by Sara Forbes
He cocks his head, and then swoops in and kisses me hard. I feel the ridges on the pole against my spine as he digs harder and harder with his mouth. It’s rougher than I remember but it’s wonderful. I open up for him and muscle memory kicks in when he takes command of my mouth with his tongue.
Before I want him to, he breaks off, his hands smoothing down my shoulders. I feel the sheer strength of his arms. “Take off your clothes.”
I’m open-mouthed in shock.
“Ken?”
“Do it.” His voice has a hard edge to it that I’ve never heard before, all playfulness gone. “What’s the matter? Do you want me to do it for you?”
His commanding tone sends a shiver down my core. I don’t know this man, this beast with flexing muscles and messy hair and stubble all over his determined jaw. The rules have changed. I’m motionless with indecision. Every cell in my body wants to please him, but I don’t want to seem like a slut. I want him to do it for me.
I don’t know what I want. I let my arms flop by my side.
“So, it’s like that, is it?” He reaches for me and instead of delicately unbuttoning my blouse from the top down as I expect him to do, he grips my hips. I squeal as he yanks me from my kneeling position into one where I’m lying flat on my back on the duvet cover as he was before.
“Wait.” I gasp in semi-panic as he pins down my arms one after the other in the grip of his massive hands.
“For what?” he asks. He looms over me, his arms holding up his weight in a plank position, his knee beside my hips. I’m totally overpowered, no chance to wriggle free. Not that I want to. Or do I? I don’t know.
My heart is pumping like mad. I twist my head to look at my left wrist, which looks pathetically tiny in his grasp.
Looking down at me in my captive position, he dips his head and kisses me. This time he takes it slow, nibbling my bottom lip, sliding his silky tongue in between my teeth as I open up for him again.
He coaxes helpless moans from me as his tongue trails along my jaw, slowly, slowly, down my neck and along my sternum. I’m lost in sensation and old memories so I can barely focus on what he’s roughly whispering as he does this. But soon the words start becoming clearer.
“You like this, don’t you? You’ve wanted this all day.”
I don’t know whether I’m supposed to answer him or not. I keep panting, hoping he’ll understand that I like it very much indeed. But then he stops and gazes at me in earnest, an almost angry expression.
“Tell me you want this,” he says.
More wetness pools in my panties. “I want this.”
“No, say it like you mean it.”
“I want this,” I growl. Now I’m getting angry. With impatience and hot desire.
He lets go of my arms and slides his hands up the hem of my dress to my waist and yanks my wet panties down my legs. He scrunches the silk in his hands and then flings it away.
I shiver with anticipation as he gazes at my bare legs. I’m trying desperately to read from his eyes what he has in mind, because I feel so exposed. This isn’t how I expected my first time with Ken to be. His face is hard, all man. It’s as if I’m some stranger, some whore he picked up in an alleyway. And yet underneath it all my body is raging, yearning for him with a fervor I can’t control.
“You thought I’d go soft on you,” he says, as if reading my mind.
I nod rapidly. My dress feels way too tight as my breasts swell against the unyielding fabric.
“Well, no.” His fingers make contact with my clit. It’s like an electric shock. I buck forward, my hands reaching instinctively to protect myself, but as his fingertips lightly encircle the delicate nerve endings, I give in and let my arms flop by my side, trusting him. Pleasure radiates outwards in waves, heating up in my pelvis, all the muscles coming alive.
“Oh my God,” escapes from my mouth before his tongue comes crashing in. As he plunges, his fingers are driving me wild down below in a similar rhythm. Then his tongue disappears from my mouth, leaving me gasping for air. Next thing I feel is that wetness against my pussy and the change makes me gasp again.
He licks me to a frenzy, his tongue carefully tracing the lines of my folds, coaxing my juices, and making me quiver out of control. Tears spring to my eyes. Even though we’ve never been this close before, Ken seems to know me, my rhythm, and what I love.
He pins my thighs down and I arch my back off the bed with every sweep of his tongue. I’m opening for him, yearning to be filled with the one thing that will make my body happy. I just didn’t realize it until now.
