A Brutal Tenderness

by Marata Eros

  I pounce, half launching myself across the bed. That’s the problem with being big, you don’t think of yourself in those terms. I’ve been this size for years, it’s what I am. But to Jewell, I’m monster-size as I land beside her, smoothly rolling her against and partly beneath me.

  It feels so right it hurts.

  Jewell gives me wide eyes, putting her palms against my chest, holding me . . . holding me off, and I lift my brows.

  “It’s been awhile,” she says in explanation with a nervous laugh.

  Oh. I search her face, asking slowly, “How long’s awhile?”

  A blush storms her delicate features and feel my dick soften. I know she’s not a blushing virgin, our intel told us that. But . . . maybe close. Too close to keep that level of excitement. I hesitate, she suddenly feels even more fragile than before.

  I wait and she watches my strained patience.

  “Two years,” she admits softly.

  I can’t be the cause of any pain for Jewell, I think. It’s not the role I want. I know those pleasure and pain centers are actually near each other and have played that tune before so closely you could slice it with a knife. But I say none of this.

  Instead, I ask for confirmation, though she doesn’t know this. “How many lovers?”

  She scowls, and I squeeze her to me with a soft chuckle, my hand lightly palming her nipple and closing my fingers in a pincer grasp that is at once a smooth roll and tweak that causes her to moan, and I smile and repeat softly, “How many?”

  God, how I want her.

  “It doesn’t matter . . .” She gasps as my ministrations continue, distracting her from the terse answer she wants to deliver. “I’m not asking you for a list of your lovers,” she says with indignation, that husky quality to her voice a flat purr of irritation moving toward anger.

  I tell Jewell the truth; we’ve gone too far for lies. “It’s not a tally, I just want . . . I want to know how far we can go. I don’t want to scare you off.”

  I see the look on her face and laugh from my gut. The humor bleeds out of my eyes as I see she’s not a little sub to toy with; she really is a completely inexperienced woman. “You’re a vanilla girl, aren’t you, Jess?”

  Jewell’s face scrunches indecisively for a moment, then seems to get the contextual meaning of my words. “I guess so,” she says uncertainly, then boldly meets my eyes. “But I’m ready . . . for this,” she insists softly, pushing through her shyness.

  Me too. “We’ll change that,” I promise her, and myself. Then add, “but not today.” My voice lowers as my lust sweeps in again, the eye of the storm vanishing. “Today, I want to be inside you . . . here,” I say, as I press the bottom of my palm against the hottest part of her, the place I’ve wanted to touch . . . far longer than I like to admit. Jewell’s breath releases in a hiss of pleasure, eyes on mine, her hand covering mine on her sex.

  I’m in charge of this event and not afraid to let her know. It’s how it has to be for me. I need to be the aggressor; it’s as much a part of me as brown eyes and height. I won’t apologize for it, and we’ll see if she’s what I think she is.

  Jewell will submit, and deep down, I know she wants to.

  “I’m going to take your clothes off now.” I shuck the rest of my shit and chuck it in the corner. I enjoy undressing a woman, unveiling her like a finely held gift that I want to unwrap but wait for impatiently. In the case of Jewell, my patience is at an end. I know my position on the case is in jeopardy because I’m not playing a role anymore. This is me. And not all of me is pretty. But I’m real . . . and that’s what Jewell needs. And at the moment, she’s all I need too. Fuck the case; all I want is Jewell.

  Jewell’s breathing is already staggered as I slowly unbutton the long sweater she wears, the pale lavender the perfect lick of color against her fair skin. I unbutton one button, then meet her eyes as I press a hot kiss against the piece of flesh that is revealed by my slow undoing of the soft material.

  Her eyes meet mine and beg for something. “Cas . . .” she moans at the barest touch of my foreplay. Jewell moves those elegant fingers into the stubble of my head, and I move into her hands like a cat seeking cream as my lips lick that spot of skin.

  I hope that I give Jewell what she needs. What I know I need.

  I reach her belly button and thrust my tongue into it, licking around the outer rim and doing it again, and she moves her hips into my mouth as I push the wetness of my tongue into the little divot. When her hips move, I trap her with my forearm, licking. “My eager little ballerina,” I murmur as my tongue dances at her flinching and quivering hips and lower body.

