by Anna Parsons
“Don’t stop, Dylan. Please give it to me. Harder!” she screamed as she began to open further to him. He felt the thickest part of his dick push into her. Once his balls touched her ass, it was his turn to scream. The head of his dick was being caressed by her cervix while the root of his massive cock was caught in the tightness of her pussy. He had found home.
“Hope, mine. My god. My Hope.” He was pounding into her, pushing her toward the middle of the bed. He climbed atop the bed, and over her. He lost all coherent thought as he felt her pussy contract around his dick. Her channel was tight as a vise, as it milked his cock. They both groaned with abandon as he set a punishing rhythm. Feeling her breathing change and her body react, he bent down and took one nipple into his mouth. Lavishing attention on one until she screamed, he moved to the other, still thrusting in and out in a steady, intoxicating cadence. Mine, mine, mine. The mantra sang in his head with the same rhythm that his cock pounded her pussy. Lifting her arms, he trapped both of her tiny hands in one of his large hands, while tormenting her nipples with the other.
Evie looked up at Dylan through hooded eyes. He appeared enraptured. Evie had never felt as full as she did at that moment. It was as though every time their eyes had met, every smile exchanged, every facet of their separate lives led them to this place at this moment. She knew this man, although how was a mystery to her. She knew every inch of him. Her body responded to him naturally and with complete understanding. She soared on his high. Evie inhaled sharply as her climax blew through her. She screamed her release, opening her legs further. Feeling the contraction on his dick, within a few more strokes Dylan, too, was screaming through his orgasm. He collapsed onto her breasts.
Chapter 9:
Dreams of the Future
Dylan woke with a start. Looking down, his arm was across Evie’s stomach and his thigh across her legs, protective even in sleep. He smiled as he kissed her forehead. After each experiencing two more explosive orgasms, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Her body was curled up against him. He felt her round ass against his returning erection. He would definitely have her again, but now he just wanted to enjoy the warmth of her body next to his.
His ringing phone broke the spell. Not now! He slid from Evie and found the phone in the pocket of the pants lying in a heap on the floor. His movements woke her. “Morning, Mother,” he said softly, as he tiptoed from the room, stark naked, not realizing that she was already awake. Evie stretched like a housecat and snuggled under the down comforter. She peered at the clock. Almost seven. He spent the night. Wow.
Evie dragged herself from the bed and walked into the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror that took up an entire wall over the vanity. The night with Dylan was the best she had ever had. It was as though they had known each other intimately for their whole lives. There was no awkwardness, no clumsiness. Just perfection. But it’s not real. It was just one night, nothing more. He doesn’t want anything long term with me. If I keep telling myself that then I won’t get hurt. She brushed her teeth as she reached to start the shower. Once it had a chance to heat, she stepped in. The water covered her body and she reached for the soap, rubbing it all over herself, sorry that she was losing Dylan’s scent. Oh, his scent. Ralph Lauren Romance and man. Evie decided last night that she would get a bottle to keep in her bedroom, even though she knew it would not be the same unless it was comingled with his natural scent. She rinsed off the soap and poured shower gel onto a pouf, spreading the fragrant bubbles all over her body. She had barely had a chance to rinse when the door opened and a very naked, very aroused Dylan stepped in. He said nothing as he pushed her back against the wall. His black eyes seemed to pierce her soul as he stared at her with an intriguing combination of lust and something else. Sorrow, maybe? Worry? Evie couldn’t tell. She reached up to cup his face. He turned his face into her hands, like a puppy aching to be petted. He took her hand into his and kissed the center of her palm before placing her hand on his proud erection. She caressed the round head, purple and throbbing, before she began to stroke the thick shaft. Without being asked, Evie dropped to her knees before him, the warm water pounding onto her hair and back. Looking up into his eyes, she reached her tongue out to ring the tip of his cock. Yes, that’s definitely worry.
