She almost turned and left, but she couldn't.
She was drawn to him.
She had to be here.
She had to join him.
*
She lowered herself gently beside him, propping herself up on one elbow so that she could continue to study him.
His head was turned away from her, his dark brown hair looking black in the moonlight, the stubble thick, several days' worth. His chest was well-muscled, a thin covering of dark hair stretching from nipple to nipple, up to the notch where his breast-bones met, and down across a belly that had once been taut six-pack but was now just a little more softly-defined. At his belly-button the hair thickened and then was lost beneath the white twist of sheet.
She reached for him, one finger, a long nail making gentle contact with his chest. She pulled her hand towards herself, drawing the nail through his chest hair. He twitched. She hadn't expected him to be so well out of it, so quickly.
Her nail reached his nipple, scratched across it, and he twitched again, opened his mouth as if to speak, then sighed, settled again.
She moved her finger back to the centre of his chest, dragged the nail down over his ribs, his belly, and finally pushed down beneath the tangle of sheet.
There, where the hair thickened yet more, the side of her hand came up against the base of his cock. She pressed the flat of her hand against him, teasing the beginning of his shaft, feeling it stiffen against her palm.
She moved her hand farther down, took him in her grip, and squeezed and pulled as he grew in her hand.
He always had been a grower and now he was long and hard and thick and she had to shift her grip, stop pulling downwards, start pulling up as his cock came to lie hard against his belly in her hand.
She worked up and down his length, squeezing the shaft. She slid up to the head, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the hard head, already shiny and wet in the moonlight.
Loosening her grip, she pressed him hard against his belly with her palm and started to roll his cock from side to side. He gasped, shifted his body, but still didn't turn to her.
Moving back down, she cupped his balls, held them. His cock twitched and pulsed against the heel of her thumb, and she worked at it, his cock swinging freely from side to side, as hard as she had ever known it.
Finally, she dipped her head, allowed her hair to trail down over his ribs, his belly.
So close, he must have been able to feel her hot breath on the wet head of his cock. She hesitated, his scent so intense in every breath she took. She drew the moment out and then, when she could hold back no longer, pressed her lips against the underside of his glans.
Opening her mouth, her tongue swept across his cock and she started to lap, a kitten at milk. He groaned at this, and finally a hand swung down and gripped the back of her head firmly, her hair tangled in his fingers.
This was all about him, she realised. At first it had not been so, she had wanted him, ached for his touch, for his hardness to be deep inside her, but now... now things were different, one of those imperceptible shifts. Now she wanted to give. Now she wanted him to have it all.
She took him deep and his body twisted and bucked. His sweet salt taste was an intense trigger for her, the spark for so many memories. Of the first time she had sucked him, a cheeky party blow job in the bathroom of a friend's house. The look in his eyes when he had realised what she was just about to do, what she was doing... what she had just done, as she rocked back on her knees, grinning and laughing and wiping at her mouth with the back of a hand. Of lazy Sunday mornings, of kissing her juices off his face and then working her way down to his eager, twitching cock. Of snatched moments, of lazy foreplay, of him coming... the way he came so hard in her throat or when she pulled back for him to spurt over her face or breasts.
Now, she pulled her head clear and wanked him hard, two hands pulling and twisting, his cock slick with her saliva and his pre-come.
His hands were at his sides now, fingers clawed, gripping the bedding.
She took him in her mouth again, still wanking him, enveloping his glans in her mouth, flicking at it with her tongue.
Her movements had become urgent, almost desperate, a savage intensity in every movement.
He arched his back, pressed up, forcing himself briefly deeper and then she felt hot liquid suddenly filling her, pulse after pulse.
She pressed down on him, her lips around him, swallowing him deep.
As he softened she drew him deeper, deeper, until his cock was entirely in her mouth, and still she sucked. Every last drop of come, sucking him dry, sucking him soft.
His body subsided, the tension ebbing away, leaving him.
Finally, she released him, moved up to lie beside him, an arm across his chest, a leg across his hips, his head still turned away, his breathing slow, deep.
*
He left the next morning without a word.
Daylight in the room, suddenly harsh on her eyes and she was awake, aware that she was alone again. No sounds of another person in the house, just the wind in the eaves and the sound of an occasional passing car outside.
She could still taste him, still smell him.
She rolled over onto his side of the bed and convinced herself she could feel his shape on the mattress.
*
He had dreamed again last night, and then woken with the heart-tearing rush of reality reasserting itself, the lurch from dream to real, the fall from her, from his love, to the truth that she was gone, dead, taken from him.
He'd showered in cold water, scraping at the dried scabs of come on his belly. Guilty, as if he'd somehow betrayed her by dreaming of her again, of having a wet dream when all he felt in his heart and his head were a gaping, aching emptiness.
Dry, he'd pulled on whatever clothes came to hand, grabbed his keys and left the house in a rush. He couldn't stand it. Couldn't bear this any longer.