Then he raises his head, his blond hair all mussed.
“Take off the dress.”
By now I know to sit up and obey his order quickly. It feels good to get it off. I fling it over to the space between bed and window.
“I’m going to fuck you, and you know why?” He’s taking a condom out of his pocket. So he’s all prepared, is he?
I shake my head.
“Because I’m angry with you. You were mine and I should have given you this.”
Before I can protest, his fingers are back on me, this time on my hardened nipples which feel like they’re going to burst. He rubs his flat palm over them, making them stand to attention. The ache between my legs gets worse.
I buck my hips to give him the message.
His green eyes gleam at my neediness. He’s got me exactly where he wants me. I watch him in awe as he shucks off his dress pants and lets his cock spring out. It’s big, strong, and beautiful, just like the rest of his body.
After he sheaths himself he slides a finger inside me, then two, and my pussy walls clench around them for dear life.
“I’m going to fuck you like this,” he says, and his voice slows to a languorous drawl. “Then I’m going to flip you over with your ass in the air. After that I’m going to tie you this pole. Because I have two years of non-fucking to make up for, do I make myself clear?”
I nod.
“And each time, you’re going to tell me how much you like it.”
His filthy talk is driving me wild. All I can do is nod and desperately hope that he’ll carry through on each and every one of these threats.
“But first, tell me that you need me.” He swoops in and takes one nipple in his mouth, lathing it with his tongue. Then, quickly glancing at me in between breasts, he moves to the other.
I clutch at his shirt, which he still hasn’t taken off. He pulls it off, and reveals his toned chest and golden chest hair, which reflects the soft light of the beside lamp. His muscles are so well-defined they look like they’re drawn in with a pen, interesting plains and valleys. The description ‘six-pack’ doesn’t do him justice. I want to explore every inch of him, drive him wild the way he’s making me incapable of thinking anything but the most primal thoughts.
“Liv,” he says and his tone is animal, dangerous.
“I need you,” I gasp.
“Good.” He inches his cock closer to my opening, and slides his tip against my folds. It’s maddening and I groan. “Ken…”
As a reward, he pushes in, not slowly but in one sharp lunge.
I shriek.
He clamps his hand over my mouth. “You’ll wake the hotel,” he says.
I murmur into his hand, a mix of moaning and incoherent cursing as he digs against me, deeper than anyone has ever gone before. It goes from being uncomfortable to an experience of awe and self-discovery. He’s reaching a spot—it must be my G-spot—deep inside me that I never even knew was there. That extra inch makes all the difference.
My world closes in on the sensation of that spot being pounded in a frenetic rhythm. I feel nothing else. I know nothing else. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know Ken’s spouting infamies, talking dirty, growling at my sluttish writhing, my total lack of control. I know his hands are kneading my flesh. I know that I need this and I’ll die if I don’t get the satisfaction I crave.
When I reach the frantic point of no return, I open my eye
s, which have been squeezed shut in the effort of wringing every drop of pleasure from this.
“Oh, you’re so greedy,” he says.
“Yes,” I agree. “And you’re so angry.”
“But you love it,” he says, bucking a little slower, his change of rhythm alarming me. What if he teases me and doesn’t let me come?
“Yes.” I’d agree to anything. “Just … keep going … fast.”
“Mmm. I guess marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, huh?”
“Ken…” I thrash my head from side to side. “Please.”
“Much more fun with a scoundrel like me. Because underneath it all you’re as bad as I am. You’re as filthy as I am.”
He speeds up, at exactly the right rhythm now.
“God yes,” I say. I don’t care if he thinks I’m agreeing to his dirty talk. I probably am.
“Come for me, bad girl,” he says. “Come all over me. Squeeze it out, everything you’ve got. Show me how much you love it when I talk dirty and treat you rough.”
He’s pounding faster now, merciless. We’ve given up talking as the bed groans and squeaks under us. I guess he doesn’t care that much about the other guests after all.
