Our home in West Sussex was small, stone walls, comfy. It was out in the middle of nowhere, quiet. We’d moved here from Mid Sussex (Crawley Down, more precisely, where his “mansion” his) so I could be close to the college.
A fire crackled near the back wall.
I grabbed his hand. He lifted me and pulled my soft body to his hard one.
Oh, it’s been so long.
His hands climbed behind me—hard, large hands. His lips sank into my neck and I heard myself give a small whimper.
I need you.
His hands fanned down to my butt, pressed against it, lifted it, moved around and squeezed it, each time pressing my mound against his growing shaft. Harder and harder. I felt him grow, slowly, crawling up in front of me.
Fingers curled on my ass, pulling my dress up, curling it bit by bit, slowly up so that the seam tickled the back of my thighs, higher, higher, higher. Eventually I felt a crisp breeze right under the flesh of my ass where sweat had gathered.
Even though a fire burned, there was still a chill in the room.
I pressed my forehead against Conall’s chest. My hands grabbed his shirt, wanting to pull it off him, wanting to see my name—LEORA—on his waist, the permanent declaration of his love for me, gotten when he and I had been separated by fate but remained together in our minds.
While my hands worked below, in a trance, I kissed his shirt, felt that chest under my lips, scented his cologne mixed with the fresh smell of apple soap from the shower he’d taken earlier.
His tongue played magic against my neck, pressing, licking, wetting, firing galvanic pressure down nerves I didn’t know the names of, tensing my leg and, believe it or not, causing me to actually bend my knee and lift my foot off the ground as if this were an old time movie!
He’d gotten my dress up to my waist. The cool air was electrifying.
I heard a snap of a pine cone in the fire.
Conall slid two hands down the side of my panties. He pushed down, bent his knees, got the panties to my own knees, then beyond my toes.
His hands slid up my legs. He eased his mouth and nose up my inner thigh and breathed in loudly as he hit my moist center.
I gushed.
My mind had been on Bettina, Dean Whithers, Kayla, all those spraypainted heads! It was on the last few unbelievably demeaning weeks—and it was on what I had here, this home, our kitchen, our lawn, our fireplace, the meals I cooked, that he cooked, our weekends, my bank account—
And then my mind—like a razor-blade to the skin—was drawn forcefully to Conall’s fire-breathing tongue.
And how it was now inside me.
-3-
My fingers found his hair. My dress had meanwhile covered some of his face. He pushed up against me, laving me, pressing his amazing tongue up the left and right side of my nether lips while thumping sensations pummeled and slammed every muscle around my legs and ass and stomach and chest.
My knees trembled.
I fell back onto the seat behind me.
I became suddenly aware of the sharp gasps I was making. The chemicals of love had taken over me. My legs started to shake even more. I opened wider, unthinking, just doing. Conall was hungry, pushing himself into me, all man, desperate, wanting more, like he hadn’t had me for weeks or months or—
“Oh, my God, baby, don’t stop! Oh, God!”
I grabbed onto the edge of the table, curled my fingers around the tablecloth. The wine in the glasses shook. The candle teetered dangerously left and, somehow, someway, I managed to grab it and—
Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes!
—blow it out before it fell.
Still holding onto the dead candle, my body rocked back and forth and I heard the chair feet bang on the wooden floor as my rocking ass lifted it off the floor in sync with Conall’s movements. He pushed into me with his lips and tongue, and pulled me into him with his gripping hands behind me.
“Oh, yeah, oh, yeah, oh!”
The day’s horror began to fade. There was nothing: Only the smack-smack-lick sound of Conall devouring me below—my clit, my lips, inside me, out. There was only the sensation of my naked butt grinding against the straw chair seat, sweat forming even more on it. There was the pull and grind of Conall’s fingers gripping and pulling my ass behind me, an ass he’d told me he loved because it was so “womanly.”
I gripped the edge of the table harder. I gripped the edge of the chair. It was happening. Oh, yeah, baby, it was happening!
I leaned my head back; every pore in my body sizzled, screamed, ready to burst and—
Then there was nothing! No tongue! No Conall! No...orgasm!
