SweetHarts (5 Book Box Set)

by Kira Graham

  That spot is usually as ticklish as hell, and my first reaction is to lash out and move away. My eyes cross in the next instant as the tension snaps, though, and I don’t push away at all because a tingle shoots from where he’s sucking and biting, throbbing so hard in my clit that I moan and tighten my legs, feeling arousal pooling against my panties. Oh, God.

  “Ooooh,” I groan, almost shuddering when Ares chuckles and moves his mouth down, the tickle that I expect exploding as he scrapes his teeth over the tendon and nips.

  “Sweet spot. Mm. Does it make you feel good?”

  His crooning voice is soft, gentle, and in exact opposition to the harsh way he suddenly cups my breast, squeezing roughly while his fingers close over my nipple.

  “Stop being a tease,” I growl, when I try to press back into him and he shifts away.

  Ares chuckles, the sound something that I’ve come to enjoy so much that it makes me ache every time I hear it. Then he licks over the spaghetti strap of my pink cami, tugs it aside with his teeth, and sinks those teeth into my shoulder. It doesn’t hurt one bit, but feeling the leashed aggression in the move is as erotic as hell, and enough to make my sex quiver and melt even more.

  “Who’s teasing, baby girl? I plan to deliver. Over and over again.”

  I hum, unable to form words when he curls his arm under my body, covers my breast, and then trails his other hand down my stomach to the elastic band on my panties. When he reaches it, he glides a finger along my skin there, toying with the band, so close to my mound that I hiss and try to bump my hips up for more. I want him to touch me—need it. Because I know that he can erase my thoughts and take me away from reality.

  “God, your skin is so soft,” he mumbles, his palm cupping the slight roundness of my belly, where an ice cream and cupcake addiction has thwarted my efforts at the gym.

  Ares doesn’t seem to mind it, and when he kneads my soft flesh, he groans, pressing his cock against my butt.

  “I like this.”

  Oh, God. His touch is both erotic and scary, and all I can think about is having a baby in there. Panic engulfs me, and I become desperate to get him away from my stomach and recapture the arousal that he’s been so skillfully building up in me.

  “You’re insane,” I grunt, trying to shove his hand down and into my panties, because I don’t care about being shy right now. “Touch me!”

  “I am,” he purrs, flipping me over onto my back and shoving his face against my stomach before I can stop him. “I like you with curves, Angry Girl. All soft and supple and smooth,” he whispers, dipping his tongue into my belly button.

  The sensation is strange but exhilarating, and I moan as he swirls his tongue around and then sucks on my navel before dragging his mouth down, down, in a wet kiss that stops at the edge of my panties.

  “Ares.”

  “You smell so good. Like clean woman,” he purrs, his tongue dipping beneath the waistband to run over the very top of my smooth mound.

  I groan at the sensation and grab his hair, my greedy body demanding that I shove his mouth down so that I can ride his face. We’ve done that one before, and it was awesome, but I find that I like it even more when he’s over me, dominating me and controlling my body.

  “I am a clean woman,” I grunt, hissing when he playfully pulls at my panties with his teeth, pulling them down just enough that he can sink his teeth into the skin on my mound and suck.

  “Nuh-uh, you’re a dirty girl, Nefs. All wild and untamed,” he growls, dragging his mouth down so that his tongue wiggles into the very top of my slit.

  “Oh, God. Move lower,” I whimper, snarling when I try to shove his mouth down, only to feel him latching on to the outer edge of my labia and sucking.

  My eyes practically cross, it feels so good, and then I moan when he releases my flesh and zeroes in on my clit, using rough sucks and the edge of his teeth to heat me up. It’s always like this with him. He’s aggressive in bed. Take-charge. So dominant that it surprised the hell out of me the first time he fully unleashed on me. For a man who values order, moderation, and peace, Ares Hart is a strange mix of all that and pure, hard man when he’s over me like this.

  “Ummm. You’re already wet, Angry Girl. Is all this honey for me?” he purrs, his smirk so wide that I feel it against my sex.

  “No, for Santa Claus,” I retort snarkily, squealing when he reaches back to slap my ass cheek.

