by Paula Cox
He grabs me by the shoulders, spins me around, and presses his groin hard into my ass. I feel his cock, pressing through the diaphanous fabric of my red dress, the fabric molded to my ass. With one hand, he reaches down and slides under my bra, pinching my nipple between thumb and forefinger, and with the other he slides up under my dress. He yanks my panties down and then—oh, fuck, yes, finally, at last—and then his finger, his powerful finger, presses down on my clit.
It’s like a button, a horny-as-fuck button, a waiting button. His finger strokes around my clit as his other hand strokes around my nipple. I’m frozen in lust, unable to move, able only to push my ass out so he has better access to my drenched pussy.
He whispers in my ear, his breath warm on my skin, so warm another round of tingles move down me. “I want you to come all over my finger.”
“Y-yes!” I scream as he slides his middle finger deep inside of me, all the way to my sweet spot. I push my ass out as much as I can, half bent-over, drawing his finger deep inside of me. This is Aedan’s finger, Aedan the Irishman, Aedan the hitman, Aedan the man I shouldn’t even be with, let alone doing this with. But the pleasure is too immense. I don’t care anymore. All I want it—
“Yes! Yes!” I cry as he moves his finger inside of me, circular motions, and if it was good in my dream, it’s sensational in reality. It’s like there’s a tight ball of heat attached to the end of his finger, and every time he moves it, the ball gets bigger and bigger so I can’t feel the individual movements, just a burning fiery orb deep in my tender spot. I feel his other fingers, too, pressing against my ass and my pussy lips, all combining for the hottest pleasure I’ve ever felt.
“Come for me,” he growls in his deep, rugged voice. “Come for me, Livia. Come all over my hand. Come for me. Fucking come for me.”
He moves his finger quicker, and then—and then—oh, fuck, yes, baby, yes—he slides another finger inside of me.
The pleasure doubles, trebles, and I find myself lulling, sinking into it. Aedan wraps the arm that was on my breast around my torso and holds me up. I sink into his grip, only moving to bob up and down on his finger, riding it, fucking it. It gets too much, too hot, and I close my eyes, my eyelids burning red. And then, it comes, hitting me like a car, a train, a bullet, hitting me like all the power of this man has been concentrated in two fingers and aimed at my sore, desperate spot.
The orgasm starts small, a few judders deep inside of me, and then it spreads in tendrils up throughout my pussy. The spreading sends tingles flying in all directions until my lips and my clit are electrified. Inside, too, electricity courses, sparking around my sweet spot. Then the pleasure moves up, into my belly, and spreads even higher into my breasts. My nipples get sore and hard. The pleasure moves down, to my legs, and I begin to shake so much my knees knock together. Finally, heat fills my face, burning my skin red, and my entire body feels as though it’s floating.
Slowly, I hear myself, loud moans which sound faraway: “Fuck! Yes! Yes! Fuck! Fuck!” Aedan lifts me off my feet with one arm, tips me forward, and fucks my pussy with his fingers, sliding a third inside of me, opening me up. Another wave of euphoria washes over me as he tilts me and drills into me with his fingers. Wetness pours all over his hand, down his arm. Wave after wave of crashing pleasure takes me, spasms rocking my body, and then, after what feels like an age of pleasure, he sets me on my feet.
He grips me by the shoulders, his hand wet and hot from touching my pussy, and then spins me around. I look up at him. I can feel the redness in my face, feel the way my lips are parted, waiting for him, feeling the way my legs cross naughtily, inviting him to part them. But most of all I feel his hard dark eyes, staring at me—no, not at me, into me. His eyes burn in their sockets. I’ve never been looked at like this by a man before, as though the entire world has fallen away and I’m the only thing that’s left. Remember Luca, remember... But I can’t remember anything, can’t think of anything except of the hardness of his body, the tautness of his muscles, the domineering aspect of Aedan. Aedan the hitman, Aedan the Irishman, Aedan the man I shouldn’t be anywhere near but can’t help but be attracted to.