This was his fantasy come true. His heart was nearly pounding out of his chest when she licked down the long underside of his cock, stopping at his sensitive sack, rubbing her face across his balls, darting her tongue out as she went. Licking back up, she sucked the head into her mouth, as Dylan wrapped his hand into her hair, steadying her head, anticipating her taking more of him into her wet, hot mouth. He knew that his girth was difficult to take, and seeing her mouth stretch to accommodate him made him thrust forward involuntarily. Now with both hands on either side of her head, and her hands on his thighs steadying herself, Dylan pumped his dick into her mouth with hard, shallow thrusts. There was no way she could take all of him, but she sucked with abandon on what she could take in. He tried to stop, but she pulled his hips closer. She gagged a bit once the head hit the back of her throat. “Easy, my Hope. Relax your throat. Breathe through your nose. Swallow around me.” He pushed his cock into the curve of her throat. She relaxed, taking at least six inches in before she pulled back, and to his surprise, she pushed forward again, and again, and again. Her skilled tongue had Dylan moaning loudly before screaming his release. He pumped a string of cum down her throat. She took it all, licking him clean before rising. Still holding her head, he pulled her toward him, seeking her lips. His tongue darted in and out of her welcoming mouth, tasting the remnants of his seed. He wanted to devour her. With one last kiss, she stepped from the shower without a word.
Dylan held onto the wall to keep from collapsing after living the fantasy. She will be the death of me. He turned into the water and lathered himself up with the shower gel that sat on the shelf under the showerhead. He inhaled the scent deeply. Her scent. He picked up the bottle. Vanilla and black currant. Damn. Everything about her was a dichotomy. She was Irish and black, sexy and sweet, vanilla and black currant. All excited him and made him want to learn more. He poured more into his hand, needing to bathe in her scent. He hummed an unknown tune as he washed his body in her scent and shampooed his hair. Turning to let the water rinse his back, he noticed the small television screen embedded in the wall. Aw, damn. He smiled and continued to rinse the thick suds from his body.
Chapter 10:
Breakfast is the Most Important Meal of the Day!
Evie dressed quickly once she left him standing in the shower. Smiling at her newfound boldness, she felt like a porn vixen, dropping down and licking Dylan like she was an expert at blow jobs. Peter had called her “adequate,” and constantly commented about what she was doing wrong. Not Dylan. Aside from helping her learn how to accommodate him, he stroked and petted her, giving her encouragement. He moaned as though he was feeling complete and utter rapture. Evie guessed it was how she sounded during their lovemaking session the night before. Not making love, you silly goose. It was a fuck. Plain and simple. But it didn’t feel like a fuck. It felt as though I was made for him. Where did that come from? Evie recalled saying that right before he entered her the first time. She felt herself flush recalling how perfect he was. His body was as beautiful as his face, with his washboard abs and muscled arms and legs. She picked up a package of pantyhose from the open drawer and fanned herself, needing air. The comfy black sweats and tee she donned now seemed to be suffocating her. She rushed to the kitchen to start breakfast, wondering if, like her, he was starving in the morning.
She was placing the steaming dishes on the counter when he sauntered in, wearing only a towel. The perfect skin on his broad shoulders still beaded with water, his dark hair damp and carelessly disheveled, and a few days’ growth on his face gave him a sexy, rugged look. Evie nearly passed out. He leaned down to give her a peck on the lips, gently stroking her cheek before filling a mug with coffee and plopping down at the
counter, reaching for the Sunday Chronicle. She hadn’t moved but stood with her mouth gaping, holding a pan with an oven mitt on one hand and tongs in the other. “Yum, bacon. I love bacon,” he said as he reached for a slice, taking a bite.
“How do you like your eggs?” She finally found her voice.
“Whatever you’re having is fine,” he said as he unfolded the newspaper, setting aside the mass of sales circulars and coupons, her favorite part of the Sunday paper. He looked up when he realized that she was still staring at him. “Poached,” he said, smiling. “I like my eggs poached.” She turned and picked up an egg from the carton.
“I don’t know how to do that,” she said softly, turning back around to him. “Will you show me?” His heart seemed to flutter, looking at her desiring to please him. He stood and walked around the counter, reaching into the cupboard for a saucepan. “No, tell me what to do. You don’t have any clothes on. I don’t want you burned.”