  “Wise ass,” he grunts, ripping my panties off with one hand while shoving my cami up with the other so that he can close a hand around my breast.

  “Ares.”

  “We’ll see how sassy you are after.”

  And ooooh, I can’t answer, because he starts to eat at me so skillfully that all I can do is moan and throw my head back, letting the pleasure wash over me. I get so close to that falling-off point that I tense up in expectation, only to moan in protest when Ares pulls back and sits up, his lips pulled into a snarl.

  I open my mouth to yell at him, but he scoots up the bed and comes over to kneel beside my head, his eyes blazing down at me.

  “Suck me.”

  My mouth waters at the rough demand, and I lean up to lick at the pre-come coating his crown, my moan of enjoyment vibrating over him. I’ve never been one for blow jobs, and I’d never describe a man’s taste as good or delicious, but I find that I like Ares’ flavor—crave it, even—because it’s him. I moan again when he pushes forward, forcing my jaw open to take him, his rough panting and tense thighs showing how ready he is to pull away and take me. Not yet, I plead silently, as I roll to my side and open my mouth more widely, swallowing him until he reaches my throat. Stopping, I take a deep breath and work through my gag reflex, determined to pleasure him. Ares is adventurous with sex, but I rarely get to do anything before he’s on me and turning me into a screaming, orgasming wreck. Right now, I want him to lose it; I want him to know what it’s like to be at someone else’s mercy. Doubling my efforts, I pull up, swirl my tongue, and then bob down again, using one hand to stroke what I can’t fit into my mouth, while the other reaches down to caress his tight sack.

  “Fuck. Yes. Flick your tongue into the slit, baby. Now suck down hard,” he groans, his head thrown back in bliss when I peek up at him because I love the way he looks when he’s like this.

  Ares is always in control. It’s something that I’ve come to learn about the man, but like this, with his guard down and pleasure ruling him, he truly is magnificent. When he grabs my head, controlling my movements, and starts to thrust into my mouth, I give it everything I have and use every trick I’ve ever heard or read about to make this good. I suck hard. I lick him, flicking my tongue as much as I can where it’s trapped just under the tip of his glans, and I speed up my hand where I’m gripping his root and stroking him.

  I feel his balls go tighter, hotter, in my hand, and I’m preparing to swallow whatever he gives me, when he suddenly pulls back, throws me to the bed, and falls down on top of me, his cock finding and entering me without help.

  That first thrust almost sends me into a climax, the heat and fullness, coupled with the way that it felt to taste him and see his bliss, enough to make me convulse in a hard wave. Which stops when Ares goes still, his eyes blinking rapidly before he pulls out with a curse and reaches over to the bedside table.

  I’m almost screaming by the time he rolls a condom over his shaft, and for a second, the sight jolts me, causing guilt to flit through me, before he eradicates it all as he fills me again, going so hard and fast that we both bark out a shout of surprise.

  “God, I love the feel of your tight little sheath around me. I can feel your wet juices all over me,” he groans, his eyes slamming shut when I rear up and suck at his nipple.

  His body gets so sensitive during sex that I’ve learned that touching him is enough to make him lose control. I want that right now, and so when he tries to slow down, I reach over, grab his ass, and flick my fingers through his cheeks, pressing down just behind his balls, where I can feel h
is heartbeat pounding.

  He shouts then, rears back onto his elbows, and starts to swing his hips frantically, the wet sound of our sexes meeting forming an erotic lullaby that makes me gush more moisture out around his plundering shaft.

  He must feel it, because this time when he rears back to stare down at me, his gaze is molten and so hot that I feel singed by it.

  “That’s it, Angry Girl. Make it rain for me. Yeah. You’re so slippery that I’m going deeper,” he purrs, the seductive rasp as he continues to take me amping up the tightening sensation in my sex.

  “I…”

  I can’t continue, my intentions of talking dirty to make him lose it falling into a gasp when he leans down, closes his mouth over my nipple, and sucks so hard that I scream. My breasts are sensitive, almost sore to the touch, and so full right now that I immediately convulse into another climax, this one so strong that it sweeps me up and throws me into the storm.