  I sit up and Jewell lies before me, every inch of her skin bright pink, her camouflaged eyes half lidded from her desire. A soft hush of lust and heat cloaks my bedroom, suffocating in its unrequited weight. I pull the undone sweater from underneath her and throw it on top of the pile of my own tossed clothing. I lie down against her, low. She strokes my head, and the unaccustomed gesture of affection undoes me more than if she’d laid her hand on my cock. Without realizing it, Jewell speaks to the only tender part of me that exists.

  No one ever reaches it. Somehow, in minutes, Jewell does.

  I roll my eyes up to meet hers, the side of my face against the flatness of her stomach, her fast heartbeat pulsing against my cheek as I begin massaging her small ass cheeks, the breadth of them filling my palms and spilling around the edges just enough for me to enjoy the feel of her curves against my grip. I do it hard enough for her to squirm. Just as Jewell opens her mouth, maybe to ask me to be gentler, I say, “I’m going to enjoy fucking you, Jess.”

  That seems to awaken her from her drowsy, lust-filled contentment, and Jewell puts a staying hand on my belly as I crawl over her and whisper, “over and over.”

  In her face I see the myriad of emotions, changing . . . evolving . . . and finally accepting.

  I’m not off base; Jewell likes my crude terms, my dominance.

  “Yes,” she whispers, affirming me.

  Jewell doesn’t like that she likes it, but after two years of hiding and self-imposed control, Jewell wants someone else to have it.

  If Jewell thinks I’ve waited this long to just attack the obvious, she’s misread me. Her panties and bra match, a soft lilac that would look hot as hell with her real hair and eye color but looks eatable with her fake coloring as well. I take my own advice as I bend my head to her nipple, standing at pebbled attention for my mouth.

  I don’t bother to take her bra off, that’s too assumed, too easy. I suck her nipple right through the fragile lace edging, and Jewell arches her back into the embrace of my hot mouth, my lips working over the sensitive nub through the scattered material. I finish the job of undressing her, the V of the matching panty peeking out from her jeans that with the first button popped.

  I slowly unzip her pants and smoothly roll them off her legs, batting them away with one hand, my eyes flicking back to hers. I mound her tit up, taking more of the flesh of her breast into my mouth and speak around it. “Spread your legs, Jess,” I command, sucking harder, drawing her breast almost painfully hard into my mouth, and she resists me with a small shake of her head and I smile around her nipple. Jewell is exquisite, like a fine instrument to appreciate.

  I want to play her often. In fact, I haven’t enjoyed the deep heat of her body, yet I know, even now, I’ll never want to leave it.

  Jewell disobeys me and I up the pressure, my other hand going between her legs, over that sheer layer of material that covers her clit, and I begin working it lightly with the pad of my thumb, flicking it back and forth as she pants against the pillow, her face thrown to the side, one hand pressing me against her nipple, the other fisted in the linen by her face. I respond to her unconscious cue, sucking even harder, and I can hear by the hitch and gasp of her breathing she’s getting close.

  But I’m still in control and it’s one of the biggest challenges of my life. I want to sink my meat into her in the most unbearable
way I can imagine. But keeping myself on that tight line of control, while I wait for release, will make her submission to me all the sweeter.

  Jewell gives a soft grunt of frustration, releasing the bunched-up sheet, her eyes seeking mine. I say again in singular articulation, “Spread. Your. Legs, Jess.” My own breath pants along with hers, my hands tremble with my own urgency.

  Please release me, Jewell, I think. Release us.

  I close my eyes against the erotic sight of Jewell, her warm skin underneath my hands, and I speed my tempo. The slickness of her clit so engorged beneath my finger that it begs for skin-to-skin contact.

  Jewell silently moves her legs apart, her feet sliding to the edges of the bed, and I breathe my relief against her nipple. “Thank you,” I say with a sincerity that borders on a plea. I lift my face from her nipple and leave her clit, roughly shoving aside the strip of material that bisects the perfection of her succulent ass and sex, pushing my finger deeply inside her.

