That husky voice lures me out of the mental coma I'm obviously in, my eyes slowly coming unglued. I blink a few times, trying to wake up, and realize he is still fingering me. It, once again, was not a dream. "This is becoming a habit," I say, my mouth a little dry. "You could warn a girl."
He enters harder and hooks his fingers up, looking at me from up on his knees. "My fingers entering your pussy were assumed to be warning enough. It's a restricted zone to everyone else so it shouldn't set off any alarms. Plus, I kind of like pushing myself into your dreams."
His fingers leave my body. "Don't stop."
He removes his shirt and my shorts the rest of the way, then stands from the bed. "Not a chance in Hell. Show me your tits."
I look at him in all of his lean-muscled glory as he pushes the basketball shorts and his boxer briefs down his legs; that's what I call them anyway. When he stands upright his dick is saluting at full attention. "I still can't believe that fits," I mutter aloud, incidentally, instantly wanting to bite my tongue.
My mouth begins to water staring at it. The thickness inches my hand forward, wanting to grip it. Holding it always makes my hand feel so small. I force my eyes to ascend, locking with his. He's not speaking, just standing there, creating this somewhat awkward moment. I avoid the little voice deep down that is telling me to sit here like a corpse and be weird. My first instinct is to recluse, so instead I stand to my knees, facing him, and slowly peel my shirt and camisole up my body, leaving me in nothing but my bra.
His eyes scrape down my body so slowly that I can't breathe, and my skin releases a thin layer of sweat even though I can feel the air circulating in the room. As many times as we've done it and he can still make me feel like it's the first time . . .
I stumble to reach behind me and unlatch my bra, letting it fall from my arms in a peculiar fashion; almost a fumbling act. This is usually second nature, but now, I feel like it's something unfamiliar. My heart is beating out of my chest.
The second my bra falls to the floor he comes at me in full attack mode, pushing me to my back as he positions himself firmly over me. In a matter of seconds—barely enough time to move my legs out from under me—his head is entering me.
He stops when the head is fully inside and grabs the behind my thighs, folding them back to my stomach. Without taking his eyes off of me, he leans over me, holding my legs in position, and then he laces our fingers beside my head. With one motion he thrusts inside of me until his pelvis is completely flush with the back tops of my legs and my bent knees are beneath his underarms, my shins to his sides acting as a resting place for some of his weight.
I clench around him, trying to quickly accommodate him and the fully submerged state he's in. He's not usually this aggressive or straightforward with entry considering his size and my small frame, but occasionally, or more so rare occurrence, he surprises me and treats me like a vixen instead of a kitten.
The look on his face tells me he's all in. He's vested in what he's about to do. He needs this. No foreplay this time. I read once that a guy cares about his woman if he initiates foreplay every time he wants sex, like it's selfish otherwise, but you know what? I don't find that to be true at all. To me, it's quite the opposite really. Every romance book I've read to date is really the same thing over and over, even with them being so drastically different or just mildly. She always gets off first. It's the same formula. She comes then he comes, and he's a bad guy otherwise, but from what I've learned about sex and the human body, neither male nor female always work on a controlled timer. Sometimes he lasts longer and sometimes he makes it obvious that he knows he won't be able to by going down on me, or getting me off through clit stimulation. But this, on occasion, is perfectly acceptable and makes me love our sex life even more, because I'm his partner, and I'm his vice when he needs a fix.
I want to be wanted, and sometimes to the point that he can't wait to be inside of me. Foreplay takes time. Orgasm takes concentration. Sometimes I just want to be woken up and attacked. Coming not always necessary. Even if he didn't feel the need to get me off every time, I don't have to. It feels good regardless, and the suddenness of the act itself has me so turned on I don't care how it ends. I believe there should be a thing called a mental orgasm: where you're so turned on you can't think, you can't act except on instinct, and you lose the ability to fully function. And maybe there is. Maybe that's what it truly means to reach nirvana: a state of mental orgasm.