  Ares keeps pumping, keeps hitting my clit with his hard, almost lazy strokes so that I come again, this time hard enough that I scratch my nails down his back and scream out, the swelling of his cock deep inside me signaling his own release before I feel a slight kick deep inside, where he’s planted in my depths.

  I can hardly breathe, my lungs burning when I feel him pull out and leave the bed, then return moments later to slide in beside me and pull me into his side. He’s so warm that I should be uncomfortable, and yet I don’t pull away because he snuggles closer to me and starts to purr.

  “Sexy little angry girl. So fucking sexy,” he mutters, his hands settling me down as he runs them all over my heated skin.

  It feels so good that I almost forget my problems, and when he turns me over onto my back and kisses me, his hardening cock digging into my hip, I promise that tomorrow, I’m going to tackle this thing.

  Just as soon as he finishes what he’s doing with his fingers.

  ********************************************************************

  I’m walking into church, and unlike the last time, I don’t drop any food coloring into the fountain of holy water as I walk by, my reasoning being simple. I need all the help that I can get from God, and making him angry isn’t on my list of good ideas.

  I’ve officially been pregnant for two months now, I’m conducting…I don’t know what with Ares, and my family is doing so well that there are only seven security guys walking into the church with us, while the others stay outside and probably take bets on how long we can stay inside the church before we get our asses kicked out.

  “Quit it!” I hiss at Rosetta when she waddles in beside me and scuttles over to the confessional.

  She ignores me, peeks in, and then hops into the empty box, coming out a second later smiling so broadly that I close my eyes and fight laughter, all the while promising God that I do not find it funny. It’s a useless vow, though, because I see someone walk towards the box and then duck inside just as Rosetta reaches me, a loud curse ringing out before the man stumbles out, coughing and gagging.

  “Do you have to fart in there every single time we come to church?” I grumble, giggling when she cackles just seconds before the newest Father Something stumbles out, his face exhibiting several conflicting shades of red and green.

  “It’s my thing,” she says with a shrug, laughing when Sin sidles up and holds up her hand for a high five.

  I can hardly look at Sin, and I struggle to keep myself from bolting when she comes up beside me and slides her arm through mine like she usually does.

  “It’s tradition, and it brings us good luck,” Alex mutters, waddling in to stop beside us.

  Looking at her belly, and then at Rose’s, I take in the huge difference in size and swallow the urge to ask her if she’s carrying four kids in there. Sin, however, has no tact or filter, and when she gets a load of Alex, she asks her about it outright.

  “Jesus in a handbasket, Alexandria. You’re as big as a freaking whale! How the heck are your legs keeping your huge ass up?” she barks, cackling when Alex’s eyes spark, and she lunges for Sin with her teeth bared.

  Poor lamb. She is huge, and that makes her attack so slow that Sin stealthily sidesteps her and lets her crash into Rosetta.

  “Hey! Keep your fat ass off me, loser. I’m trying to grow one baby in here,” Rosetta snarks, shoving at Alex, who ends up against me, her eyes shooting fire while her lip trembles.

  “I am not fat!”

  “No. You’re right,” Sin coos gently, her smile turning sinister. “You’re enormous!”

  “Girls! Hush, before I paddle your butts. Alexandria, honey-pie, stop being violent in God’s house and waddle your butt over to a pew before your legs give out,” Honey barks when she, Constance, and Hope walk in, dressed to the nines and looking sedate.

  It’s all a lie.

  The reason we’re here today is for us to meet the newest priest, and for our moms to somehow convince the poor fool that we’re innocent of all wrongdoing and so shouldn’t be banned from church. I snort just thinking about how easily those three lie, and find myself grinning when Cleo walks in wearing a huge purple sweater that completely engulfs her body and hides her bump from the moms.

  I know the feeling, I think, as I look down at my own white sweater. I’m not showing yet, but I seem to be gaining weight fast, and if it doesn’t stop, I’m either going to have to cop to being knocked up, or start telling people that I’m fat. My pride screams a hard no to that latter solution, and I have to remind myself that that’s the least of my problems. Almost everyone is pregnant right now, excluding Sin—unless I get lucky, and this baby turns out to be hers.

