Shades Of Obsession

by JR King

  Sitting on the back of his heels, he dredged the tip of one finger between my lips, carefully sliding it into me. “How much do you want it?” He nuzzled the shell of my ear, making every vein in my body restless.

  I was perilously close to combusting spontaneously if he didn’t get me off, and moaned somewhat unintelligently, “So, so…much.”

  Abruptly, he stopped. “I’m not convinced.”

  I couldn’t think straight as he manipulated me with his voice and hands. “C’mon. Please.” I arched my back and smiled as he watched me pressure my clit just inches from his face. I wondered how long he’d drink in eyefuls before seizing my hand. The answer, as it turned out, was less than a minute.

  “That’s pretty tedious as far as begging goes.” He pressured my clit. “Here? Should I put my fingers in here?”

  Two fingers thrust inside me and I threw my head back, moving against them. Just as I was about to come, he paused, his lack of motion stealing my orgasm. “Where else!” I roared furiously, chocking off the end of it.

  “I beg your pardon?” His voice had lost the edge of polished monotone as he rubbed me, now it was blatantly vicious. “Did you want something?”

  In spite of everything, I smiled. “Lick me.” It was a strangled cry.

  His warm mouth found its way between my legs, teasing me until I heard the wet sound of his tongue shoving deep into me. Pinching my clit, he picked up his speed. I was encouraging him, my hips circling shamelessly against his hot mouth. I cried out as I came. Had Mitchell walked in on us, witnessing me writhing on the sofa as Alexander ate me out, I wouldn’t have cared.

  When he smiled up at me, my wetness was smeared all over his lips. “Can you feel how great the sex will be between us?” He was breathing hard, lust written across his face. “You owe me one.”

  His lips began teasing my wet seam again, and I pushed at his head with both hands. “I can’t,” I sputtered a tearless sob, shaking significantly.

  “Yes, you can, my pet. Do it for me.” His breath almost burned my sensitive skin, and I moaned, my head falling back as he nibbled at the tender patch connecting my inner thigh and bottom. Licking my skin, he blew cool air over the damp spot, sending erotic chills all over my body. My nipples stung and my sex began to ache with a familiar pulsing tension. I was too sensitive. Desensitized. I knew I couldn’t have a second orgasm so quickly. But, as his tongue covered the hood of my clit, fluttering over it, the want started to build again. He rimmed my rippling flesh, making my cleft ache, pushing me to the brink of another orgasm.

  “One more,” he growled, his tongue spearing into me.

  I made a liar of myself by coming a second time, my body quaking violently, inner muscles tightening around his confident, skilled tongue. I felt like I’d pass out if he didn’t stop. Through half-lowered eyelids, I looked wantonly at him. I had no strength left to push him away when he took my clit between his lips and sucked delicately, passionately, tirelessly, until I climaxed again.

  I was crying now, gasping his name. Saying incoherent things, a boneless, nameless being as he closed my legs and straightened the neckline of my dress. “Where’s your bedroom, Elena?” He shot out his hand and grabbed hold of my arm, pulling me toward him.

  “Upstairs…left…right.” He lifted me in his arms. I hung lax and pliable in them while he walked up the stairs. Gradually, the dizziness faded and I came back to myself. “Please don’t…,”

  “Shh.” He stared down at me. “I’ll put you to bed, my sweet little pet.” His wickedly curved mouth pressed to my forehead.

  We stayed silent under the covers, his arms like steel bands around me, his warm breath on my ear. It felt like I was molded to his body, fitting perfectly against him. Grasping his head, I dragged his mouth back to mine for a long, deep, hot kiss. I loved the way he kissed. With purpose, demanding me to take more of him, controlling each sip of breath I was taking—each sip of breath he was granting me. Our bodies strained closer, heat building to incinerating levels.

  “Not like this.” Alexander steadied me swiftly, his voice hoarse when he spoke. “You’re too vulnerable. Play nice now,” he murmured, enigmatically. “Sleep.”

  I didn’t answer at all. His hand slid from my hip to the enlarged swell of my breast. I pressed myself deeper against him, and even as he tried to draw back into the mattress, I felt the stirrings of an erection.

  I fell asleep with his arms banded around me, my head right underneath his.

