Conspire

by SE Hall

  “Why’d you bring me here, Jocelyn?” I ask the question foremost on my mind and of importance.

  She chews her bottom lip, a long exhale. “Albert Schweitzer once said, ‘At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person.’”

  I nod, scooting closer, awaiting on edge for her to continue.

  “I’ve never brought another soul here, no one knows of my visits, or its value to me. No matter what, now it’ll always be ours.”

  The last shred of hope for resistance I was hanging on to flies out the small window, catching a ride on the white beam. “Joc—”

  “No,” she crawls on her knees to me, and in her signature move, covers my mouth with her fingers. “I understand you and I are new, maybe not destined, but you are the only spark I’ve felt in as long as I’ve known what a spark is. Sure there’s obstacles, but I know you feel it too, Bryce.”

  I kiss the fingers over my lips in understanding agreement and her face alights. “Make like to me, Bryce, right here.” She coos, lying back, offering herself to me virtuously, eyes vulnerable and trusting as they capture mine.

  Honor and a spirituality the likes of which I’ve never felt swell in my chest as I lower, covering her body with my own. No longer able to bear the title of gentleman, I seize her mouth ravenously, claiming every corner and crevice as my own, restraint evaporated as I rub my thickening cock against the heaven waiting between her thighs.

  “Are you sure, angel? I mean, it’s been—”

  “That’s why I said ‘make like,’” she smiles faintly. “I like you, do you like me?” She questions me with a quirked brow.

  “Very much,” I grunt out, the heat from her body permeating through my clothes.

  “Then, yes, I’m sure.”

  Unstoppable, I reach back for my wallet, and drop my head to her chest, devastation consuming me. “Babe, I don’t... it’s been a while, I don’t have anything.”

  Kill me. Let this lighthouse sink too for all I care, just put me out of my misery.

  “I checked,” she raises my chin to look at her, “tested clean since I was last with him, and I have an IUD; no way they were gonna trick me into being connected for life. And you,” she studies me, “you, I trust.”

  “That much?” I ask, stunned.

  She smiles demurely and gazes up at me through her dark, thick lashes, sincerity painted across her face. “That much,” she confirms.

  Sitting up, she slips first one, then the other, strap of her sundress off her shoulders as I watch in fascination. I lift her up and set her in my lap, straddling my hips as my fingers ascend to the nape of her neck, tangling in that long, silky hair and tilt her head back. My mouth finds the sensitive skin directly under her ear, the place I’ve already learned she loves, kissing and nibbling at her sweetness.

  “You know what Dante said about a spark, don’t you?” I murmur gruffly into her ear, her lithe body wriggling with desire against mine.

  “No, what?” she breathes heavily.

  “‘From the little spark may burst a mighty flame,” I whisper, more than cognitive, dumbfounded if truth be told, that we can say “like” all night…but she and I, we’re already more.

  “Be my spark, Bryce. Set me on fire.”

  She read my mind—and though perhaps not yet realizing how precise her words are, she’s just rasped out the best phrase I could think of to describe it…one, immediate spark of undeniable chemistry and as fast as a real fire grows…so did we, us.

  I’M ALREADY ABLAZE; my limbs kindling, a bed of embers smoldering in the deepest parts of me, but I need Bryce to strike—the accelerant to turn this fire within positively volcanic.

  He uses the solidity of his broad, generous body to cover my own, persuading me downward, again flat on my back. Awakened yet somewhat nervous and skittish, despite my bold invitation, his eyes—colored like the sea I hear rolling in the distance— gaze down at me conveying patient, loving understanding, and my nerves fall lax in ease.

  His voice is guttural, strained with gallant consideration as he asks once more for reassurance. “Jocelyn, please be sure. If you give me this, I may ask for everything.”

  The things he says, so much a gentleman, the missionary-style accountant you met at a church picnic and know would always be good to you. But the way he says them, and the indecent, unfairly gorgeous body, mouth, and face they come out of... like the Adonis on billboards you refuse to believe actually exists but would let fuck you six ways to church on Sunday if he did.

  He’s the perfectly balanced blend of romantic porn.