I move my feet over his thighs, my heels now resting against the back. Our eyes locked, his face lowers toward me and his hips begin to rock. Not a thrust, but a steady, slow grind inside of me. His entire body is stationary over me, his hips flexing only. "When you fucking look at me like that I'm a goner."
He's so deep it's hard to speak. Words won't come. Still, in the beginning of sex, it hurts, especially when he pushes himself as deep as his length will allow, but it also feels so damn good. The rhythm is hypnotic. My eyes roll toward the back of my head. "I'm already there."
"You'll always be my girl," he says, and just as my eyes return to his, he kisses me, long and hard, followed by short and sweet once his hips stop moving.
"Promise?"
"With a ring and my last name."
He pulls out and looks down briefly. "I'm sorry. I was wound up. Want me to eat it?"
My cheeks heat from his vulgar slip of the tongue. "No. Why fix something if it's not broken. This was perfect."
"Thank you."
He stands. "Where are you going?"
His hand extends and rubs through his hair. "We're going to shower." He turns and starts to walk into the bathroom. "I'm taking you on a casual date. By the way . . ." He sticks his head out of the bathroom, already turned back around. "You're going to meet my parents this weekend. They're coming."
Then, like a turtle disappearing into its shell, he reels his head in and shuts the door, but doesn't lock it. I imagine the look of horror most likely on my face has something to do with that. My hands cover my face. What the actual fuck just happened here? Parents! I'm not ready to meet his parents. Silly I know, considering I'm about to be his wife, but backward looks good on me. It clicks. The light bulb comes on and it shines brightly. "Oh my god. I totally just got buttered up with sex," I mumble against my palms.
I stand and burst through the bathroom door as he's stepping in the shower. "Saxton Maverick Cambridge, you totally just brought me the dick to drop that dynamite on me . . . Didn't you? You just put it on me as a softener. I cannot believe you." The laugh that escapes with the last word gives me away, but I am going to continue anyway, and try my damnedest to be mad at him for ten seconds at least.
"I love you," he says, his voice revealing the hidden laughter his smile has already introduced.
I smack his butt before he pulls the final leg into the shower and then point my index finger of my stinging hand at him. "No, sir. This is not okay. I'm not prepared to meet your parents; for them to know I'm screwing their son for the world to see and to become their daughter-in-law all in one whammy. I need baby steps, or crap just steps, like climbing stairs. I need preparation. What's more: I need a notice. You don't throw someone into an exhibit at a zoo without warning them of the dangerous animal that could be their ruin is in there. Rude. And by the way, just because you came and gave me quite possibly one of the best fuckings of my life doesn't make this situation okay or give you a free ticket to pass go. You have no idea how scary this is for me. Your hot-boy smile and big dick cannot get you out of everything."
I finally stop my rambling long enough to actually look at him. He's leaning on his forearm against the shower wall. He's mostly dry, except for the spray from the water coating his body. His dimples appear. Dammit. Those are like panty-shredder buttons. I need a superpower. This is so unfair.
He says nothing. Literally, he just stands there with a big damn grin on his face, staring at me, completely butt ass naked. "What is so funny?" I shout the question a little too loud. "You're supposed t
o be in trouble. You're not supposed to look at me like you're about to drag me into the woods and never let me be found. Not the time to be a sexy creeper."
"Did you just . . ." His voice is deep, with a raspy tone behind it. His words come out slowly. " . . . spank me?"
My head rears back, a little caught off guard. "Uh . . . maybe." I straighten my posture; confident I can be a badass in the presence of an alpha of the deadliest degree. A controlling man with the goodness of a golden boy is a weapon. My nose turns up slightly. "I mean, yes. Well, serves you right. You don't just throw a grenade at me and leave me to fend for myself."
His position nor has his facial expression changed. "Oh, stop it with that sexy smile. It's not even that big of a deal. So I slapped your ass. Whoopty-do. You slap mine pretty often. It was there and perky and shouting—smack that ass—at me. You kind of have a cute butt. I'm sure weirder things have happened."