  *

  While debating whether or not I should stop trying to save my relationship with Mitchell, at the eleventh hour, nature puked up an unexpected roadblock.

  I couldn’t work up the courage to make the call. The device in my hand felt electrified, adrenaline coursing through me as I composed a text message, telling Mitchell I’d be home later due to a traffic jam. I pressed the send key with a newly manicured finger, and watched as the progress bar filled from left to right. The iPhone chimed with revolting loudness to signal that the message was irrevocably speeding its way through the electronic ether toward the intended recipient. I placed it on the dock and ignored the double-crossing technology.

  A minute went by before it rang. Something grossly akin to apprehension sliced through me. I didn’t waste time clicking the button on the steering wheel to answer the call, the strains of Elton John’s I’m Still Standing thinning throughout the vehicle.

  “Mitchell?” My knuckles were tightly clamped on the steering wheel.

  “So, your ignorance interferes with our dinner plans again.”

  “I’m so sorry. There has been a multi-vehicle collision.”

  “Then you have nothing to apologize for, Elena.” I could almost hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve had a little something delivered for you. It’s in my bedroom.” The line went dead.

  With my foot typically heavy on the gas, the car raced along the streets. I kept hoping that whatever he had prepared wouldn’t shock me.

  I parked in the underground garage, and got to my feet on legs quivering from the outpouring of my adrenal gland. You’re a cheater, a mosquito-like sound buzzed in my ear. I walked down the corridor toward the bedroom, wondering what Mitchell might have bought me.

  A sextoy?

  On the bed, a large black and gilt box bearing the inscription Agent Provocateur blushed at me, and my mouth curled upward with contented approval. Lingerie. Mitchell was most definitely the man of my dreams, soft and sweet and sensitive. There was nothing irresponsible and seamy and dangerous about him.

  Back from his business trip, Mitchell took me to Troquet, which was one of the best wine bars in Boston. I sipped on Schramsberg throughout dinner, a sparkling wine labeled méthode Champenoise. Mitchell seemed delighted to inform me that this wine was served at The White House.

  We left the restaurant earlier than usual. Mitchell must have realized I was someplace else when he parked the car in the garage, because he kept the doors locked.

  “What’s going on with you today?”

  “Nothing,” I answered too quickly. My fist clenched on my thigh as an awful feeling caused my stomach to churn.

  “Get on top of me, Elena.”

  I didn’t like where this was headed. “Not in the car. It’s messy and uncomfortable. Don’t you want to see your gift? Girls like compliments. I haven’t heard many lately.”

  A look of startlement sparked off in his eyes, and his smile widened in what I assumed was guilt. “I think I can manage that.”

  I never tired of listening to his compliments. As expected, he removed the babydoll with flattering and ardent murmurs. His hands wandered down my body and curved against my behind with a grip that was urgent. As I tried ignoring the feel of my breasts brushing up against his chest, I could see the frantic beating of his pulse in the line of his jaw. Could feel his muscular chest scraping against my hardened nipples as his chest rose and fell.

  “I’ve missed this.” His hand cupped the back of my neck, tugging me closer and holdi
ng me in place, the rasp of his fingertips scraping my skin. “You smell so good,” he sighed against my ear.

  I sucked in a breath of the cool air and then let it out slowly. “We need to talk.” Lately, with Alexander in the picture, the sexual attraction felt one-sided.

  “Later.” He threw me on the bed and climbed over me. His lips found mine, and after the kiss he rolled to his side and heaved my thigh over his body, pulling me into his warmth. “I need to be inside you. Ride me.” Taking my hand, he wrapped it around his hard cock. “I need you to ride me. Now, Elena.” He rubbed my inner thigh. “I really need you, baby. I missed you like crazy.” The treacherous machinations of my body had me spreading my legs wide, trapping his shaft between my inner thighs. By the heat in his eyes and the weight of his erection pressing against me, there was no doubting his lust. “I missed you, baby. Let me in.”

  I reached down and guided him inside, and his entire body tightened.

