Sinfully Theirs: Naughty Nookie Part I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  I’m unpredictable. For the first time in my life, I’m not following the everyday slog. And teasing Zane, confusing him and riling him is the highlight of my day.

  When I waded out of the bedroom on Tuesday morning, after my unsuccessful calls to Marina and Eddie, he told me that he expected nothing from me. That he just wanted to help.

  And I believed him and still do.

  Now, I wish he hadn’t said that. Because the urge to tackle him to the ground and fuck him silly is becoming a priority.

  In my life, I’ve had a handful of inappropriate thoughts. And that guestimate is being generous. But this week, my brain has turned into a lust-fuelled monster. If this is how guys feel, thinking about sex every few seconds or so, then it must be horrible.

  I should be depressed, focused on my woes and homelessness. But am I?

  No.

  Sighing, I look at the clock. It’s just after nine AM and after a week of not working and not even calling in to the office, I doubt I’ve a job left. While the thought should bother me, it doesn’t. I’ve grown quite accustomed to waking up this late in the morning and I know, if I get up now and sneak into the lounge, Zane will be there. Usually without a shirt, dressed in nothing but a pair of briefs and a blanket covering the best bits.

  Lying flat on my back, staring up at the matte gray ceiling, I ponder my next move.

  I’m horny.

  Having one’s sexuality awoken by a sex god and then living with said sex god, puts sex at the top of your priorities.

  Especially when the sex god is intent on being honorable.

  At this moment, I want to tell him to fuck being honorable and fuck me instead.

  Pursing my lips, I sit up and shrug off the covers. Dressed in little more than a sleep shirt, I climb out of the bed and head toward the doorway. Grim sunlight is pouring through the windows and I follow the rays to the front of the apartment where Zane can be found on a morning.

  He’s there. Just as I thought he would be, naked except for a pair of briefs that reveal very little but manage to cup a lot, and a sheet that’s half-off and half-on him.

  Feeling like a voyeur, I watch as he rolls over on the too-small couch and shake my head in wonder. Asleep, the man is gorgeous. Awake, the man is gorgeous. I’m such a lucky bitch. This guy is, potentially, mine for the taking. If I have the courage to do just that.

  Even though I desperately want him, it takes a surprising amount of cojones to take a step into the lounge and toward him.

  As I move, I ensure that my breathing is regulated, because a panic attack would not be the sexiest of come-ons, and all the while I’m self-coaching myself, I reach his side. Perching on the edge of the sofa, something which isn’t very generous because he takes up a considerable amount of space, I settle there and gently press a hand to his abs.

  Letting my finger drift along the line of those ripped muscles, I’m having too much fun to realize that his eyes have opened and that he’s watching me with amusement. The instant I do, I blush. Christ, being a strawberry blonde is a killer sometimes.

  “You know what you’re starting, right?”

  His voice is usually deep, but this early morning rumble sets me on fire.

  An unfortunate turn of phrase for someone in my circumstances, but hey, it’s the truth.

  “Very aware,” I retort, and continue to trail my finger over his flesh, taking particular pleasure in rubbing the line of his obliques. Dee-lish.

  He grabs my hand and curls upright, in a move that has each muscular square of his stomach curling and tautening. “Let’s clean up, first.”

  For a moment, I wonder if I stink. And then, I remember two things. Christ, this isn’t a romance story. Morning breath does exist in this world, as does the garlic-rich spaghetti sauce we both consumed last night. Because of that, I’m not offended and jump up and run to the bathroom, my bare feet padding on the wooden floor. Stuffing my toothpaste-loaded toothbrush into my mouth, I jump in the shower for a quick wash. And squeal, when an equally toothbrush-touting Zane pops up in front of me.

  Until now and unlike myself, he’s always respected my privacy. Somehow, I know this marks the start of the demise of privacy as I know it.

  He grins at me around a mouth of toothpaste and I can’t help but laugh. This is not how I envisaged this scene. I expected to be ravished, ravaged. I expected to take part in a lot of that too. Instead, we’re both in the shower, preparing ourselves for the main event.

