His hands grab my ankles and drag me down the bed, my legs hanging off the end.
He bends over me, his hands framing either side of my head, his lips mere centimeters from mine. I can smell the scotch on his breath, the musky scent of his aftershave flooding my nostrils.
“This is happening.” I tell him before he has a chance to change his mind. I grab the collar of his crisp shirt, pulling his lips to mine. Soft and gentle, I taste and savour him. The deep grumbling within his chest is a good sign, I presume, so I continue.
He pulls his mouth from mine a moment later, his wet lips pulling against mine. “Abbi, this isn’t a good idea sweetheart. You’ll feel differently tomorrow,” he warns me again and I know I have to shut that up now. I thread my fingers through his hair, once again, pulling him to me.
My lips hit his harder this time, more aggressively, more passionately. My tongue seeks entrance, licking and lapping at the seam of his lips. He tries his hardest to deny me, to fight me off but I keep pushing, desperate for his mouth, desperate to taste him on my needy tongue. He eventually grants me access and I take advantage. I push my tongue into his warm cavern, licking at his own. I sigh into the kiss, the taste of him just as exquisite as everywhere else.
His erection begins to grow further between my aching thighs, pressing into me.
He pulls away from the kiss, leaning on his hands, staring into my eyes. Those warm depths drawing me to him. I feel myself drowning in them, under his spell.
“Are you really sure you want this Abbi? There is no turning back? We can’t just pretend it never happened after this, it will change everything.”
“Stop talking, just kiss me,” I demand him, pulling his head against me again.
All men are the same, there is only so much they can take before they give in or crack and I know he has hit his threshold as his own hunger has taken over. He starts to control the kiss, grabbing my hair in one hand lifting my torso and head from the bed, his tongue in my mouth consuming me entirely.
I feel his other hand graze down my body, shaking with his trepidation and nerves. He strokes over my sensitive breasts and nipples, still anxious to continue. “Seriously, Leighton, I want this. It feels good. I don’t want the feeling to end.” I encourage him, taking his hand in mine and sliding it over my breasts again, squeezing my swollen breasts with him. “Just like this, do it just this way.” He finally takes over, pinching the small buds of my nipples, between his fingers.
After a few minutes, he begins to enjoy what he is doing, his hand roaming down to the soft, wet skin between my legs.
“If that isn’t enough evidence that I want this, that I am enjoying the way your hands make me feel, then I don’t know what it. Feel how wet you make me Leighton, how just the smell of you has me dripping.” He hisses, drawing a heavy breath in as he slides his fingers through my folds, a single finger teasing me.
“God, you’re so wet sweetheart,” he moans out, expertly stroking me.
“I told you. I am ready for this, Leighton. Give me everything.” He groans out at my command, loosing himself in the arousal drowning him. I can feel his steel hardness against my leg as he finally fulfils my every need.
“Shit.” I cry out, arching my back towards him. “More. I need more.” He presses his mouth to mine, a deep kiss depriving me of air as he sinks two fingers inside of me. “Oh God,” I scream. There is a mixture of pain and pleasure; I am still sore from the day before but the lubrication from my drowning wetness helps glide his expert fingers. I am close to an orgasm already. “I’m gonna cum.” His thumb begins to circle my clit, relentless, torturing circles. “I’m coming, fuck.” I buck against him, thrashing against his hand, his tongue still lapping at my own. The intensity of the pleasure as it sears through me takes the very breath from my lungs, I’m not used to the sensation, and no matter how hard I try to control my body it has a mind of its own as it spasms under his expert caress.
He removes his fingers, standing to remove his jeans. His gaze never leaves mine as he removes every stitch of clothing, revealing every inch by delectable inch of skin. He throws his removed articles to the floor in a crumpled heap. “Fuck.” His ink is amazing. Every inch of his torso and arms is covered. Sleeve tattoos on his arms encasing Japanese flowers, fish and even writing. His broad firm chest has beautiful calligraphy writing, his sides following suit.