Outside in the car, he slumped until his head came to rest against the steering wheel. He remembered her hand on him, pressing his erection hard against his belly. Christ, it was as if he could feel it even now!
He remembered the wet sliding of her lips over the head of his dick, so familiar.
He drove. Through the fringes of town, ignoring the usual turning that would take him to his office.
He turned into the beach car park, an open grassy area that would close soon for the winter. Easing off, he came to park at the cliff edge, just a low wooden barrier separating him from the void. The cliff wasn't high here, but it was high enough. A good burst of acceleration would take him through that barrier. End it all. Why not?
He sat staring at the sea for an eternity.
He couldn't go on like this.
Somehow he had to find a way to move on, or he would sink forever until it was too late.
*
She went to him in the night. By the time she reached the bedroom he was flat on his back, a twist of sheet across his middle, his body sharp and sculpted in the cold light of the moon.
She paused by the bed and looked down at him, taking in every detail, the shape of his chest, its gentle rise and fall, the dark body hair thickening towards his belly.
She was drawn to him.
She had to be here.
She had to join him.
She couldn't let him go.
Ever.
*
She woke in time to see him leave.
In time to see the look on his face as he woke, looked down, saw the dried crust of their juices on his belly, his drained cock. The look... it was horror. Pain. Despair.
His eyes were sunken, set deep in heavy black shadows.
He cried out, twisted his body away from her, stumbled through to the bathroom.
She lay there in the shape he had made on the mattress.
She knew he was blind to her, but now it sank in, twisted something in her chest, made her feel how he had looked.
It wasn't fair.
She needed him.
She couldn't let him go.
She wouldn't.
*
She did.
She had to.
She loved him and so she had no choice.
*
She went to him in the night, one last time.
She wore heels. High stilettoes, black, a delicate strap at the heel. Fishnet hold-ups, with deep lace tops. Tiny black and cream satin briefs, and a matching balconette bra.
She stood at the foot of the bed, light from the half moon spilling in around her, lighting up his sleeping body. His chest was uncovered again, the sheet covering him from the ribs down.
She reached over and tugged at the sheet.
It came free from his body and she took him in, savouring the sight. His figure was still lean and strong; he had one leg drawn up slightly, his cock lying to one side against his hip.
He grunted, shifted, settled.
She reached down to one of his ankles, stroked, ran her knuckles up his calf. He twitched and shifted again.
She stroked his other calf and watched as his cock started to stiffen.
"Hey," she said softly. "It's me."
Fingernails on the inside of that bent leg, scraping along the thigh.
He put a hand to his face and rubbed at the stubble, and then at his eyes.
Her fingers ran across his balls and back down the other thigh.
At last, he moved his hand away from his face and opened his eyes.
"Wha...?"
"Shh."
She stood back, let him take her in.
He sat up, leaning on his hands, eyes wide.
"But..."
She leaned forward, took his chin in her hand and kissed him, dipping her tongue between his lips and then yielding as his tongue drove into her mouth.
She pulled back, stood.
"You have to let me go," she said. "You can't go on like this. You just can't."
He started to raise a hand, then stopped.
"You can't."
She put a hand to his shoulder, gently pushed, and he lay back.
She stood, looked at him stretched out on their bed, cock long and hard against his belly.
"But..."
She slipped the briefs down, off, balled them and stuffed them into his mouth. She took his hands, pinned them above his head, gripping him hard by the wrists as she swung a long stockinged leg across him.
Straddling him, she looked into his eyes and she saw that he knew, that he understood.
She lowered herself, her pussy lips pressed hard against his shaft, parting, settling around him. She felt his hardness against her, and started to rock her hips slowly back and forward, sliding his length against her in gradually lengthening strokes until the head of his cock met her clitoris and then she slid back down over his entire length, slow and teasing.
He made to move, to bring a hand down, but she had him gripped firmly. Slowly, she stroked the length of his cock with her wet pussy, over and over again.
When he tried to move again she dipped her head, found one of his nipples with the tip of her tongue, flicked at it. And then she used her teeth, dragging them across the nipple, then closing on it until he gasped.
For a moment, she settled with her pussy against his balls, the base of his shaft hard against her clit, and then she slid up along his length again and paused with the head of his cock against her opening.
She kissed him, her lips meeting the satin briefs she had gagged him with. She closed her teeth on the fabric and pulled the briefs clear, spat them away, and suddenly his hands were free, too, one at the back of her head, pulling her to him, the other running down the curve of her ribs, her waist, the swell of her arse.
A slight shift, a change of angle, and he was inside her, slowly sliding deeper, filling her like she'd never been filled before.
She pulled her head back, away from his savage kiss, the metal taste of blood on her lips, cried out as he impaled her, up to his balls in her hot, wet cunt.
Now, although she was still on top, he was taking control.
He moved both hands to her hips and held her hard as he drove his cock into her with urgent passion. Each time he buried himself, she felt a rising pressure, a growing wave, and she knew that she would come soon.