  For a minute, my eyes lose focus as I watch him grab the soap and begin to clean himself up. I should probably do the same, try, in some way, to entice him. But enticement isn’t a part of my vocabulary. I’ve about as much seductive appeal as the toothbrush shoved in my mouth.

  Zane, on the other hand, has it down to pat.

  I can only imagine what he’s capable of, when he really tries. The easy strokes as he grips his cock with a soap suds-lubricated hand are effortlessly arousing. Blindly following the motion of his hand, my mouth drools a little and it sure as hell isn’t watering over the sandalwood soap.

  On the way to full arousal, his cock is impressively large. Just looking at it makes me question how on earth I managed to accept all of it into my body. At that thought, my mouth isn’t the only part of me growing moist.

  Something inside me wants to touch it, to feel it, but something else is simply enjoying the show. And it’s quite definitely that, a show. There’s no way in hell it takes that long to wash even something as huge as Zane’s dick.

  I take the chance to study his movements, to see what he likes. Watch the small flick of his wrist as he reaches the glans and notice the faint twitch of his eyelashes at the movement. The whitening of his knuckles as he presses down at the base of the shaft and then, with his other soapy hand, the firm grip as he rolls his balls together. He frees one hand and passes me the soap. The invitation is just that, a gentle request and in the face of such lack of pressure, I suck in a breath and take it.

  Feeling like a bit of an idiot, I roll the clear amber block over my breasts, making sure to rub the nipples and to cover them in suds too. Letting the soap glide over my belly, past the mons of my sex, something which I’ve taken to trimming during my stay at Zane’s as he is completely bare down there, I let it slip between my pussy lips. I’ve never touched myself in front of anyone before. Dan was happy to rut away under the sheets, he wasn’t interested in me or my pleasure. Anything of this nature has most definitely occurred in private.

  I’m a little hesitant, because I really don’t want to make a fool out of myself. At the same time, the reckless creature that has appeared out of the ashes of her apartment building is squawking away. Reveling in the slow burn of Zane’s eyes, enjoying every second of being at the center of this hunk’s attention.

  Allowing my fingers to drift around my clit, I bite my lip as the gentle brush has sparks sizzling from there to my belly. With my spare hand, I retreat to my breasts and rub and tweak my left nipple. As the skin puckers up, I pinch a little and force myself to cease concentrating on my own pleasure and to start watching the show taking place before me.

  The drift of Zane’s hand up and down the length of his cock has changed. The pace is a little slower and his grip is a little firmer. His free hand is doing nothing more than being held in a tight fist. That I’m affecting him at all is a miracle in itself. That he’s trying to dampen his arousal down is like hearing the angels sing overhead.

  Okay, probably not the best time to be thinking about God, but my point is made.

  Dan made me feel like a sexless slug.

  With Zane, I’m anything but.

  My fingers haven’t ceased the gentle play with my clit. I can’t imagine what I look like. My hair wet and clinging to my shoulders and a part of my décolletage. One hand massaging a soapy breast and the other delving between my thighs and rubbing my pleasure spot. All the while a bright pink toothbrush is dangling from my lips.

  Rather than be embarrassed, I’m empowered
.

  For the first time in my existence.

  And it’s down to this man and the attraction I have for him, and that he has for me.

  The beauty of the washroom is such that I only have to walk a few steps away from the central showerhead to the sink. Releasing the toothpaste from my mouth as daintily as I can, I return to the shower and watch as Zane does the same thing. The spray is hot, but not as hot as my blood. He turns around and from the basin, watches me or should I say, watches the water as it runs in rivulets down my length. I’ve never been at the center of anyone’s attention for very long, but this week, it feels like I’ve been nothing but the epicenter of Zane’s focus.

  In a way, the intensity of the pleasure he finds in me, even if I can’t understand it, enables me to stand there with no real embarrassment or discomfort. I cup my breasts, not in an attempt to entice, but to proffer them to the showerhead so that the soap suds will dissipate. I twirl around, making sure all the soap has gone and then retreat to the faucet to switch off the water.