I trail my eyes down his magnificent body, his arms bulging, his abs toned and ripped, and then his hips, those fucking beautiful hips. How is one man able to mimic a God, so perfectly?
I risk a glance down at his package.
Fuck is it a prize worth winning. It is perfect, at least eight inches of hard iron. A delectable amount of veins circle the circumcised length. I gulp, anxious as to how it will fit inside of me.
He removes a foil packet from his wallet, tearing it open and then rolling it onto his cock. I thank God one of us is aware enough to remember protection. How he is so calm and collected I have no clue; he has had the same amount of alcohol as me and I am a horny needy mess.
He kneels at the foot of the bed, his knees encasing my thighs. He leans over me, his dick flat against my stomach. He reaches his long rough fingers up to my face and strokes the hair away before leaning in to kiss me again. It is soft and slow, a mating of tongues and lips. My heart swells and my stomach flutters hard at the glorious whole feeling it brings me.
“Shuffle up the bed for me,” he says to me softly as he moves himself away so I can manoeuvre into a better position. I bring my knees up, using my hands to lift myself up and move myself backwards. My head hits the pillow at the same time his body comes on top of mine again, securing me to the soft mattress.
He strokes his hand down my body again, stroking around my breasts as his other hand reaches between our touching thighs. I feel him line himself up to my soaking entrance.
“Are you sure you want this? We can still stop.” A true gentleman, and there I was thinking there were none left in this dismal world.
“Trust me, Leighton, there is nothing I want more than this. I need this, for me,” I assure him, my brain clearing and becoming less alcohol intoxicated. I need the control, to be the one to say ‘fuck me’ not somebody just taking it. I know if he does this I will feel a thousand times better, and selfishly I don’t care how he feels after. I hoped, that when I said I need this for me, he understood the view I had.
He leans down again joining his lips to mine as he slowly pushes into me. I gasp a breath in as for the first time in three years, somebody was inside of me for more than just their pleasure. My body arches into his, my breasts scraping erotically against the slight dusting of hair that covers his chest.
“Jesus, you’re so tight,” he growls as he spreads my inner walls, his glorious thickness stroking my insides.
“Leighton, God, this is too good. Please, more, please can you fuck me harder? I need this!” I demand him, needing to feel him everywhere, in me, on me, around me.
I feel him lean himself up on his forearms before he pulls out deliciously slow, circling himself a little at my entrance before he rams back into me hard, pulling a scream from my throat. He hits my cervix, his warm breath on my neck, his moans penetrating my ear drums.
“Fuck, this is heaven.” He pounds fast and relentlessly into me, getting lost inside of my body. “I’m not going to last babe.” The way he says that, all breathy and deep causes me to clench around him. I bring my hand down between my legs to rub my clit, needing more release.
“Good girl, rub yourself, feel my cock filling you. You feel so fucking good.” His voice sends me over, his sexy demands driving me fucking crazy.
“I’m going to cum again,” I scream out above his loud grunts and groans.
“Cum around my cock, let me feel you clamping down on me,” and I do just that. I spasm around him as I have the fiercest orgasm I think known to man, the feeling out of this world amazing.
“I’m goi
ng to cum Abbi.” He rams into me hard, his shoulders and chest tensing, the exquisite muscles bulging, making my eyes roll into my head, the perfection of every contour and valley on his divine body driving me into a sex fuelled frenzy.
I feel him pulse inside of me as he continues to pound me before stilling on top of me. “Oh God, that feels so fucking good, your tight pussy milking me. Argghhh.” He moans into my ear, his voice clip and British. I had discovered when he is angry, like he was in the Alley, or aroused, like now, that sexy Essex tone he sported changes and morphs into a delicious Aristocratic British one, and God if it doesn’t drive me fucking insane.
He relaxes on top of me, holding his own weight off me as much as he can.
“Oh my God.” I struggle to regain my breath, my chest heaving for the oxygen around us. I hadn’t had sex for pleasure in three years, and God that was some fucking reintroduction back to it.