He handed her the pan and stood back. “Boil water, adding a teaspoon of vinegar. Crack an egg into a bowl. Pour it into the boiling water, wait three minutes and voila you have a poached egg.” She followed his instructions as he watched her from his seat at the bar. He looked at the spread of food in front of him. At least a half pound of bacon, homemade biscuits, potatoes, freshly squeezed orange juice, sliced fruit, and all the accompaniments. Now she was making eggs to order. “Do you always make such a big breakfast?” He regretted asking, not wanting to know that she entertained in the morning, nor did he want to know who she invited in.
She wrinkled her nose as she gently dropped the egg into the boiling water. “My mom comes for breakfast some Sundays.” She noticed that he sat up a bit straighter, obviously not enamored with the idea of greeting her mother wearing just a towel. “Not this morning. We’re having dinner tonight.” She peered into the pan at the glob of white that was starting to solidify. “Are you sure this is right?”
“It’s fine,” he said, watching her. She really was something special. She took care to make sure he had everything he needed, a fresh towel, his own toothbrush, not wanting any part of him scorched in the kitchen, now making sure his eggs were the way he liked them. He watched her lift the egg from the water with a slotted spoon from the crock of utensils on the counter next to the stove. Placing it gently on a plate and walking toward him, she set the plate in front of him.
“I don’t think I did it right,” she said softly, looking a bit embarrassed. A beautiful, voluptuous woman, Evie slid into the submissive role easily. Even though she had recently turned twenty-six, she looked much younger. She was small in stature and the red hair and freckles gave her an innocent look that would surely drive him to madness. Her skin reminded him of rich, creamy eggnog, and her wide green eyes only added to her allure.
“Nonsense,” he said, reaching for the salt and pepper and piling bacon and biscuits on his plate before scooping out a large helping of potatoes. “Everything is perfect.” She walked around the counter and took her seat, the same one from the night before. She hesitated before picking up her fork. She liked it when he fed her hours before and wasn’t sure if he wanted to do the same again. “Would you like for me to feed you, Hope?”
“No…I just…Whatever you want…sir…Dylan.” She was delightfully flustered.
“I like how feeding a woman, how feeding you makes me feel. The brush of your tongue against my fingers, the anticipation on your face about what is coming next, the control that you give me, it makes me feel like a king.” He paused to stroke her cheek. “Eat, my Hope.”
They ate, talked, and laughed. Several times throughout breakfast, Dylan reached over and touched some part of Evie’s body. Her thoughts continued to drift back to the events of the night before, both in the club and after, so she shivered the first few times, her body reacting to the tenderness of his touch. Will he hurt me, too? Why are you doing this, Mr. Rankin? She ate to her fill before leaning back on the barstool to watch him as he perused the paper. The towel was open over one thigh, revealing part of his flaccid cock. Even soft, it looked imposing. “You’re staring at me, Hope. Do you like what you see?” he asked as he turned to her, revealing himself fully. Under her gaze, his dick woke up and began to stand at attention. Before she could react, he had her lifted from the chair and her sweats removed. He placed her naked ass on top of the counter and spread her legs wide with one hand while pulling off her T-shirt with the other.
Evie sat with her ass on the edge of her counter, and never had she felt as desired as she did sitting exposed in front of him. She leaned back with her arms stretched behind her, completely exposing herself to him. He devoured her body with his eyes, and when his eyes met hers, it was as if she could read his thoughts, and he hers. “You are truly something special,” he said as he moved his hands down her neck and over her full breasts. Her nipples beaded beneath his touch as he rubbed his palm over them. He was not sure whose breath was more ragged, his or hers. They were both highly affected by their closeness, by their understanding of each other’s bodies.
Moving still further down her body, she watched as he crossed her abdomen, gently caressing every inch of her. He spread her legs wider and placed her feet onto the edge of the counter, forcing the lips of her pussy to open in front of him. When she was fully aroused, her clit became engorged and grew to the size of a ripe blueberry. Right in front of his eyes, he watched the bud emerge from the hood under which it had been hiding. He looked up into her eyes in wonder.