  We both groan in exhaustive sync as her tightness reflexively clenches against me and Jewell’s back pops off the bed in a perfect arch, her hips bucking as she cries out in a hoarse shout, “Ah!” Her orgasm is a half scream of pleasure, an invitation to do what I’ve been wanting to since I’d first seen her body move in supplication to music.

  It will move for me.

  “Now . . . I fuck you,” I promise in a voice gone so low with need it comes out like a whisper.

  11

  I watch her expressive eyes go round from my words, but Jewell says nothing. Instead, she looks at a spot on my neck, those blue pools of her soul traveling, and I realize she’s following the pattern of ink on my body.

  My eyes never leave hers as I grab a condom from my dresser, tearing the packaging off with my teeth and unrolling it on my dick, the thing throbbing with a life of its own.

  I crawl on my hands and knees over Jewell, rolling off the scrap of panties from underneath her, and her eyes widen anxiety at the sight.

  She’s gotten a load of my cock. It’s not the first time I’ve seen the look, but it’s the first time I’ve given a shit.

  “Cas,” Jewell begins, her eyes looking at me, then lowering to what was going to be inside her in moments. “I can’t,” she says softly, the desire as strong as her denial of it.

  “You can and you will, Jess,” I say with certainty as the tip of me kisses the wet warmth at the core of her and my breath releases in a soft hiss. It feels so fucking good I want to weep from the sheer sensation of it.

  I meet her eyes, knowing I’ve done the prep. “I’ll go slow,” I promise. It’ll be all for Jewell, because right now it’s a staccato rhythm in my head to sink my prick, bury it to the hilt. It’s a primal directive all males have when the deepest part of a woman is open before them.

  I rein my shit in, entering her slowly. I can’t stop the groan that seeps out from my clenched lips, “Ah . . .” I try to relax into how awesome she feels, how tight . . . how wet. The effort not to come is all-consuming, my dick throbbing with the want of it.

  “Jesus, Jess . . .” I whisper my fear, “I’m not gonna last inside you . . . so tight, you’re so tight,” I say as I give a gentle rock, deepening our contact as I give her body time to accept what I’m giving.

  Jewell moves subtly beneath me, spreading her legs wider to accommodate me, and I just about go right then. But I don’t, I slow, looking into her face, elbows planted alongside her torso as I stare into her eyes, palming her face on either side, as the tip of me is almost to the end of her.

  Jesus . . . fuck . . . she’s so got me. I feel that falling sensation, but this time I land.

  I land into Jewell, my barrier against her, my anger at her involvement in Faith’s murder slipping away to be replaced by feelings I never expected to experience.

  I move inside her, the epiphany of my emotions burning inside my brain, behind my eyelids, as I slowly pull out of Jewell and repeat the motion and she groans as she meets my deep thrusting with a small uplift or her hips. And all the time I secure our intimacy by cradling her face in my hands. Jewell’s got my fucking heart for the taking, though she’s unaware. I bury my body inside hers, yet the feelings I have for her don’t leave. I surge forward, tapping her deepest entrance, while the wounds inside me are erased by her body, her love . . . her existence.

  I watch the same emotions crowd her face: vulnerable, raw, and exposed, as another orgasm crowds out the feeling for the rush of release in a single deep pulse and she gasps, her breath held.

  “That’s right, Jess . . . just One. More. Time,” I say as I push myself inside her with a singular press. I feel myself go and we explosively gasp together. I feel like I’m coming from my toenails as the orgasm tackles me from the ground up. I shout my release and give a final swivel with my hips as her heat clenches around me like a velvet fist and another pulse throbs inside her, squeezing my cock in her delicious tightness.

  Large, half-lidded eyes meet mine, and Jewel’s limp limbs as they twine around my larger ones rest in satiated repose. She gives a soft laugh and brings my face to hers for a languid peck that deepens.

  I’ve never felt this level of contentment in my life. I gaze down at Jewell, who’s wearing a grin on her face. She reaches up and her thumb rasps over the stubble on my chin as wetness squeezes out of her eyes. Not tears of sadness, but rightness. This eases the tightness in my chest, as it would with all men when they know they’ve given a woman all they had to give . . . and discover she likes what you’ve done.