“I need to fuck you, Livia,” he says. “I fuckin’ need to.”
He steps forward, looming over me, and I feel small, tiny, in his shadow. But it’s good to feel small and tiny in the shadow of Aedan, a beautiful reminder that he’s in charge, that I’m his. Fuck, fuck, this is wrong. Fuck, fuck, but it feels so right.
“Fuck me, then.” I have never spoken to a man like this, never imagined that I had it in me to speak to a man like this. I sound confident and sexy. I sound utterly unlike myself and it’s incredible. My body is still crying out from the aftermath of the orgasm, still starving for another.
Like an animal, he falls upon me, tearing at my clothes until I am standing before him naked. The apartment is cool, my nipples pricking, but the lust which courses through me makes me hot. Then—oh, yes, yes, yes—Aedan strips. His body is a man’s body, a real man’s body. His muscles are huge and covered in fine ginger hair, his abs are tight, and when he pulls his underwear down, his cock springs up, ten inches of throbbing longing, ten inches of promise.
“Can you take it hard?” he asks me in his husky, oh-so-manly voice. Take it hard... like my dream... my dream has come true, literally come true. Oh, Christ!
“I can, baby,” I say, and then reach forward and grip his cock in my hand. It’s so big I can feel a vein pressing into my palm. When I grab it, it pulses, somehow getting even harder. He looks down at me with a twisted expression, as though all his lust is piled behind his face and is about to explode. Slowly, teasingly, I stroke up and down the full length of his cock.
“You’re the sexiest damn woman I’ve ever fuckin’ seen,” he groans.
“Do something about it, then,” I say, wondering: Is that me? Is that my voice? Is that the voice of the sheltered mafia princess? Surely not. But it feels so good being bad. So. Damn. Good. Finally!
He barks—barks!—and flings himself at me, grabbing me by the legs and carrying me through the bedroom. I squeal, still loving how easily he can carry me, as he kicks open the door and hurls me onto the bed. I jostle up and down on the mattress, breasts jiggling, and when Aedan sees this, he goes into a real frenzy. His eyes lock onto my breasts and he dives onto the bed, pinning my arms at my sides, and then shifting his hips so that his cock presses firmly up against my clit.
My belly tightens at the feel of his rock-hard cock against my clit. With one hand, he reaches down, eyes wide and pupils dilated, half-crazed, and guides his cock to my hole.
I know it’s bad, so bad, and I know this is my last chance to stop it, and I know everything will change if I do this; I can never take it back. I know that everything is against us, our races, out allegiances, our histories. I know all this. But when the tip of his iron-hard cock begins to stretch my pussy, open me up—when I feel the wetness of my orgasm drip over him—I forget all of that. All that exists is the feel of his cock inside of me, slowly pushing me open.
“You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby,” he moans.
“You’re so fucking big,” I moan in response.
“You said you could take it hard, baby.”
I nod, shocked at my eagerness and my complete lack of self-consciousness. No longer am I the nervous sheltered princess. Already, Aedan has changed me. Already, I feel like somebody else.
“I can. I can. Oh—oh—oh—”
Suddenly, he thrusts deep inside of me, pushing his cock all the way up to my sweet spot, seated so deep that I can feel his balls pressing against my pussy lips. For a moment, there is a burning pain as he fills me up, but then my pussy welcomes him in and the pain is replaced with a burning pleasure, scorching, a fire-poker of heat inside of me. Aedan’s face is twisted, his eyes so wide and crazed he looks like a madman. And I fucking love it. Look how crazy I’ve made him. Look how much he wants me. Look how fucking hungry he is for it. Oh, look, look, look—
; He pulls out quickly—and then thrusts back in, hard, a slapping noise filling the air.
“Oh, fuck!”