“Yeah, you could say that.” He rolls off of me removing his condom and disposing of it in the bin beside the bed before pulling me into his chest and holding me tight.
“Now sleep Abbi. You need it,” he demands me. Kissing my hair softly and stroking my skin gently I feel myself drift almost instantly into unconsciousness.
I awake to a miserable winter morning. The icy chill outside restrained from entering by the large curtain covered windows.
I roll over to see if Leighton is still with me or if I had dreamt the whole night. I groan as I discover the bed is empty, a frown forming on my face. Maybe my imagination had played a cruel game on me last night and I didn’t just have the best bloody sex of my life.
I crawl out of bed and across to my en-suite bathroom, in desperation to relieve myself and shower. I certainly smell of sex, but no other sign that it ever happened. Maybe it was just that good of a dream that my body had thought it actually happened. Surely women were capable of wet dreams as well as men?
Returning to my room after washing the sweat from my body and cleaning my hair for the millionth time in the last three days, I get myself dressed in some new designer clothes. Drying and straightening my long blonde hair and applying a little makeup, I feel like a new person. These last two days have changed me to a degree, I feel so fresh and clean, so new and vibrant. So safe.
Approaching the kitchen I smell him before I see him, the musky man scent driving my hormones crazy. Sitting at the island in the kitchen sipping what I expect to be coffee and reading the morning newspaper, is the sexiest man I deem alive. Clean shaven and perfectly styled hair, beyond intense green eyes and tanned skin to die for.
I have to gulp down the saliva that has built up within my mouth before I get to him.
“Good morning Abigail. Did you sleep well?” Yes I did, the best in fact.
“Very well thanks. And no hangover which means it’s a very good morning.” I smile at him, grabbing myself a coffee, feeling at home already.
“Good. I’m glad,” he simply replies.
“Boss, can’t find the folder!” I hear somebody shout from a hallway outside the kitchen. His voice was definitely not British, American maybe?
I see Leighton’s infuriation at the guy’s loud voice as he slams his newspaper down and stands from his stool at the island. “Excuse me for a minute; I have rude friends as you can see.” He huffs his way out of the kitchen, and I sit and think to myself that I didn’t find him rude in particular, and Thomas and Antonio were definitely not rude.
He returns a few minutes later followed by the guy I assume the voice belongs to. Holy crap! What was it with every one of his friends looking like Adonis? The guy was pure model material for sure. He isn’t rugged and built like Leighton and Ant, and he isn’t handsome like Thomas. He is beautiful, every feature on his face perfect. His eyebrows shaped, his skin flawless and tanned, his dirty blond hair, similar in color to Leighton’s, styled in a perfect comb over, not a hair astray. His eyes are a beautiful shade of hazel, bright and wide, dark blond lashes framing them. His body is a good size, it is clear he is toned and ripped, just isn’t as big as Ant’s enormous gargantuan size. The last thing I notice about him is that he knows how to dress. He has smart dark jeans and a lovely grey shirt on clinging to those muscles underneath.
“Scott, meet Abbi, Abbi this is my deranged American friend Scott.” I smile at him, excited to meet another of Leighton’s friends.
Scott punches Leighton’s arm with a reasonable amount of force, making him take a step to the side. “Fuck off Leigh, you can be a fucking ass sometimes you know that.”
Jesus, I had never found an American accent so sexy, well until now that was. It matched that pretty boy look he sported perfectly. Deep and so enticing I felt drawn to stare at him, the same way I had with his other two friends.
“Sorry Abbi, hi, it’s nice to meet you.” He walks past Leighton, laughing as he stumbles a few steps from the push he was given. He gets to my side and extends his hand for me to take. I place mine in his; surprised I wasn’t nervous to do so. He lifts it to his lips, causing a nervous girly like giggle to leave my throat.
“Hi, Scott, it is very nice to meet you.” I bat my eyelashes at him like a teenage secondary school girl.
“She’s a keeper Leigh,” he says releasing my hand and looking over to his friend.