  I don’t bother reaching for a towel, I just head straight across the room and stand myself a foot away from Zane, who is leaning against the basin, watching every move I make with a force that could be classed as unnerving. Think puma, and then think of me as the big cat’s dinner.

  The amber striations in his coffee brown eyes seem to fluctuate, rippling with the power of his focus. His hands grip the vanity yet his biceps are as strained as though he’s lifting weights. His chest is also tensed, the pectoral muscles flexed and those luscious abs are delineated as though I’ve taken a ruler and drawn them onto his flesh.

  One hand breaks free from the vanity and he reaches for me, turning it palm side up in offering. I slip mine into his and let myself be brought against him. The minute my skin touches his, something inside me sighs. Relief? Maybe. It just feels so damn good to be this close to him. To have my softness pressed to his hardness, to have my curves meld to his lean muscularity.

  He raises his other arm and links it around my back, bringing me into a loose embrace. His erection burrows itself into my belly and my breasts mold to his pecs. For a moment, we just stand there. The desperation surging through my veins has dissipated into a slow burn. When I first began to touch him on the sofa, to say I’d wanted to fuck him raw would be putting it mildly. But now, the need is there, but not with the urgency of before.

  There’s a different kind of urgency now.

  And it stems from the fact that if my apartment building hadn’t burnt down, I might not have seen this man again.

  That thought is terrifying. I burrow deeper into his arms and press my face against his throat, where his scent is strongest.

  This last week, I’ve been with him pretty much constantly. He’s been working on his laptop in the lounge, while I’ve been behaving like the role he wants me to take on permanently, a kept woman. I’ve done nothing. Relaxed, watched TV, read or listened to music.

  My old life burned away with all of my possessions and do you know what? Aside from a few things I’d have preferred not to have lost, I don’t mourn anything.

  This man might not be mine, he might never be so, but when I’m with him, I feel more than I’ve ever felt before. That can’t be wrong, can it? I’ve known of him for two or so weeks, been with him for eight days including our one night together. It’s far too soon to even think of being in love with the man, but that’s just how I feel.

  And it frightens me at the same time as it motivates me.

  He has a husband.

  I’ll never be his priority, always hidden in the shadows of his life.

  I’ll live for the moments we’re together and probably feel desperately lonely when he has to leave me.

  Just the thought has me burrowing all the more closer into his arms and maybe he understands, even though I haven’t muttered a word, because his loose embrace tightens and I’m wrapped up in one hundred per cent Zane.

  How long we stand there, I don’t know. But it feels good and eventually, his hands begin to slide along the length of my spine, rubbing and massaging slightly wherever they fall.

  In between us, his cock begins to harden again and all thoughts of our situation swirl away like the soap suds did down the drain.

  Zane begins to palm my ass, grabbing the cheeks, separating them and then releasing before starting the cycle again. I’m on tenterhooks, waiting for his touch to grow more intimate and in preparation I stand on tiptoe, bringing myself closer to him by a few inches.

  One hand drops away only to return when the other pulls one cheek aside and fingers slide down the nook of my sex from behind.

  Having never experienced such an approach, it makes me jump and I laugh, the sound husky with need and longing, as my flesh quivers at his touch.

  Slowly, his fingers rim the entrance to my body and in a silent welcome, my pussy floods with juice that slickens his fingers enough to lodge two digits inside. He scissors them, pushing the walls of my pussy aside and gently thrusting as he does. My own fingers bite into his arms, as I stand frozen within his embrace. The only part of me really moving is my hips, as they rock to a beat I can’t hear but one that my body instinctively knows.

  For a few seconds longer, he continues to touch me inside out and then the digits of his hand slip away and slide upwards to my clit. A moan bursts free from my throat and I urge my legs apart to enable him further access. I don’t regret the move. He begins to frig the nubbin and the only thing I can do is bite down on the closest thing at hand.

  His nipple.