  “No more talking, unless it’s dirty.” I goad, lifting my hips in encouragement, longing for him to finish undressing me. It’s in there, an animal—feral, primal, and all man; he’s just holding back, thinking me a fragile prude of virtue. I’ve been that robotic version of myself far too long, and refuse to waste one second of Bryce Griggs on anything of the sort.

  Gradually, he slips my dress down and off, stare riveted on his own guarded progress, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. Whimpering, so wet I’m sure he can see it, I reach down to get my boy shorts off, suddenly itchy and constrictive, but he stops me, seizing my wrists with a hedonic growl. “My gift, I’ll unwrap it however I want. Patience you lil’ hellcat.”

  “Remember what I said about like?” I bait him in a breathless pant, my heaving chest bouncing my freed breasts.

  “Mhmm,” he hums.

  “Do you like to fuck, Bryce?” This voice finds force I didn’t know existed.

  His eyes instantly fly up to mine, fiery and intense, the calm blue of the sea now stormy with hunger. “Boss lady,” he drawls, slow and casual, synced with the swipe of his tongue along his lush bottom lip. “You want making like,” he grins, “or you want to be fucked?” He bores dangerously into my eyes now.

  “I want you, however that comes, but I want it in the next three minutes.” My patience was left on the first step inside this lighthouse. Twenty-four hours of continual foreplay, the slow burn melting away my self-control, I need to feel him inside me like my heart needs a beat.

  He tosses his head back and laughs, every hesitation or worry bailing out with it. “I’m so screwed, you’re terminal, I already know.” My panties zip off and fly through air, then he reaches back, ripping his shirt over his head, throwing it in the same direction.

  Leaning back, he stands, offering his hand out to me. “Stand. Up.” He enunciates each word in a low, provocative demand.

  Pulling the second my hand’s in his, I’m on my feet, completely naked. Even amongst the dim light, I’ve never felt more on display. He guides my fingers to the button on his cargo shorts and lets go. “Do your worst, bossy,” he teases.

  With feline diligence, I snap open the button, gulping quietly and moving to his zipper. He fidgets, working off his shoes and socks I’d guess, but I stay the course, lowering the slider, hyperaware as each of the teeth spread apart.

  Perhaps voracious, or possibly a frisky attempt to unnerve me, his large, warm hands rake down my side, stopping to grip the curve of my waist, then continue their descent over and around to grab my ass. His ragged breathing is docile compared to my own as I subtly arch, pushing more of it harder into his hold.

  “Greedy girl,” he ducks his head, lazing his mouth over mine, sucking first my top lip then bottom, skimming his tongue in between them, all the while firming his groping on my ass. “I’d say you’ve got about two minutes left.” He helps one of my hands to his groin, “take me out,” he rumbles in my ear.

  A tumultuous purr emits and I transform; unaccountable now for the fiendish, long-caged nymphet he’s summoned. One powerful shove on his clothes and he’s unveiled, low lighting doing nothing to hide from me just how impeccably he’s built... everywhere.

  If there’s a fault in his physique, I’ll be damned if I can find it. Broad, sculpted chest tapering down to a slim waist, dented into a “V” for very lickable, a light brown line of hair du
sting below his navel drawing my eye to...

  “Whatcha thinkin’, gorgeous?” His arrogant murmur catches my attention long enough for me to look up at the satisfied smirk on his face.

  “I, um,” mid-stammer my eyes wander back to his dick, at least as thick as my forearm, and maybe as long, lurching forward up and away from his body—quite frankly, terrifying me. I’ve had one... and in no length, girth, or form did it compare to that.

  “Come here, sweet girl,” he whispers, pulling me flush against him.

  Gently suckling my jawline, up to my favorite spot just under my ear, he comforts me in a sweet timbre. “I’d never hurt you. Are you wet for me, Jocelyn?”

  Before I can nod, one hand caresses smoothly down my stomach, a slight nudge to push my legs further apart, and a lone finger glides through the middle of my saturated pussy.

