by Paula Cox
“Fuuuuuuck,” Jude moans, over the sound of my slurping and gagging. When I move my tongue around, I can feel the bulging veins of his cock.
“I need your pussy,” he sighs. “I need it bad.”
He takes his cock from my mouth, pre-come and spit spilling out, and then reaches down and touches my face with surprising gentleness.
“Can you take it hard?” he says, with a playful, cocky smile, a smile that says, All the hard stuff is over and done with, this is playtime now.
“As hard as you can give it,” I tell him, and I mean it. Something in me has changed; my days of fearing pleasure, of misunderstanding it, are over. I’m a sexual being and nothing in this world can change that now.
He pushes me firmly in the chest, onto my back. I lift my legs and bend my knees, a pose that frames my pussy, every muscle in my body strained and tensed with one sole objective: to have him inside of me.
He studies me for a few moments, his head tilted. That look again—that look of complete abandon. It drives me crazy, makes me pant with anticipation. My entire body is a tingling, writhing mass of nerves and aching. My pussy is begging, pleading, my entire world honed down to this one crucial moment.
He leans down and I reach up and grab his shoulders, feeling the huge bulk of them, the power. His body is as rock-hard as his cock, like he’s literally carved from stone.
His moves his hips and his cock rubs teasingly up my lips, prodding my clit.
“I need it,” I pant. “I need it, Jude. Fuck, give it to me.”
Looking deep into my eyes with a hitman’s intensity, he reaches down and guides his cock to my pussy. First, the tip, opening me up, spreading me, and then the rest of him, in and in until I’m sure my pussy can’t take anymore—and then in again, until his cock is pushed right up against my soft place. He holds it there for a long time and I hook my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, desperate for this long, thick, perfect cock. He holds it for what feels like minutes, but must only be seconds, and then, slowly, achingly, pulls it out. I feel every tiny movement, even my pussy lips shifting subtly over the engorged veins of his cock.
“You said you could take it hard,” he says, with the tone of a warning.
“I can,” I assure him, speaking difficult when all I can think about is the deep pleasure and my hands on his muscles.
“Good.”
One word, like the shot of a starting pistol, and we’re off.
I feel as though a vehicle has just crashed into me, the power of Jude is so astonishing. I’m thrown back on the bed, head crashing into the sheets, mouth hanging open as a continuous stream of moans and cries escapes my lips. I squeeze my hands, trying to clench my fists, and pierce his skin instead. Jude doesn’t notice, doesn’t care; all he notices or cares about is the lust in which both of us are lost, like a whirlwind of pleasure and neither of us wants to break free.
I bounce up and down, up and down, driving my hips with all my power, burying his cock deep inside of me. It doesn’t take long for us to find our rhythm. I drive down; he thrusts up. I bounce up; he pulls out. Over and over, we bounce and thrust and fuck like neither of us has ever fucked before. His angles his cock perfectly, beautifully, hitting that bright sensitive spot inside of me, driving me crazy. I angle my hips here, there, always with the aim of getting that thick cock into that spot. Jude senses this, I can tell, because over and over he shifts the angle to hit right up inside of me, as though aiming at the spot on purpose.
The sound of slapping flesh, grunting, moaning, fills the room, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
It comes slowly this time, sneaking up on me, and then when I register it, it approaches with more speed. Flecks of sweat fly from Jude and land on me, the beads coating my skin, dripping down me. I savor each drop because it’s a sign of the complete abandon which has taken us both. Jude runs his hands all over my body, hot and close and warm, and all at once the slowly-building orgasm grows in size, becoming a behemoth inside of me. His pounding cock, my bouncing hips, his hands tweaking my nipples and his breath tingling my neck—all of it takes a backseat as the orgasm builds and builds and builds and—
“Fuck! Jude! Just like that! Keep doing it like that! Fuck! Fuck! Harder! Yes! Fuck! Harder! Yes!”
His cock is a jackhammer, pounding into me relentlessly. That spot of temptation, that spot of euphoria, becomes an orb of burning heat which only gets larger the harder he fucking pounds me. Pounds me like I’m his woman. Pounds me like he’s been waiting all his life for it. Pounds me like he can’t hold himself back. Fucking drills into me and I’m so wet I can hear it. My wetness drips all over his huge cock and I slam my eyes closed, wanting to sink into the absolute oblivion of it.
Clamping my eyes shut, I moan: “It’s . . . I’m going to . . . Fuck!”
A jackhammer, a smashing pendulum, a battering ram—none of it compares to the way his cock demolishes me.
The orgasm is helpless against the power and the speed of his thrusts; it can’t stop.
I close my eyes shut so tightly my eyes ache. My eyelids blaze crimson as though lying shut-eyed in the sun. And then—
I fall. That’s what it feels like, falling. When I land, I’m in a world of pleasure.