  “I’m not going to be able to go gently. I’ve been thinking about you since Sunday.” He pulled me toward him and gave me a deep, rough kiss. I fell into the nameless, formless abyss as he went at it, kissing and sucking my neck while he pounded me. Then he was whispering sweet words of adoration, pulling at my nipples with his teeth. All because of me, he was shedding his frustrations. He tired out faster than the usual, shoving into me with short thrusts. “Elena, I’m so fucking close.”

  We fucked each other hard, frantic for an orgasm. The ecstasy of his orgasm bloomed on his face, and when he was done throbbing inside me, he gave me a long kiss. Even as he slipped out he continued petting me, groaning every now and then.

  “Sleep, sweetheart. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He kissed my cheek and drew the covers over us. I turned on my side and he spooned me, keeping his hands on my breasts as we lay cuddled together. He had to have felt the frantic thrumming of my heart, but he didn’t know it had nothing to do with the aftershocks of my orgasm. I’d been unfaithful, and I hated myself for being that person.

  Mitchell fell asleep almost immediately. Slowly my heart stopped racing and I began to feel safe, very safe. Safe like in grandpa’s arms. Resolving to stop seeing Alexander, I put my earbuds in and zoned out.

  Alexander Turner

  The Opera House

  “Which one says I’m not betraying my boyfriend?” Carina’s remarkably perfect white teeth were hidden behind a seductively crooked grin. “The Vera Wang, the Armani Privé, or the Valentino?”

  I smothered a smile. “The Vera Wang.”

  “You’re right,” she nodded in agreement. “Conservatively elegant, simpler price tag.”

  “Slow, baby girl. Let me enjoy this.” My tone was playful but my demand serious.

  “Yes, sir.” She made the smallest, sweetest whimpering sound.

  Patterned chiffon worked well for her big eyes, and plait white diamonds and strappy sandals were a safe bet. The Red Sox were playing in the background. I watched Carina put on her clothes, which fascinated me. I’d been captivated by the female allure since the first time I felt that stirring in my pants when I saw pictures of naked women. Like most heterosexual men, I was pussy whipped. I loved women. I loved their foreign smell. Loved their sensuality. In the past, not only had I been led by my nose, but also by my cock. By divine right, I’d managed to never make disastrous choices because of it. The secret to the boy-girl dynamic is simple. Men want women to expertly stroke the two things they crave to have stroked: their egos and their cocks. Enters reward and punishment. If my girl wanted anything, all she had to do was plant the seed of manipulation that made me think it was my idea, praise me for it and then reward me with sex. However, if she failed to convince me with her manipulation, she’d be up for some sort of punishment. It’s like leading a lamb to the slaughter feast.

  Carina slipped her Jimmy Choos on, and I suddenly realized, maybe even smilingly, that a lot of blood was rushing between my legs. I had a fucking hard-on. I got up from the bed and began to pace around. There was no point in doing what I did next, I could feel it, but I looked down anyway. There was a huge tent in my trousers. Shoving one hand in my pocket, I tried to readjust myself to make it less noticeable. The attention felt good and I thoughtlessly tugged at the base of my cock.

  I could feel Carina’s breasts press against my arm, her perfume subtle and seductive. “I’ve never seen you totally naked.” She leaned in, “Don’t you think that’s unfair?”

  I considered that. “Was I unclear about churlish behavior? Are you in a position to make demands, little one?”

  Maybe it was the inflated syrupiness of the words traveling between us that drove her eyes to the ground. “I apologize, sir.”

  Nolan is a lucky man, I thought, as the limo pulled into the traffic.

  “I’m surprised that Noolan didn’t cut short his trip to the Big Apple.”

  “Don’t act petty. He’s a good, handsome man, Alexander. Daddy pulled Lowell despotism on him, told him to grow a pair,” Carina giggled. “No fuss. Just a family friend who’s accompanying me to the opera.”

  “Family friend?”

  Her lips contorted into a pout and she had the grace to blush. “Guardian angel. Better?”

  “Better, little one.”

  “Daddy says you’re the perfect gentleman. He couldn’t have chosen better himself.” That came out with her cheeky smile.

  “Setting the fox to guard the henhouse? I like him.” I slid my thumb between her lips, into the eager heat of her mouth. She hesitantly swirled her tongue around it, before gently, beautifully suckling on it. Plump, Chanel-coated lips wrapped around my thumb, gliding up and down my knuckle, going as far as the root, then back to the tip. I drew my thumb away from her abruptly, leaving her mouth gaping and eyes shut tight. Her face was twisted toward my direction. It was too easy and it felt too predatory, so I didn’t kiss her. I left her hanging, with eyes closed and lips parted, and opened the limo door.