I opened my eyes, not realizing I’d had them closed. I was confused, searing. My skin was screaming. My vag was crying out for completion!
I saw Conall frantically taking off his pants, his belt—
Oh, God, I can’t wait. I can’t wait, baby!
Before I knew it—in less than a second or two!—he had them off, massive cock shining and glistening, red and pulsing and oozing desire for me.
He yanked me off the chair. His cock was so dangerously close to me, almost spearing me, as he stood there and held me to him. I started widening my legs, just wanting him inside me, not caring if it was standing, sitting—
I moved my hand down, grabbed his shaft, lifted myself up onto my toes—
“Wait.” He grabbed my wrist, pushed me backwards, beyond the table. I couldn’t see where I was going. I kissed his shirt, wanting to lick his skin below it. I kept walking backwards, almost falling a few times—
My legs hit our couch which I’d paid for with my hard-earned waitressing money! (Fine, I’d gotten it cheap on eBay. But I still paid for it!)
I was sitting now. I spread my legs, put my bare heels on the seat. I’m sure my face explained my desire completely: I want you.
Conall stood, cock screaming up at the ceiling, gleaming, looking so delicious. But I didn’t want to do that. Not now. Not while I was so...desperate!
He undid his shirt, button after agonizing button.
My skin cooked. My vag pulsed. Sweat broke out all over me. I turned my head away in agonizing pain. “Oh, baby, don’t make me wait.”
He said nothing.
I closed my eyes while he finished, feeling the breeze lick at my moist crevice. Some of my juice poured down toward my ass, cooling me even more.
But inside...I was on fire.
I felt hands on me. I opened my eyes. Conall was pulling my dress off. “I want to see you naked, Leora. I always want to see you naked.”
I lifted my arms, let him take the dress off.
His eyes locked on my breasts, and the glare in them only made me crackle even more. He unclasped my bra and cupped a hand around my left tit. It took his entire hand to cover it.
He bit on my hardened nipple—
“Oh, God!”
That was it! I couldn’t take it anymore!
I snatched my hands around his waist. All the tattoos on the front of his body called sexily to me, but especially the lower one, the one that was my name!
I pulled, sweat preventing a good grip of his back. Conall kept kissing my breast, devouring every portion of it. Our breathing was heavy, breathy, hot.
I kept pulling, hinting, trying to get him inside me!
He looked me deep in the eyes. Oh, God, his blue eyes always melted me. “It’s not going to last very long, Leora. You’ve got me too bloody horny right now.” And his accent melted whatever was still left of me to melt!
“For me neither, baby. Now fucking get inside me!”
He stood, muscled body gleaming in the warm light of our humble abode. He pushed my legs wide open by the knees. I wasn’t sure how he planned on—
Oh!
He yanked me down so that my ass was right on the edge of the seat, my head just supported by the back of it. He put a hand on either side of my head and then got down low, his entire body taut and hovering above me.
The tip of his
cock just touched me, just pressed, just ready to enter me.
I was so wet.
So tight.
So in love.
When he finally thrust into me, my feet fell off the seat, my body went limp, and I let out a long, low, protracted moan that lasted all the way until I came.
Which was only a few seconds later.
And then he came with me.
And the entire room...shattered.
-4-
His hard, taut, extended body broke into animalistic convulsions, impaling me, thrusting wildly into me, high up, all the way, nature determining the force and distance.
I held him, felt the muscles on his back snake and turn. From here I could just see the lines of poetry tattooed all the way down that back—W.H. Auden’s Funeral Blues.
His left trap muscle went once against my teeth, but I held him tightly still, feeling him collapse, feeling him break apart under my arms—soft and hard, man and woman.
He kept thrusting, exploding, groaning and growling. And my own moan continued. The further his cock speared into me, the deeper my orgasm burst inside and throughout me, sending flames of pleasure deep into my insides, carried on the warmth of his seed as it swam and filled me. He pressed into me, held me.
His hand slid to under my ass, lifted me as he continued to drive into me like there was no tomorrow, like this was his final thrust for life and survival.
I yowled!
Each thrust expelled a call and cry of never before experienced delight and comfort.
My legs shivered. My insides exploded. My muscles spasmed and twisted and turned and—
“Oh, God, Leora, you’re so bloody incredible!”