A bit frightened at the invasion and unsure of what she saw in his eyes, she flinched and tried to pull back by closing her legs, but he would not allow it. “No, don’t close yourself from me. I won’t hurt you.” The words came out almost strangled. He repositioned her legs right where he wanted them and moved in closer, inhaling her scent before he closed his mouth over her swollen clit. Her body bucked at the touch.
The moment his tongue touched her, she came. He licked and lapped at her wet pussy, not allowing a bit of moisture to escape. He moved down to her flooding channel, allowing his tongue to enter her. After a few pumps of his tongue, he moved back to her sensitive clit, circling but not touching. One finger, then two, found her entry slick and ready. He removed his fingers and moved the short distance to her puckered hole. She flinched. He raised his head, releasing her clit. Looking at her anus, he realized. “You’ve never been taken this way.” It was more of a statement than a question. Her cheeks flushed, and she opened her mouth to speak, but could not clear her mind enough to form words.
Do I disappoint you? I am not as experienced as you would like. She may have been unable to speak, but the words sounded loudly in her head. Her eyes never left his as he again bent toward her, this time taking her clit between his lips and sucking. His fingers continued to rub against her asshole, but did not penetrate. He rubbed in a tight circle. That combined with the nips he was showering on her clit had her standing at the precipice once again. She looked down to see that he stroked his cock with his other hand. She screamed her release, shuddering against his mouth. He stood, backing away from her. Before she could protest, she saw him vigorously pumping his massive cock. Within moments, he was shooting his cum all over her, screaming as ropes of heavy cream covered her abdomen, pussy, and thighs. He sat back down onto the stool, laying his head between her open legs, right where her juices mixed with his essence.
After their second shower of the morning, they laughed and talked as they cleared the remnants of breakfast. Evie enjoyed the light banter that they shared, which helped to quiet her nerves and kept her thoughts on Dylan, rather than Peter. Although neither wanted the morning to end, both had plans with family, so after a long good-bye at the door, Dylan left.
Still floating on a high after the morning with Dylan, Evie sipped on a cup of coffee as she walked to the piano. Setting the cup on a coaster, she started to play. Oh no, not Rachmaninoff, too intense. She paused before starting a Saint Saenz waltz. She played for nearly an hour with her eyes cl
osed and a slight smile on her face, reliving the moments with Dylan, hoping for more, but unsure if hoping was the right thing to do. She hummed the waltz she had just played as she bounced into her bedroom to get dressed.
Chapter 11:
Sunday…Full of Hope
“Let’s get you inside, baby girl.” Shawna rushed her daughter up the front stairs of the house. “Your dad is grilling.”
“Mom,” Evie said in utter exasperation. “It’s ninety-five degrees outside!”
“I didn’t say we were eating out there, you goofball, I said his ass was out there sweating like a pig.” Her mother pushed the bangs out of her face. Dressed in a comfortable maxi-dress, Shawna stood a bit shorter than Evie at just over five feet tall. A sheen of perspiration shone on her honey-hued skin from being outside. “Damn, being out there for even a minute is too much. Here, let me get you a beer.”
Evie tossed her purse onto the couch and followed her mother into the kitchen. She had grown up in this house and it still felt like home. Each room was painted a different shade of blue, being both parents’ favorite color. Soft, comfortable furniture in the living room, a dining room with heavy wood furniture was rarely used, an office where Shawna spent quite a bit of time, and the kitchen, the hub of Hope activity, rounded out the first floor. Upstairs were five bedrooms. Hers remained untouched. Her brother Matthew’s room, cesspool that it was, also remained the same. An extra room, deemed guest room number one, actually changed to become whatever new hobby on which the Hopes embarked. Right now, a loom overtook the room as they decided it would be a good idea to weave everyone rugs for Christmas. Yes, it was comical, but so much better than raising hermit crabs to sell at the flea market, which was the previous year’s obsession. The Hope homestead was nearly two miles around, with stables, tennis and basketball courts, and a large pool. Her parents loved the pale blue old house, and would never leave it. Matt’s friends loved to spend time at the Hope home because of the variety of ways to have fun and get into trouble.