He aims his cock up at an angle, pounding nonstop against the spot, and the orgasm makes my pussy lips go super-tight around his cock, so tight that he has to strain to push all the way in, so tight that he grunts and breathes as he thrusts inside of me. I feel myself squirt, a huge release all over his cock, soaking it, absolutely drenching it in my come. When the squirting has passed, the orgasm continues. Absolute bliss captures me as Jude bites down on my nipples, nibbling, as the orgasm roils through me. He aims even higher, cock brushing the wall of my pussy, and the orgasm moves inside of me, spreading down the length of his cock and setting my hole ablaze. I’ve never felt pleasure like it, a complete release of everything, everything just spilling out, nothing held back. I tear down his back, digging my fingernails in, tear all the way to his ass. I think it’s over, and I’m panting, when another orgasm rises as though from nowhere and slams into me. Heat like I don’t believe fills me, my chest, my belly, my pussy, everything right down to my fingertips. His cock slams, slams, slams, and when I open my mouth, a deafening scream escapes:
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck, yes!”
I pant, let out a long sigh, and then energy deserts me. My body flops. I open my eyes slowly and look up at Jude. Jude tilts his head at me, lips twisted, a force of pleasure behind his face just waiting to be released.
When he sees I’m done, he sighs, “Thank fucking God.”
I lean up and press my lips against his as he comes, long and hard, inside of me.
Then, he rolls aside, panting, and I lay my cheek against his chest, not caring one bit that both of us reek of sex and sweat.
“Was it worth it?” I ask after a few minutes, kissing his chest, salty on my lips. “Was it all worth it, Jude?”
He looks down at me with a sleepy smile. “Worth it?” He laughs. “Worth it?” He waves a hand down the length of our naked, entwined bodies. “I’d do it all again just to fuck you, Emily. Of course it was worth it.”
I giggle, feeling as though I’m standing on top of the world, and after a couple of seconds, Jude starts laughing, too.
We laugh like that for a long time, caught in a bubble of lust and love.
After a while, Jude’s hand trails down my chest, tickling my nipples between thumb and forefinger.
“Maybe I don’t want you this time,” I say, pretending to pout, but my pussy is already heating up like a furnace and my mind is already doing backflips thinking about him inside of me all over again.
“I love you so damn much,” he says. “I just want you to know that before I fuck your brains out for a second time.”
“Come here and get me,” I say, and his mouth covers mine, so sweetly.
THE END
Read on for a SNEAK PEEK of Fury!
Preview of Fury
Chapter One
Jessie smiled at Mrs. Harrisburg's back as she folded up the paltry tip the old woman had been able to scrounge together. In truth, she would have cut and curled Mrs. Harrisburg's hair for free; the woman had been patronizing Delilah's Do for more than a decade.
Delilah, the owner, had stopped telling the woman about price increases about five years ago, when Mrs. Harrisburg, disturbed by the $3 increase, had skipped her monthly trim and nearly crashed her car because her bangs were in her eyes. Delilah swore that the decision was to protect the community at large, but really? The older woman's kids had moved away from Castello to more exciting parts of California, and her husband had died years back. She was lonely.
She rang the check through the till and walked to the front door to lock up, but before she got out from behind the counter, a huge man walked through the door. Absolutely huge. At 5 foot 8 and wearing heels herself, it wasn't as if Jessie was a tiny fainting flower, but this man was nearly a foot taller than she was.
He was broad through the shoulders, wearing the kind of muscle that said he worked hard and often, instead of the sort that bragged about gym time and "PBs" with CrossFit updates on social media. He had tattoos up and down his arms, swirling designs in dark ink that had been weathered by the sun. He wore a plain white t-shirt and dark denim jeans that had been worn lighter along the thighs. His hair was bright blond, shorn close on top, with a neatly trimmed beard that covered his chin.
"The -" her voice squeaked out. She coughed and tried again. "The barbershop's just down the street. Usual pole, can't miss it."
Castello was a small, sleepy town, with not a hell of a lot happening. She'd lived here since she was a kid, and she would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that she knew everyone. But this man was watching her with disarming intensity, as if he knew her inside and out. As if he knew everything she'd ever done or thought of doing.
She tried to not shift nervously. That was a horrible habit, and her mother had done her damndest to drill it out of Jessie's brain, but, in moments like this, she still wanted to cock out a hip and bite her nails.
What was it about this guy? It wasn't like she hadn't seen gorgeous men before. She had an Internet connection, and she wore out her vibrator's batteries every month, if not more frequently. He wasn't even all that handsome. But he was fiercely intense, and his hands were huge, and all she could think was how he could probably hold her up against the wall with just one of his big, strong arms, while the other flicked almost idly at her nipples. What would that feel like—
This time, she had to shake herself a little. She was absolutely not fantasizing about a stranger who hadn't even spoken to her yet. He could be a serial killer, for all she knew. He could be anything.
He could be a phenomenal time in the sack, and it had been a literal year since she'd had anything between her thighs that didn't need regular recharging, and she was aching for someone to do naughty things to her that she was afraid to put into words.