  He hisses and grunts a little, but his fingers don’t stop their almost-torturous glide and his cock perks up between us, from half-mast to full-mast in no time at all. And now, each rough rock of my hips massages his dick, so much so that pre-cum lubricates our way and makes the passage easier.

  My mouth tangles with his nipple, rubbing, licking, twirling the erect bud but suddenly, my head is grabbed and jerked upright. Our lips collide. Mine instantly opening to accept the smaller penetration of his tongue, and it doesn’t escape my notice that his thumb hooks itself inside my pussy and that the small thrusts down there are in time with his penetration of my mouth.

  I can’t breathe. Oxygen-dense air floats about me, but Zane is denying me it with his all-encompassing kiss. I try and fight back, take control from him. Jerking my hips to excite him all the more, I revel in the moment when he draws away, his head rocking backwards to groan his pleasure at my movements.

  One minute, he’s defenseless and the next, I am.

  He grabs my hips and lifts me up, spinning us both around so that my back is against the vanity. In one move, I’m perched on the edge and, in the second, my legs are spread wide apart.

  Like a steel trap, I snap them together and grip Zane with my thighs. So close, his cock is resting inches away from my pussy and I tighten the clasp so that it’s there, lying directly against the lips shielding my sex. The image welds itself into my sensory memory and my mouth waters at the sight.

  Hard to my soft.

  Male to my female.

  I tilt my pelvis and jolt as the move has his dick rolling upwards and nudging my clit. A faint chuckle sounds from him, and I watch as he grabs his cock and begins to frig the small nubbin with the tip of his shaft.

  A part of me feels like yowling. Screeching like a cat. Electrical sparks pummel me with both the actual touch as well as the visual power of such a move.

  Within his tight grasp, his cock seems to pulse with his own arousal, and I get the feeling that what he’s doing is torture for us both. Of the pleasant kind, of course.

  My slick sex welcomes him, the outer lips clinging to him in a silent salute and silently begging for him to cease his torment and yet loving every minute of it.

  The glans breaches the entrance to my pussy, only to retreat and leave me gasping as it slides on up to abuse my clit with its rough prodding. My hips arch upwards and I fall back, allowing him to push his way even closer by the simple movem
ent of spreading my legs wider apart.

  The vanity mirror is cold at my back and in contrast to the dynamic heat at my front, my senses feel overloaded with the strain of it all. But that’s nothing to the blast of energy that consumes me when his cock ceases its tease and finally forces its way into the tight clasp of my pussy.

  I scream.

  There’s no pretty way to describe the discordant screech that escapes me at that moment.

  But do I care?

  No.

  I fucking don’t.

  With the heat and resilience of a branding iron, he forges a path inside me until I feel just that. Branded by him.

  It seems to take him an age to fill me entirely and in this position, with my pelvis tilted and my hips arched, I doubt an inch of my sex is Zane-free. He rests, pressing his forehead to mine so that his mint-edged breath brushes my lips, silently communicating that this is as intense for him as it is for me.

  His breathing steadies, or it’s as steady as it can be in this situation and slowly, he pulls free from my body’s clasp only to retreat.

  His thrusts are rhythmic at first. Neither too slow or fast, too rough or weak. He’s gently claiming me, all of me. Allowing me to become accustomed to his size once more.

  I want to look at him, want my eyes to study the fierce concentration on his face but I can do nothing but squeeze them shut. Because even they are sizzling in reaction to his claiming.

  The long, slow drag of his cock against the soft tissues of my sex is as powerful as an earthquake. Down to my bones, I feel the connection between us and while one part of me wants to cling, the other wants to push away because this is too much.

  Sparks flash behind my eyes and under the upper layer of my skin. Think pleasurable but intense pins and needles. My nerves are surging and a power cut is near. Even my brain feels on the brink of implosion with the endless, sawing drag of his cock inside my sheath.

  I want to scream, screech. Rake my nails down his back and draw blood, but I don’t. I grip the vanity, close my eyes and try to endure. Because this kind of pleasure is almost painful.