“That she is, but I’d prefer if she wasn’t one of your conquests Scott, she doesn’t need your shit,” Leighton tells him bluntly, sipping once again from his mug.
“So, guys, what is the plan for today, am I needed for anything?” I ask Leighton in particular; because I knew there were a lot of things I wanted Scott to need me for.
“Well, I’m having the guys over tonight for poker and food. Ant and Tom are coming, this twat here and Nate, Brad and Luke, those three are brothers. You could come to the shops with me and help get some food and drink?” he asks me, making me feel warm. Out of the four of the men I’d met, Leighton and Tom were the only ones that made me feel soft and warm inside. Ant and Scott just triggered some kind of primal lust that I knew eventually would settle. It was just a physical attraction. Leighton had rescued me and for that I owed him my life. I already craved to please the man and Tom, well if my intuition was correct I knew he would be there for me, that I would be important to him. When Scott or Ant looked at me all I saw was arousal, a darkening in their eyes that told me everything I needed to know. They were after one thing in a woman and it started with P and ended in Y. Not that I minded being used by any of these men because, let’s face it, I didn’t think you could feasibly clasp a group of men so sexy and put them together as well as Leighton had managed to do.
“I’d love to; have to make sure you buy the lads good stuff,” I joke with him, winking as I swallow the remainder of my coffee.
“As I’ve already said Leighton, she is a keeper. Where have you been all my life Abbi? I’ve needed you when this tight asshole won’t get the good stuff in.” I see the wink Scott chucks Leighton, and I know then, that every word that had just left his mouth was utter bullshit.
“Doesn’t matter where I’ve been, all that matters is I’m here now and I’m going to make sure Leighton treats his pals good. Isn’t that right Leighton?” I ask him, laughing as Scott chucks his arm around my shoulders bringing me into a friendly side hug.
“God isn’t she just totally awesome,” Scott says to the both of us as he plants a kiss to my cheek. “Anyway sweet cheeks I’m off, got places to go, people to see. I’ll catch y’all later.” He releases me and moves to shake Leighton’s hand. He leans up and whispers something in his ear, Leighton’s face becoming a close resemblance to thunder.
Leighton nods as he listens, and then pats Scott on the back as he moves past him and out of the door. “See you later Abbi, and remember, get the good stuff.” He waves to me once and then leaves down the hall.
“You, Miss Abigail, are a bad influence to him,” Leighton tells me, smiling, as he sits down at the island in his kitchen.
“He see
ms like a good guy, in fact all your friends do.” I smile at him, happy to be a part of this group of people.
“He’ll do. Can be a little shit head sometimes so just watch him. As for the others, I couldn’t ask for better friends. All of them are like my family.” He gleams at me, clearly happy to have this group of wonderful guys around him.
“How did you even meet them all?” I ask, intrigued as to how he created this family, especially the American addition.
“Here and there. Antonio I met through my father, he was my dad’s associate's son, been friends since we were children. Scott I met whilst in the US on business. He helped me on a job and the others I just recruited as I went along, meeting them on various assignments.” I loved the way he never says what he actually does for a living, just keeps referring to it as a ‘job’
“Oh, okay, that’s cool,” I reply to him standing from my chair.
“Anyways, how about we get to Tesco’s so we can get the things we need?”
“Sure thing. Let me just go and chuck some shoes on and I’ll be right down.” I hop from the stool, leaving the room.
I arrive back to the kitchen in record time and see Leighton standing by the sink with his jacket on and keys in hand. “I’m ready,” I tell him with a slight breathlessness from running.
“Good. You didn’t need to rush Abbi, we have a while.”
“I know, just wanted to make sure tonight is perfect for you.” I smile at him.
“It’s not your job to make it perfect sweetheart, it’s mine. You’re just an added bonus.” He begins to walk from the room and towards the hallway where the underground garage door was.
The lights to the Audi saloon click as soon as we reach the bottom of the stairs and onto the concrete flooring. I get myself into the passenger seat and buckle up. Leighton steps in beside me and buckles his own belt.
Deliverance (The LockDown Series Book 1) Page 8