"Actually, nope. That would top them all."
"Shut up." I laugh. "You're trying to create a diversion and it's not working. We need to discuss this."
"Okay, fine. Bring me a boob to squeeze and we will discuss."
"You're ridiculous."
"And you're letting the water go to waste. What's your point?"
My shoulders drop and I walk toward the shower. He moves aside to let me step inside. We stand face-to-face with him under the water, letting it run down his body. I glance down at his dick. I can't help it. The way it looks soft and stowed away amazes me. Dicks are magical. The way they can grow in a matter of seconds to twice their size or more is just nuts.
I wonder what a guy that isn't so blessed downstairs looks like soft. Does it disappear completely? Does peeing become difficult with their balls in the way? Or do they just stretch it out like one of those as seen on TV crinkle water hoses? Saxton soft—I wouldn't necessarily call small, even though it isn't a comparison to it fully hard. My hand could wrap around it soft and still have length left over, but according to Meredith he's in the minority. I really wouldn't know, but that probably wouldn't look good in your Google search history: dick pics. I would just hope those that are less fortunate have skill to back up where they lack in size, because I kind of gather that there is probably a fine line separating the whole phrase—size doesn't matter.
"Does it meet inspection?"
I clear my throat and quickly divert my eyes back to his. "Um. What?"
"My dick. You're just staring at it, inspecting every inch. If I had a dick-do I would think you were counting how many hairs."
I feel like that little blushing emoji with the wide eyes and rosy cheeks. I'm a little embarrassed, until he starts walking toward me, pushing me toward the shower wall with a slight smirk on his face. "For the record, I like that you're clean shaven."
He grabs my boob in one hand, placing the other on the wall behind me. "Every guy should manscape in some form. It's more pleasure for the girl and less of a nasty hassle for him. It doesn't take much effort either. Think of it as a barrier. You can go deeper with nothing in the way."
His words end as his mouth closes around my nipple. That feels amazing. He sucks hard, leaving it erect as he pulls free. "What was it you were wanting to discuss?"
Parents.
My eyes open and I lightly shove him back. My lost train of thought was short lived. I'm not turned on anymore. That word is enough to dry you up even in the midst of water. "Seriously, what happened? Why is this turning into a parental chaperone thing? I thought this was just going to be between us." The stressed thoughts show through my voice. My head falls. "I was good with just us," I say in a whisper.
The curve of his bent index finger lifts my chin, tilting my head back to make eye contact with him. "What's the big deal about meeting my parents? When you marry me they will kind of be your parents too. Talk to me."
I breathe, a little unsteady, and unsure what exactly is the issue with meeting his parents. I met his sister and was fine. "I don't know."
"You remember our talk about communication? It's necessary to form a good relationship. It's the foundation of trust. If we're going to be husband and wife I need to know you can confide in me, even if you think it's a hard conversation to have."
The thoughts I've obviously been suppressing instantly float to the surface with one look from him and a few sentences, causing my eyes to well up. It's like he's speaking directly to my soul sometimes, purging my deepest thoughts without me knowing they even exist. That makes him my master in some ways. My soul belongs to him, and everything else just follows. It reacts to only him when he calls upon it. There are no secrets between us—not really. All he has to do is ask and I spill my heart with no effort.
A tear falls. "What if they think I'm a whore? They could hate me. What if they think you deserve better and your mom comes to you about it? Then what? Would you walk away from this? The two of you said she's opinionated about things. Conservative people don't approve of this lifestyle or behavior. I know that, but I wasn't really expecting to find my life partner when I agreed to this. It was supposed to be a little bit of rebellion with a lot of fun. Good parents don't want a porn star for their daughter-in-law. There will always be double standards. Boys will be dismissed of all charges and their indiscretions will be written off as misconduct while girls get stuck in the category they were originally placed in. I would never want us to coexist in a world where only one of us is welcome. It's easier to just pretend no one outside of us exists, because I can't bear the thought of us not being together."