We fuck like I’ve never fucked before. Aedan props his muscled arms either side of my head. I reach up and grab them, holding onto the muscles, loving the way they press against my hands, fill them, loving how dangerous and manly they make him feel. He pounds into me, aiming his hips up so that his cock rubs against the front wall of my pussy, intense pleasure following every single one of his movements. The tip of his cock smashes into my tender place every time, as though he’s expertly aiming at it. I lean up, find his lips, and press into him, desperate for the feel of his beard against my face. As we kiss and writhe, our teeth click together, but neither of us notices. We just want the feel of each other, the steam and the heat, the wetness, the release of it.
Our tongues brush against each other, but not even our kiss can stifle our moans. The air fills with fleshly slapping and loud moaning.
Aedan breaks off the kiss and stares down at my breasts. “Fuck,” he grunts, still fucking, his ass going up and down, his cock pounding into me. This was my dream; it’s come true. Fuck! Fuck!
He leans down and sucks on my nipples as he fucks me, his abs tensing as he does so. My nipples ache, sore, as he sucks one and then the other. It’s like there are three burning points of pleasure inside of me, two in my nipples, one in my deep sensitive spot, and they spread through my body in eager hands and join somewhere in my belly. He keeps going, fucking me harder and harder, and soon the points of pleasure disappear and all that I can feel is the volcanic pleasure in my belly, like a series of eruptions over and over every time his cock slides into my wet hungry pussy.
I reach up and grip his shoulders, digging my fingernails in. Beads of blood drip down his skin, but he doesn’t care. I don’t think he even notices. He just keeps fucking me and I keep bobbing up and down and then—oh fuck, yes, fuck, yes, yes, yes!
The heat in my belly somehow gets hotter until there’s a pot of boiling water inside of me, steam filling every inch of my skin like I have a fever. He bites down on my nipples, causing me to jolt in pain, but pleasure underpins the pain, pushing it on. The boiling pot starts to rattle, the lid unable to contain the steam, and I know that when the lid goes flying off, I’ll come. I’ll come harder than I ever have before. Just thinking about it brings it closer. I want it. I’ve never wanted an orgasm so badly in my life. The pleasure gets more intense as Aedan releases my nipples, brings his face to my neck, and bites down.
“Oh, f-f-f—”
Yes, bite me, hitman. Fucking bite me. Pound me. Ravish me. Destroy me. Fuck, hitman. You dirty fucking Irish hitman. You’re being fucked by a rugged Irish hitman, Livia. A dirty hard muscular manly hitman. He’s pounding you. He’s biting you. He’s fucking—he’s—he’s—
Now, even thought becomes impossible. The pot boils over and lid goes hurtling into the ceiling.
Heat erupts.
Lava courses through me.
My pussy goes so tight around his cock he has to grunt and push even harder to get inside of me.
“Keep—biting—me—” I only just manage to say this before the orgasm fills me.
Oh my—
Fuck—
Yes—
I hear him pounding harder and harder into me, pushing past my tightening pussy, all the way to that beautiful spot inside of me, all the way to that perfect spot, that desperate spot, that aching spot.
He leans back, arching his hips, and his cock smacks directly into that orgasm-button spot, over and over and over. The heat in my belly spreads through me, right down to my toes, right up to my ears, every single part of me fire-hot to the touch. I stare at Aedan’s shoulders, at the way they bulge against my fingernails, at the massive muscles and power of them. I stare and stare and all the time I’m thinking: Hitman, Irish hitman. Dirty fucking Irish hitman. And then I can’t focus on anything anymore. I clamp my eyes closed, let my head loll back, and just fucking ride the pleasure of his cock. I imagine I can feel it bursting inside of me, feel the veins against my pussy lips, but really all I can feel is the orgasm, building, building—and then exploding.
“Fuckkkkkkk!”