  “So wet for me, gorgeous.” Distracting me, he gropes and fondles my ass while kissing me passionately, fervently, sweeping my mind from thoughts of painful impalement to the taste of his tongue. As my hands fly to his hair, tugging on the short, sandy strands, giving back all the passion boiling in me, his finger penetrates inside. I squeak into his mouth, rising on my tiptoes, but he only pushes deeper, adding another; stretching me as his thumb manipulates my clit like an on/off button.

  “That’s it,” he moans on my lips,” get ready to take me. Ah fuck, J,” he grits hoarsely as I clench around his fingers. “I need in there, babe. Give me your hand.”

  He takes it, directing our fondling of me, together now, coating my fingers with my own want. “Now touch me, Jocelyn.” He moves my hand to his stone-hard length, skin stretched so taut I can feel the blood-filled veins pulsing against my palm. “Yeah, babe, rub it all over me, up and down; that’ll help me slide right in.”

  I must make a noise of need, or want, or maybe I don’t make one at all; hell if I know—mind astray and disoriented, able only to register his scandalous, throaty words, the feel of his fingers being sucked in deeper by my muscles and a huge, throbbing, now wet cock in my hand, cause he seems convinced I’m ready.

  “Arms around my neck,” he grunts, and I comply immediately, embarrassed by my audible pout as his fingers leave my body. “Jump,” he commands, catching me under the thighs when I do. My legs naturally curl around his waist as he walks us over to a wall, my back chilled by the touch of the cool, hard surface.

  “Say it one more time,” he utters, tenacious eyes pinning mine.

  “Yes,” my throaty gasp echoes.

  Dipping his head to watch, he takes his cock in hand and lines the swelled head up with my entrance. “Alright babe, you take me; come down as fast or slow as you can handle.” His voice is dire, layered with husky torture.

  Part of it’s to impress him, admittedly, but more so I may meet my demise if I don’t feel him inside of me immediately—three minutes was up what seems like several excruciating but steamy and exploratory hours ago. Locked in his hypnotic sight, I accept him inside me to the root in one painfully fulfilling plunge.

  “Oh, uh,” that one tinged with discomfort, “oh my, Bryce, I can’t—”

  “You already did,” he buries his face between my breasts, the scruff of his stubble tantalizing my flushed skin. “Just hold still for a minute, babe, adjust.”

  “Don’t move!”

  He chuckles. “I won’t. It might kill me, but I won’t.”

  I graze my fingertips across the sinewy muscles of his torso, catching my breath, trying urgently to relax my internal muscles. “You’re stunning,” I say frankly.

  “And you feel like heaven. Please move, baby,” he whines in the cutest way that can still be considered manly.

  Gradually, I test things out—a tiny roll, twitch from side to side, the slippery sounds of my acceptance growing louder. Between the noises of sexual union and his prolonged howl, a fuse switches, igniting me. I bob, up, down, circling my pelvis, snapping and popping in acute, aggressive possession, making sure he hits spots inside me that are virginal.

  “Uh, fuck yeah, J, ride me. Just like, ahhh,” he keens, diving back into my cleavage, savagely lashing out on one breast then the other, back and forth frantically, unable to decide.

  “Bryce, I need—”

  “God damn, me too,” his reply muffled in my boobs. “‘Kay babe, hold on.”

  On my trips down, he thrusts up and in, digging his fingers into the flesh on the backs of my thighs, leverage to pull me onto him at a startling pace. Then he shifts, in a graceful, masterful move, my legs now over his forearms opening me wider than I would’ve ever dreamed possible, allowing a whole new angle and target for each probe of his dick.

  The incline of ecstasy, every thump of his head inside me strumming a spot that enflames further with each subsequent visit. Long arms and astonishingly nimble, he manages to keep me held and secure, stroking into me feverishly, and get a thumb or finger on my clit, punishing it with brutally euphoric twists of pleasure.

  All at once, no build up or tingle of warning, I detonate, wailing into the night as torrents of rapture gush from me, down over him, the song of us now a cacophony of wet suction, feminine shrieks and low-pitched masculine groans.