My lashes are wet from my tears. He stares into my eyes, and I swear I see a tear form, but knowing the man of steel that resides beneath that beautiful skin I know it'll never fall if it is. "Fuck, baby."
He runs his hands down my body until they are firmly set on my butt, and then roughly lifts my body against his and plants my back against the shower wall. My legs clamp around his waist, trying to hold on. "I just can't be without you. Pathetic it may be, but I know exactly how that feels. I do know that I can't be a hindrance either. I'm terrified of meeting them."
He kisses me, smothering the sentences mentally prepared to come next. When our lips are raw and our breathing is ragged, we stare at each other. Water is dripping from his hair, running into his lashes and down his face. Unknown emotion is written all over his face. I wish I could freeze this moment in time so I can look back on it forever. "Are you serious? Was me giving you a ring and looking like an ass after I told you I'd wait years for you to age before doing something like that not proof enough? Kambry, I would never walk away from this now that I know exactly what I have. I don't give a damn what anyone thinks, including my parents, but you really have no idea how my parents are. They've not one single time in mine or Tynleigh's life tried to butt into our personal life."
One hand clenches in my hair at the back of my head and he repositions my weight in the other. My fingers find the hair at the back of his neck. "Baby, they would never think you were a whore, and I swear on my fucking life if that's the way you see things then I will walk away from filming for both of us, contract or not. They can fine me or throw me in jail. I don't care what the consequence of breaking it is. You're my life now. You're what is important to me. You're mine, and anyone that doesn't see you for the girl that I see is dead to me. You're what I want. Most people wouldn't even classify girls that have been around the block a few times a whore, much less someone that's marrying the man she gave her virginity to. As far as the filming, I was doing that way before you came along. Sex isn't a secretive, dirty thing anymore. What we do together is our business. They will not ask those kinds of questions. I promise they don't want to know about our sex life. Even if they knew, I can almost guarantee they'd rather me film porn with my wife than with a variation of women. Stop worrying, okay? They will love you."
"I know I'm being stupid and probably immature. I'm just trying to deal with all of these new feelings. I'm not doing a very good job either. I think I was just expecting for the two of us
to stand in front of a judge and that be it. We'd be married and go on our way. This is overwhelming."
"I wasn't thrilled about it either, but after I spoke with Tynleigh she made me realize that she's right. I'd kind of be an ass of a son to not even extend the invite. I've been the other end of extreme for a long time now. They kind of deserve a little bit of family normalcy."
"This was Tynleigh's idea?"
"Yeah, baby, it was, but she's right. It needed to be brought up before years of anger and hurt followed. I just didn't see it until I called my mom and heard her voice when I told her."
I close my eyes briefly and open them, still nervous. "Okay. What did she say?"
"She dropped the phone." My heart starts to race. "From covering her mouth with her hands I imagine and forgetting she was holding it. She does that when she's excited."
"And then?"
I feel like I'm waiting on the damn plot twist to be over. I can't stand the suspense. "After much fumbling, she screamed and told me if this was a joke she'd personally make sure I regretted it."
"After that you said . . ."
"That even though it seemed humorous after all this time, it wasn't. I told her I had just found the girl that I couldn't live without, so I'm permanently ensuring I don't have to try. Funny, though, isn't it? Most kids would probably get that response if they mentioned filming porn, while I get asked that about getting married. She did ask how we met and what I was planning on doing about my career at present . . ."
"Oh my god. What did you tell her?" I want to chew on my newly done nails.
"I told her not to ask questions she didn't want the answer to . . ."
"I want to bite you so hard right now."
His smile disappears. "That can be arranged."
I pull at his hair as hard as I can. "Focus. I can't even deal with your sexual humor right now. Why did you not just make up something?"
Sex Sessions: After The Cut (Camera Tales #2) Page 17