  A hard smack to the back of my head pulls me from my musings, and I glance over to see Cleo leaning towards me as she drags me down the center aisle, her face pale.

  “I need you to sit beside me. If you do, then Mom won’t come near me. Stop staring at my stomach,” she hisses, her eyes darting around as we take our seats.

  We’re at church early, and there’s no one else around for Sunday services yet, leaving me at the mercy of my own thoughts, Cleo, and a sense of relief that Sin and Alex are cozying up together, now laughing under their breaths as if they weren’t just at each other’s throats.

  “Stop being such a liar. Just tell your mom,” I whisper, not feeling even an ounce of guilt for my double standard.

  Sin will kill me for sure if I confess the truth to her. Since I can’t exactly fight right now, I’m not taking any chances.

  “Heck, no. She’d have me married so fast that my head would spin,” Cleo snorts, her eyes going wide when Honey turns to glance at her with narrowed eyes and shushes her.

  “Hush, girl! We’re going to make a good impression on this new priest if it kills me.”

  I hate to break it to old Honey, but I’m pretty sure that all the previous priests that we’ve run off have blabbed about the Sweets, so a good impression is not likely.

  “Would getting married be so bad?”

  “I’m this close to showing Adonis my dream board,” she whispers, pinching her fingers together. “Last night, while we were doing it, he whispered into my ear that he’d give me everything I wanted in life. I think that he’s almost close enough to being at the end of his tether, and when he finally is, then I’ll tell him.”

  “You’re so sneaky and sly, Cleo. I really love you,” I sigh, smiling when she grins and scoots closer to me, her eyes glinting devilishly.

  “Rosetta told me that you and Ares are dating.”

  “What? When did you talk to Rosetta?” I ask, frowning when Cleo’s eyes go sad.

  “I went to sit with her while she was visiting Brent yesterday. God, Tee, I really hope to hell that that fancy doctor that Ares brought down here is up to helping that poor man. He does seem to be improving,” she sighs, her eyes closing as I wince and send up yet another silent prayer.

  A few weeks ago, some fancy shmancy doctor named Beau Taylor arrived to take over Brent’s case. So far, I know that he’s ali
ve, that his brain is still working, and that she’s going over him with a fine-tooth comb. Since it isn’t his brain that’s the problem, this doctor is performing every test known to man to figure out why Brent won’t wake up.

  I hope to heck that she’s as good as Ares seems to think she is, because I don’t know what Rosetta will do if Brent doesn’t make it. Heck, I get choked up just thinking about it, and we weren’t even that close.

  “I’d improve, too, if I had a hot doctor fawning all over me twenty-four hours a day,” I gripe, my thoughts going to something that I heard from Zeus a week ago.

  It seems that old Dr. Taylor and my man-whore were once an item. I don’t like that one bit. Not one freaking bit. Not when I don’t know what’s between us. We have sex, he stays over, and so far, we haven’t verbally attacked each other—unless you count my shit fit about his using my razor to trim his pubes.

  Not that I mind a good, clean man area, ’cause I find that hot. But it’s gross to be shaving your legs and get an unexpected gift while doing it. But I digress! This extremely smart, sexy, interesting, funny powerhouse of a woman used to play “train in the tunnel” with a man who…

  Dammit. He could be the father of the kid currently cooking in my belly, and I just don’t like that they used to be together. To hear Zeus tell it—which, admittedly, he did to Chilli while I was hiding in the bathtub, just having finished puking my guts up when the two of them came in to take a leak…remind me never to throw up at Lovey’s and Creed’s house, I think, chewing my lip nervously.

  Anyway, they almost caught me, and while I was crouched in the bathtub behind the shower curtain, listening to them going on and on about Beau and her accomplishments, I heard Zeus mention that Ares had been with this chick for more than a few weeks. That’s a record for my…for him. So that has to mean that they meant more to each other than just fuck buddies, right?

  “Pfft. She’s okay. Uppity as hell. I thought that Lovey was gonna shoot her when she started hanging all over Ares—uh, I mean…” Cleo stutters, her eyes going wide as a flush covers her cheeks.