And then I’m there at the point of release. The orgasm radiates out from the innermost core of me out through every nerve and up into a tight mass of throbbing muscle, and my mind fills with the blankness of pleasure, nature’s anesthetic. It’s more than physical. This feels like releasing my soul into the air.
Ken’s still hard as I shatter underneath him, limp and helpless as relief courses through my veins.
But then he thrusts twice and his neck strains and his head thrusts backwards. I feel the tension and the agony of his relief as he spurts out his load. His face goes from angry to anguished to a complicated sort of blissful all in the space of a few seconds. And then when he flops onto the pillow, sated and blissful, he looks like an angel.
I watch him for a timeless moment. I’ve always loved the expressions his face makes. And I’ve seen a few new ones tonight.
14
LIV
WHEN I WAKE, THE morning sunlight streams in on me. I don’t know where I am. I sense the sleeping body next to me. Sickening dread twists a knot in the pit of my stomach. I’m confused, and not quite awake.
He’s here. Peter. How? Didn’t I get away? I clutch the pillow tighter to me as if I can steal another few minutes of calm by doing so, trying to quell the anxiety. What kind of mood will he be in today? Belligerent? Quiet? Another day walking on eggshells, hoping not to knock him off his fragile equilibrium in some way.
Does he like this hotel or will there be a huge litany of complaints to deal with before we get a bite of breakfast? It is a hotel, isn’t it?
I sit up, frowning. Now I’m really confused. My gaze trails down to the pillow beside me. The hair is blond, not dark. A massive shoulder pokes out from under the duvet. I jerk back in wonder. This wakes him, and he turns his head lazily towards me.
Omigod, it’s Ken.
The events of last night come crashing back. Images, words, feelings. Beautiful feelings, crazy, happy, intense feelings. He was so demanding, so wild, so dirty, and I loved every second of it. I’ve never felt so free.
“Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ken stretches his arm towards me, his eyes heavy with sleep. “What’s up?”
I flinch. I can’t help it. He doesn’t seem real. None of this does.
“Seriously, what’s up?”
I’m mute. I’m don’t like explaining what’s up. It generally doesn’t turn out well. I glance around the room, looking for some distraction, something neutral to say, about anything. “God, look at the time.”
Ken lifts his head off the pillow and follows my gaze to the digital alarm clock sitting under the TV. He flops back down again.
“I looked. 10:06. So?” He reaches for me again and this time I let his fingers graze my shoulder. His soft touch sends shivers down my spine.
Peter would never be in bed at 10:06, of course. He’d have his agenda and would be out there doing it. He’d probably be out for one of his tremendously long walks, returning about now and telling me how invigorating ten miles of walking is, going on and on about it, insinuating that I’m a lazy cow for lying on in bed—without actually saying the words, of course.
But Ken here seems just as happy to laze around with me. The only parts of him walking are his fingers, up and down my arm in a very pleasant way.
“Come on, where’s the off switch?” Ken asks.
“What?”
“The off switch for your brain. Either you’re speechless at my sexual prowess—understandable—or you’re overthinking how we got here. If the latter, rest assured, I have no clue either, but I think it’s bloody fantastic.”
His cheesy grin burns a little hole in my defenses and I have to smile.
“I’m sorry,” I shake my head. “I just…” How do I explain this feeling of leaden powerlessness that swamped me for so long that it seems part of my personality? Even when I finally got the courage to leave Peter, it still feels like the ultimate failure because my behavior wasn’t good enough for him. I still blame myself for not being able to cure his bad moods and isolation tactics through my love and understanding. Despite all my efforts I never, ever got to see him return to the caring side he displayed back in college before we got married.
Instead of all this, I say, “I enjoyed last night.”
“Good. Me too.” He kisses me on the cheek.
I sigh. His answer is so simple, so heartfelt. He’s allowed me to make him happy. I still wait for it… the barb that’ll undercut the simple pleasure of the sentiment. But after a moment of silence, it doesn’t come. He’s just looking at me with those crazy attractive green eyes, that mildly skeptical crinkle of his brow as if he can’t believe his luck.