That was why she'd stopped dating town boys.
She wanted something dirtier, nastier than their loving and quietly muffled cries of pleasure. She wanted something darker. But how could you ask someone for that, and then see them on the street a day later without dying of embarrassment?
He raised a pale eyebrow at her comment about the barbershop, and for just a moment, she really did think he'd go. And then he shifted his weight with a grace that reminded her of big cats prowling, dropping himself almost daintily into the closest styling chair.
"There was a picture of a dude in the front window," he said, his voice thick and gruff. As if he didn't talk all that much. His gaze stayed locked on her, his thighs spread wide.
She had a vision of straddling him there, riding him while he wound his fist into her hair, panting into her neck until he yanked her head back to bite her pulse.
Down girl. Too many vampire movies and porn videos. Take a breath.
"Can you cut a guy's hair?" he asked. He was teasing now; she was entirely sure of it. There was something about the tilt of his mouth and the angle of his eyes that gave him away.
She glanced at the time. It was past 7, which was technically when she was supposed to lock up, but Delilah had always been very clear; if someone made it into the salon before closing, they got their cut.
Especially now, with Jackson having been poached out of the building by the new spa that opened across town, Delilah would be furious if she turned away someone who could pay. And, truth be told, her paycheck could use any kind of boost.
Castello was an interesting town. They were too far from both Los Angeles and Santa Clara to draw in college crowds, so the town mostly survived on tourist income from the surfers and boaters who like the warm Pacific waters and the bright beach.
But apart from the town itself, Castello didn't have much to recommend it.
Santa Cruz had the shopping, Berkeley had the hippie association, even Monterey had the aquarium. Castello just had...Castello. A couple of quaint B&Bs, the small shopping strip, and that was about the end of it. There'd been some talk about opening a water park or even some kind of technical school, but then the economy fell apart in '08, and that was that. The town was too busy trying not to disappear to worry about expanding.
She'd thought more than once of moving away. Los Angeles was way too plastic, but in Santa Cruz, or even Santa Clara, she could make a name for herself. Delilah had taught her the basics, but her customers often said she had a knack with color and cuts that they didn't often find.
But to move away, she'd have to leave Danny behind, and that wasn't ever going to happen.
She shook off her thoughts and pushed a smile onto her face, hoping that the man wouldn't be able to tell how forced it was. "Of course I can cut your hair," she said, stepping in close and spinning him to face the mirror.
He was huge, and she had to lower the chair almost all the way to put him at the right level for her hands. She ran her hands over the short blond stubble. A quarter inch, maybe less. And uneven. Almost like he'd hacked it all off himself with scissors, or maybe with old, dull clippers.
"You're just not giving me a lot to work with here." She said. It was strange. His beard was meticulously neat, and his hair was a mess. Why pay so much attention to one and not the other.
"I tell you what, beautiful," he said, and his voice shot from her ears straight down to her groin, making her achingly wet in a moment, "you keep touching me like that, and you can do anything you want to me."
It was something about the words. They tickled a memory she hadn't thought of in ages. She couldn't call it to mind, not now, but it was there. Something. She really did know him from somewhere, only she was completely sure that if she'd ever met someone this magnetizing, she'd remember them, clear as anything.
"Do I know you?" Jessie asked. It seemed like a stupid question, especially given how it echoed in the quiet salon.
He didn't say anything to her, just closed his eyes and leaned back into the chair.
Chapter Two
Tex held perfectly still in the chair, his eyes closed, his head tilted just a little bit back so Jessie would have full access to his scalp. His hands, clenched into fists in his lap, were shaking. He hadn't known what he would do when he saw her.
Finally let go? Fall head over heels? Drop down to one knee and beg her to marry him? Throw her down on the nearest surface and indulge the fantasies he had been having since he'd discovered that it felt good to run his hand along his dick once it got hard?
There were so many tempting options.
She wore her black hair long, and he could imagine bending her over a desk or the end of a bed, wrapping that hair up around his fist, and pulling her back to watch him as he fucked her long and slow. Directing her down to suck his cock. Commanding her to swallow—if she didn't already know—to get him all the way down past where she'd want to gag.
Jesus Christ, he had to stop this. He'd been half h
ard since he'd seen her bright green eyes, still full of laughter and light after all these years. She didn't remember him. If she did, she would have said something. No question. So she thought he was some weird freak begging for a haircut after hours.
He opened his eyes and looked in the mirror. She stood perfectly still behind him, her gaze on his in the mirror. There was an unmistakable paleness underneath her tan and circles under her eyes.
No one was taking care of her. He was sure of it.
This hadn't been the plan. He was going to find Jessie, and introduce himself right away. Or he was going to romance her all slow and soft, like a woman like her would deserve. Or, hell, he'd take her hard and fast, like a man like him was used to doing.
But the plan had never involved seeing her from the street and buzzing into the salon like a customer, then plopping his shaved-headed ass down into the salon chair like the kind of person who saw a fucking stylist to get their hair done.