  Amidst the uncontrollable, unstoppable contractions of my internal walls, I feel him pulsate and throb, then surge out his release. His face, forehead beaded in sweat, falls heavy and lethargic between my breasts, also slick from exertion.

  Sated and dreamily exhausted, I feebly run a hand through his hair and lean my head down to kiss the top of his. This seems to jolt him back to reality, smiling as he looks up and places a lingering, peaceful kiss on my lips. I’m not sure how long we stay like this, eyes locked on each other’s, an entire conversation happening with no words, but what just happened between us—more than physical.

  Too soon, he carefully helps me get my legs down and feet on the floor, but keeps his hands on me, testing my stability, as I feel the evidence of his pleasure start seeping down my inner thigh.

  “Can you stand?” His voice and expression caring.

  I nod, so he goes and quickly hunts down his shirt, then uses it to tenderly clean me up. I should probably be mortified, ruining his shirt, leaking and all, however I’m anything but. All I feel is cherished, coveted—of importance.

  Again he retreats, this time returning with the rest of our clothes, dropping down to one knee, his shoulder my brace as I first get dressed with his help, followed by him—lest shirt.

  I’m hauled into his arms, encased snugly against him, the recipient of delicate kisses to my lips, forehead, eyelids, shoulders, palms... smothered in noble after-care.

  “Can we sleep here?” he asks, a lazy simper to his voice.

  “Not unless we want to get arrested.”

  “Damn,” he grumbles, releasing me long enough to pack up our stuff and grab the flashlight, then my hand. “This time I’m leading, and driving.”

  “No arguments here. My legs feel like jelly.” Last word barely spoken, I’m whooshed up in a cradle hold, his eyes cast down at me…back to serene azure.

  “Better?”

  “I can walk,” I snicker.

  “And I can carry you.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “How does the rest of you feel?”

  “Eh, maybe a little sore,” I shrug, a shy smile and blush.

  “What about here?” He softly taps my forehead.

  “Happy,” I beam.

  “And here?” He brushes his fingertip over my heart.

  “Bursting.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he inhales deeply, considering me as blows it out, “damn glad.”

  SHE’S FAST ASLEEP, strewn across the seat with her head in my lap before we’re even outside the state park. Seeing as how I was forbidden sight on my way here, and the navigator’s snoring light and adorable, I’m reminded how much I dig Siri.

  Depleted of energy myself, via the most outstanding cause ever, I turn the radio on low to help me stay awake, but as not to wake J. Sly irony tugs a
t my mouth as I hum along to “Better Together,” and a few more non-applicable songs later, we’re parked in front of the cabin.

  I undo her seatbelt and try my damndest to maneuver out of the truck without waking her, but sleepy eyes greet me as I lift her in my arms.

  “I can walk,” she yawns.

  “And I can carry you,” I remind her, kicking the door shut.

  “Like you,” she mumbles into my chest, where she’d immediately cozied her face.

  “Me too, babe. And I really like your lighthouse.” I grin even though she can’t see it.

  “Our lighthouse,” she’s adamant in her correction, and I can’t stop from kissing the crown of her sleepy lil’ head.

  Impressed with my own agility, I manage to get us inside and the door shut without jostling her too much. “J, what bed am I taking you to?”

  “Yours,” she burrows in snugger against me. No doubt she felt the bolster of my heart rate on her cheek from her answer.

  “You need anything first? Drink? Bathroom?”

  She shakes her head so I continue down the hall and lay her down on the bed. Tending to her first, I remove her shoes and turn down the covers as she scoots her groggy self over and under them.

  Stripping down to just my briefs, I climb in beside her, eliminating any space between her back and my front, arm wrapped around her, hand caressing low on her belly. She fidgets, obviously uncomfortable, so I free her from my arms and back away.

  “I can’t sleep in this dress,” she sits up, whisking it over her head, casting it aimlessly aside. “There,” she sighs and lies back down. “Get back over here.”

  Not having to be asked twice, I sidle up flush to her, resuming coverage of her now almost completely naked body. “Night, Jocelyn.”

  “Mhmm, great night. Dream sweet,” she whispers.