The orgasm hits me, hard, and I bob up and down so fast on his cock I feel the friction of the bed sheets against my back. He tilts, arches, aims, and now I’m riding the orgasm, not his cock but the orgasm, I’m floating somewhere up high and the orgasm is propping me up. I bite down on my lip, blood filling my mouth, but all I taste is the pleasure of the orgasm. All I feel, see, hear, touch—it’s the orgasm, my entire world honed down to this one instant of ecstasy. My head fogs and spasms move through me, causing me to squirm on the bed, writhing here and there. My legs tremble. Buzzing tingles move up and down my arms. My mouth fills with saliva. And then the orgasm reaches a crescendo, a beautiful fucking crescendo, and I squirt all over him, just squirt all over his long, thick cock, squirt down the length of it and cover his balls with my squirt. I’ve never done it before and the sense of release shocks me. I sit, firmly, down on his cock, pulling him deeper inside of me and completely drenching his cock in my come.
The pleasure extends . . .
And then, very slowly, it recedes and I’m left gasping and panting, eyelids flickering open and closed.
I open them after a pause, and I can tell by Aedan’s face that he’s close.
I touch his jaw, weaving my fingers through his beard. “Do it, baby,” I moan. “Do it, baby. Fucking do it. Come for me, baby.”
He buries his face in my neck, breathing onto his teeth marks, and then lets out a long moan of release.
We stay like that for a long time, frozen in our pleasure throes, and then Aedan rolls to the side and spreads his arm across the bed.
Without thinking, I crawl into the nook and rest my head against his chest.
I won’t think about the consequences, I tell myself. I’ll just enjoy this moment, and then—
But and then can take care of itself.
Chapter Fifteen
Aedan
Two weeks, I think, as I walk down the street toward the restaurant where I’m meeting Bruno for lunch. The business with the Mexicans is still going on, Carlos Rio like a goddamned shadow, striking and then disappearing before anyone can react. But as I walk, it’s not the Mexicans which cause me to clench my fists. It’s Livia. Two weeks ago, we had what was easily the best sex of my life, steamy, hot, crazy. I close my eyes and all I can see is the way her body vibrated when she squirted all over me, the way her eyelids fluttered, the way she gave herself completely to me. And now, two weeks later, we’ve barely seen each other. I go to the bar, she’s not there. Or, if she is there, she quickly makes an excuse and leaves. To say I feel like I’ve got a goddamned knife in my gut would be selling it short.
I must look as annoyed as I feel, because the other pedestrians give me a wide berth, skirting around me, glancing at me with eyes full of fear. Good, I think, bitter and hating it. Get the hell out of my way. Part of me wishes Livia would just scream at me, or stab me with that fancy Mont Blanc pen of hers. Just something to tell me she still knows I exist. But at the moment, I might as well be a ghost, the way she treats me.
When I get to the restaurant, a high-class place with a doorman and a valet, I’m approached by the doorman. He reminds me of one of those English butlers you sometimes see in movies, all prim and proper with a fine-haired moustache. “Sir,” he says. “Are you Aedan O’Rourke?”
“Yeah,” I say, and I must sound pretty damn dark judging by the way he looks at me.
“Your companion has already arrived,” the man says, with a small bow. “If you would follow me…”
“Alright.”
There’s a line of people outside the restaurant, all of ’em looking a hell of a lot fancier than me, the men wearing suits and the women wearing sparkly dresses. A couple of the men look like they might kick up a fuss that this red-haired t-shirt and jeans man is getting in before them, bu
t when I glance in their direction, they all decide their shoes are more interesting than causing any trouble.
The butler-looking man leads me to a booth in the back, up a flight of stairs. The restaurant is the sort of place I’d never go in a million years, all polished silverware and paintings on the walls and glittering glasses and patterned plates. I feel out of place, is the truth, but the feeling is nothing compared with Livia, always lurking at the periphery of my mind. I wonder if she’ll be here, I think, but then Bruno’s greeting me and Livia’s nowhere in sight.
“Aedan, son,” he says, patting me on the back. “They didn’t turn you away, then.” He smiles and gestures at the seat opposite his.
“No, but they tried to,” I say. “They told me the kitchen staff normally uses the back door; they said a dishwasher had no business using the main door.”
“They did?” Bruno puffs up.
I laugh, but it’s forced. Livia.
“Nah, I’m just playing.”