She started to rock and twist her hips in time to his movements, her breasts crushed against his chest, her mouth close to his, her hair draped down around his face like a curtain.
So close now... so close.
She put a finger to his lips, calming him, and he paused, deep inside her, cock hard and throbbing and so close to letting go.
She pressed down on him, slow and hard, every tiny movement magnified, both of them right at the edge.
His mouth opened, he ground his head back against the pillow, the moment drawn out as if forever.
The first pulse of hot come deep inside her pushed her over the edge and it was as if her whole body spasmed as she came, each pulse of his come bringing on another wave of her own climax, until they slumped, spent, in each other's arms.
Some time later, she moved.
Again, he made as if to speak but she stilled him with a finger to his lips.
Shifting to her knees, she turned, found his now soft cock, and took it into her mouth, licking and sucking until her juices were gone from him.
She hadn't expected him to respond again so soon, but he started to stiffen in her mouth and suddenly he was hard again. She drove her head up and down, savage and brutal in her passion, and almost immediately one last pulse of come filled her mouth.
*
She stood at the foot of the bed for one last time and looked at his naked body, sculpted into landscape shapes in the light of the half moon.
"You'll always be in my heart," he told her. "You'll always be in my dreams."
"I know, my love," she said softly. "But you have to let me go."
He nodded, and he did, he let her go, but always, a small part of her would remain, forever his.
END :)
If you liked this story, you might also like The Touch.
Ruth lives in the Hall with the mysterious Sisters. They have powers, and they have ways of influencing the world. They have ways of getting what they want. When Ruth sees Saul working with the stonemasons on the village church, young, stripped to the waist, fit and tanned, she knows what she wants. Refusing to use her own magical powers, Ruth sets out to win Saul on her own, without any help from sisters Anna and Esme. But if she can't use supernatural Charms and Enchantments, just what can she do to make him hers?
Excerpt:
Back in the village... he hadn't expected this.
The first streets had been quiet, but now... now a woman hung out of an upper-storey window, topless. Naked for all he knew. "Hey, lover boy," she called to him, words slurring. "Come here, lover boy."
Up against a wall, lovers tangled. Two women kissing hard, legs tangled, grinding. As he watched, one tore open the other's top and dropped her head to suck and bite at a dark nipple.
He hurried on, only to find a group of women in the street near to the inn, blocking his way.
They saw him and it was as if a pack of predators had spotted prey.
"Hey, Saul," said one of them, a woman he half-recognised. "Saul, you going to show us what you got? Where's a man when you want one? Off fucking the witches of the Hall. Well we can all play at that now, can't we? Saul? Saul? Come here, Saul."
Buffeted from woman to woman, he tried at first to treat it as a joke and laugh it off, but they kept blocking his way and so he tried to force his way through.
Just a short distance to go to the inn and refuge, a door he could barricade himself behind until this madness evaporated.
One of the women caught his shirt and pulled, ripping it, and the sight of bare flesh seemed to drive them into a frenzy.
Another grabbed his belt, and then there were hands all over him, scratching and stroking, hands on his chest, on his arse, hands squeezing his cock throug
h his trousers, hands buried in his hair. He would have fallen, but all the clutching hands supported him, and suddenly he was being lifted, carried at waist height in the middle of the throng.
Trousers parted, hands pulled at his hard cock and suddenly he feared they might pull it right off. Hands... hands... he didn't know how many hands, pulling and squeezing and scratching as they carried him.
A gunshot froze the scene, and Saul was half-dropped, half-released so that he could manage to extricate himself, to stand.
He was wearing only open, torn trousers now, and one boot.
He forced his way through the crowd and there was Rosie, his saviour, standing at the side door of the inn with a shotgun pointed skywards, smirking at his rapidly dwindling erection.
"Get inside, Saul," she said softly. "You really don't want to be out on a night like this. Not if you want to stay in one piece. Not with half the village out for a revenge fuck while their men are up at the Hall with the sisters."
(continues...)
Purchasing links on Polly's website.
Other titles by Polly J Adams include:
Three Times a Virgin
Jess likes to explore her sexuality; she likes to play and she's a girl who finds it very hard to say "no". Her husband Adam is less adventurous. He likes to fantasise. He encourages Jess in her sexual adventures and loves to hear about them afterwards. Then, chatting one night in bed, Jess realises that Adam might be open to a little more than just planning and hearing about her exploits. Maybe it's time for Adam to get a little bit more involved.
Purchasing links on Polly's website.
The Rules of the Game
Jack and Karen live complicated lives and rarely get time alone together. So when Jack is called away on business on their anniversary there is a price to pay. Karen sends him a series of messages on his phone and he has to follow her instructions to the letter if he is to win - he has to play by the rules of the game.
Purchasing links on Polly's website.
Paranormal Fantasies: A Promotional Collection of 14 Erotic Supernatural Stories Page 17