Eve. They would be there until the end of March like always.
My dad was full of questions for Jack about Banion Pharmaceutical. He wanted every detail pertaining to the new distribution center; sales growth forecast for the following year and the R & D budget proposal. Even though my father was retired, he was still the Chairman of the Board. I could see that Jack liked telling my father exactly what he wanted to hear. That’s what everyone had done for as far back as I could remember.