  When she got out, I saw her face was flushed. She looked embarrassed, which made the whole thing very pleasurable. Indifferent, dominant, in charge, that’s what I liked, and unlike Diane, Carina knew how to please a man like me. I was as much in her thrall as she was in mine.

  Let me tell you that nothing can emasculate a space that has been devoted to classic paintings, tapestries, grand staircases, and hundreds of chandeliers. I’m talking about the Opera House. The performance tonight featured a collection of renowned ballet dancers and ballerinas, and cut both ways, I got to spend time with Carina to feed the starving dominant in me, and see Elena. Since pretty girl kept cutting off her nose to spite her face, I was at my wits’ end with her.

  With plays targeting both young and mature audiences, the opera house was bursting at the seams. I’m not exaggerating. This amphitheater had that genteel charm of old-world craftsmanship—gold leaf finishes, walnut and oak paneling, Carrara marble—that had been fully renovated. Colonnades disappeared who knows where, frescoes and sculptural plaster had been restored, tinges of gold blended harmoniously with the red of silk wall panels, upholstery, and historic carpets.

  “Why are you deluging my best friend with advances?”

  My brow furrowed questioningly as I turned around.

  Sara Cabot was of effervescent nature. Statuesque figure, blonde curls crashing over the slopes of her shoulders, blue eyes outlined with kindness, and a pert nose. The plunging neckline of her celadon green gown featured buxom breasts, and the mermaid skirt brought to view a slender figure. Tight-ass, immediately popped to my mind. What do you say to a girl whose life revolved around the completion of purplish, inconsequential projects? I half-hung my head in mock shame and said, “Holding a good man down? I don’t like being questioned by my employees, let alone their immature girlfriends.” To stagger her sinking intelligence level, I finished with, “For a petty snub who’s never worked a day in her life, I don’t expect you to understand anything.”

  “Spare me the bleating diatribes.” Her laugh was brittle.


  I smiled, because I didn’t know what else to do. Was there a purpose behind her inquiry? Or was it to elicit some primitive reaction out of me? Oh, women. Either way, I always met the task as well as I was able. “That was it, actually.”

  She replied nothing and moved no inch.

  I raised an eyebrow as if to say I thought she just made me endure the lowest kind of dumbfuckery. “Have a lovely evening, Ms. Cabot.”

  Mindlessly, I shook hands, carried on conversations, and kept an eye on Carina. During a moment of respite, I wandered to the bar and stopped just short. My stomach did an odd flip and twist, like he ones I’d seen acrobats of The Cirque performing. Elena stood a few feet away from me, coiffed and dressed with the finesse of a patrician. She wore an Elie Saab embroidered tulle dress that had a trumpet skirt pooling at her feet, and whimsical wisps of see-through sleeves.

  A florid intrigue budded in me. Pantyless? Last Sunday, I’d relished the view of her being sticky and glistening when I went down on her. Her moans of pleasure filled me like no meal ever could, and I’d found myself wondering how many times I could make her come with my mouth before she’d beg me to stop and just fuck her…

  “Alexander, we must take…,” Carina’s words trailed off as she leaned toward me.

  With a decent glass—and amount—of whiskey in hand, I said, “Let’s find our seats.”

  “That’s her. I saw the pictures.” The corners of her lips rose, revealing her amusement. “Pretty. Very pretty. You’re really into her, aren’t you?”

  “I am.” Currently my main worry was getting Elena to leave Mitchell. That said, when the ballet performance was about to start, I was immediately interested, pondering the inspiration behind it.

  The show started, slow and peacefully sweet. A ballerina stood tall, phlegmatic, staring implacably into the middle of the room, and the quest began. Dress circles, mezzanines, balconies…boxes. With testosterone raging, I was potentially combustible when I saw Mitchell kissing Elena. Like me, he’d scored a private box. Elena looked fucking soft and sweet and yielding. Was she enjoying the sloppy, wishy-washy, amateurish kiss?