  “Thank you, Jess,” I say, though she doesn’t know what those loaded two words really mean. I’m thanking her for way more than mind-blowing sex. Jewell is so much more than that to me. She’s my catharsis.

  She’s dangerous, my mind reminds me. Too fucking late, I answer back and grin at her. Her response to our time together is completely spontaneous and contagious.

  As I soften inside her, I gently pull out, her body capturing me as I do and I give a low chuckle. “It’s like you’re custommade for me,” I say as I run a finger down her face from temple to jaw. It’s somehow unreal to me that random circumstances can change your life. I can’t stop the smile that becomes a grin.

  Jewell smiles back at me, but it looks a little sad, and I suddenly wonder what she’s thinking. I brush the tears from her eyes, smiling down at her, feeling loose and comfortable, my stress shelved for the moment.

  “Those are good tears, right?” I ask, and she nods quickly.

  “I’ve . . .” Her eyes sweep down, then move to mine again. “It’s been a long time since I let myself become involved,” Jewell says in a tight voice, steadfastly watching my hand play up and down her side.

  “Why not?” I ask, feeling flattered as hell that she chose me, knowing why she hasn’t made the move for the two years she’s been hiding.

  What Jewell says surprises me. Her eyes are on me with that piercing honesty. “I had to have something worth sacrificing for,” she says.

  “What sacrifice?” I ask, though I know. Loss of anonymity has a high price tag.

  “Everything,” she answers in a whisper, and I know why Jewell’s sad, but I don’t press. Can’t. I’ve already claimed too much honesty without giving enough myself. We stare deeply into each other’s eyes and I still want to know more.

  I never used to wonder what chicks thought.

  Now all I do is consider Jewell.

  We lie in a comfortable and satisfied silence afterward. We breathe as one, my huge hand lacing and engulfing her tiny one. A sudden memory of that hand moving as she spins, the smallness of it somehow keeping her balance as she moves and glides across the dance floor fills the interior of my head.

  Jewell breaks my thoughts. “I’m wondering . . .”

  The image scatters to the four corners of my head and I wait for her thoughts as I continue to inspect her delicately constructed fingers.

  She sees me inspecting our locked hands and cocks a brow that looks golden in this light, the natur
al red trying to peek out.

  “You’re so tiny,” I say in simple observation. Jewell frowns suddenly, studying my face. She seems to shake off something that doesn’t agree, then another emotion passes over her face, and I sit up on an elbow.

  I don’t like whatever thought put that expression on her face.

  “What’s that look for?” I ask as our hands untwine, my eyes searching hers.

  She keeps a reluctant silence.

  Fuck this. “Tell me, Jess,” I command. I’ve fallen: hook, line, and sinker . . . her bullshit is mine now. It just is. It’s lighter when we both own it.

  I lift the hand I just finish holding and kiss it, telling her with my eyes that I can handle whatever she dishes out.

  I can—I will.

  Jewell meets my eyes and takes a deep breath even as she gives a dismissive shrug. The sheet falls to her waist, baring a perfect nipple, and I’m momentarily blindsided by the surprise glimpse of her. I bend and suck her nipple into my mouth.

  Jewell goes quiet and I smile around her nipple, knowing I’ve made her thought process stutter. “Tell me,” I say while I lave the sensitive flesh with precision, already having a feel for how she likes it. Jewell gives a little moan, and I really begin to work her over, my hand palming more of her softness inside my mouth.

  Her words make me release her nipple with a suckling pop.

  “My family used to tell me I was ‘too big.’” She pauses, her head bent in shame, “for ballet,” she finishes in a voice I strain to hear. “They didn’t push Thad like they pushed me. I know that my stepfather thought I needed to earn my place. You know, not the prodigal son and all that.” She’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “Like he was such a prize.” She says it quickly, her eyes darting around as if the sick fuck was in the room with us.

  My eyes narrow at that last comment. Those bastards, I think. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  Jewell gives a little half-sob exhale and answers, “No.” I watch her squeeze her eyes shut, hiding from me. “That’s pretty much what life in the MacLeod household was like,” she says with a shaky laugh. I press a fingertip under her chin and Jewell opens those eyes . . . eyes floating with unshed tears.