“I guess you’re not much of a morning talker, huh? Fair enough. Need coffee? Or more of this?” His fingers jump off my arm and onto my bare thigh, making small sweeping movements across my muscles inching ever nearer my core. After the first ticklish sensation, it becomes deeply pleasurable, reminding me of my new addiction. My pussy throbs in happy memory of yesterday. I’m still a little sore, I think. I doubt I’ll be able to walk properly when I get up. I don’t care. I want to spend most of the day horizontal, with Ken.
I ease my upper body back on the pillows, shamelessly exposing my whole body to him.
“That feels so good,” I murmur. I’m not just trying to please him either. This is a message that vibrates with honesty in every fiber of my being. I don’t want him to stop. Ever.
“You think that feels good.” Ken sits up and shimmies down the bed, throwing off the duvet onto the floor.
When he dips his golden head between my thighs, I let out a gasp in anticipation. And when his tongue makes contact with my hot, throbbing clit, it’s indescribable. Not just the pleasure administered so precisely but the whole attitude of playful adoration that Ken carries off so well.
This is so blissful and uncomplicated. Life could have been like this.
No, I can’t start thinking like this.
The profound stupidity of my life takes a hold and tightens my throat. As Ken gives me the five-star treatment with his tongue and lips, I give myself over to sheer pleasure again, same as last night. Tears prick the back of my eyes. I don’t know whether I want to cry, or laugh, or scream.
Instead, I grunt as he wrenches wave after wave of pleasure from my body, driving me to another climax. I’m gripping his thick blond hair between my fingers, probably too tightly but he doesn’t seem to notice. His scalp is warm, his hair silky, just like the rest of him. Everything about this man is liquid gold—attractive, pure, and incredibly hot. His massive upper body is crouched over me like a lion, muscles rippling in his shoulders and arms as he lashes me with his tongue.
Very soon, I climax and my mind goes white. With my face bathed in sunlight and a deep serenity seeping
into my body, it’s a moment I’m going to treasure for the rest of my life.
All I can do is flop back on the pillows, and wait to slowly rise out the mist of orgasm, boneless, weightless and feeling incredibly beautiful as Ken gazes down at me. I wish I could tell him how grateful I am for this release. For everything.
I reach out and trail my fingers down the enticing groove between his defined pecs and I wonder how I came to be here in this hotel with him. With these looks, this golden boy could have been a movie actor or a model. With his noble background and elite schooling, he could have walked into many professions. Instead he’s hidden in the shadows of his two older brothers, living in the family home of one brother, and working under the thumb of the other, feeling shame for his debts, trying to recover his tarnished image. I don’t know why I never thought about it before, but Ken’s life is not what it should be, and certainly not what he deserves.
“You’re frowning again,” he says.
“Am I?” I raise my arms to encircle his neck. I badly need his nearness now, his intimacy. I don’t let go as he pulls me by my hips to a sitting position on top of him.
His cock is bursting to life under me, his big energetic, heroic, warrior cock that drove me to the edge and beyond last night. I blush to think of how angry our sex was. With Peter, the lovemaking was tepid, the rest of the time he was angry. But Ken’s anger comes out when he’s ramming me with this cock of his. I know which I’d prefer.
I slide my body down his legs until my head is positioned over his cock which now juts up, demanding attention. I smile.
Ken’s no longer smiling. His face is frozen in a kind of anguish, like he can’t believe I’m going to help him out. It gives me a huge rush to think I may be able to control his pleasure like this, something that Peter never allowed. He didn’t go in for blowjobs. I can’t even remember what his excuse was.
So, when I take Ken’s tip in my mouth, I’m nervous, not sure I’m doing it right. Yes, I’m a twenty-four year old oral virgin, which is disgraceful, I suppose, but what can I do if my husband was anti? My first licks are tentative, around the grooves of the tip. Porn images of women with crimson lipstick sucking on phallic ice-lollies flash in my mind so I think why not and try that.