His grip under my ass tightened. He held me like he needed me more than life itself. He held me like I was Life.
He held me so tight that all the air was forced out of me.
And I held him in return.
In the end, he groaned, deep and moving. He shuddered and shivered and spasmed a few more times inside me. He speared and impaled deeply only once more.
And then, finally, after my own orgasm had already ended some time before, he exhaled loudly. Sweat gleamed off his skin, his forehead, his chest. His breath was hot on my shoulder. Our skins were steaming and wet and sliding off each other.
He kept holding me. And I kept holding him.
He didn’t pull himself out of me, and I didn’t want him to. I wanted him to do me again. I never wanted to be let go by him. I wanted to feel this every day.
This was me. This was who I was. I was an engaged and happy woman. I had a home. A home I was helping to build.
Something needed to change. It wasn’t how I had planned it, but it was the way it was now going. I also hadn’t planned on meeting this amazing, caring, wonderful man at seventeen. I hadn’t planned on many things. I hadn’t planned on moving to England, on finding incredible friends here—friends I now call my family.
I hadn’t planned on being so unbelievably happy and settled.
I also didn’t plan the tear that started falling from my eye now. It was a tear of joy, of certainty. A tear of...finality.
I’d made a decision.
Conall started rocking again.
Still inside me, I felt him stir.
I ran my hands through his hair. It was wet, matted.
He rocked some more, pushed into me. I moaned. “Mmmmm.”
I was looser below, satisfied, but his friction was getting me going again.
“I love you,” he rumbled in my ear. The words echoed inside every cell in my body. They got those cells singing, and they made my center clench tight for him.
“I love you, too, baby.”
I held him to my shoulder the entire time he rolled inside me.
It must have been half an hour he did that, holding himself up somehow by his feet below. When it got too uncomfortable, he eased me down onto the couch, lifted my left leg onto the back of it. And then he whirred into me.
When he came, he made the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard him make—groans of painful pleasure and agonizing satisfaction.
I came again shortly afterwards.
-5-
The next morning, disaster hit.
I held the little package of birth-control pills in my hand. I watched it tremble as the truth of what had happened hit me.
I’d inadvertently skipped two days on taking the pill.
A cold sweat broke out on my skin. As much as I wanted a baby one day and as much as I knew Conall also did (six, actually, if I recalled his words correctly!), and as much as I was determined to leave college and yet still make it a success in life—I was not ready to have kids!
Not going to college is one thing.
Falling pregnant at nineteen is, well, trailer-trash calling!
Looking in the mirror of the bathroom, dark rings under my eyes from the additional romps Conall and I had had as the night had moved on, thereby ruining any efforts at us getting any decent amount of sleep, I said the only thing I could in such a predicament. I said, “Fuck.”
CHAPTER FOUR
-1-
“You told him?” Kayla’s bright green eyes were wide and shocked as she sucked lasciviously on her straw. She has a knack of making the foamy cream of a Caramel Frappuccino look like something very different than what it really is...
Dani sat next to her, backlit by a stormy England sky beyond the Starbucks window, gray and menacing. It had been her turn to come over to us for our regular Saturday Starbucks get-together. On other days, we all went over to London.
Dani and Freckly Troy—my erstwhile manager at the Jolly Roger bar—had moved into Conall’s cottage in Crawley Down after Dani had been abducted by Kayla’s drug-dealing ex-boyfriend. London is about thirty minutes out from Crawley Down.
Alexandra wasn’t always available for our Saturday coffee meeting, depending on which clients needed personal training sessions, but she and Trey (with an E, not an O like Dani’s Freckly Troy) always joined us for our evening get-togethers over at the West-End.
Dani did cleaning and kept up some garden work for Conall. He paid her way more than any “maid” would get for doing it. Freckly Troy’s managerial gig at the Jolly Roger (which was in Seaford, two hours away) was a little trickier to maintain, and he often had to travel down there to keep an eye on things. I think being so far from his job and still trying to keep it was taking its toll on him.
Dani’s stubby fingers were paused next to her own straw now. Her mouth was parted seductively over it, her blue eyes staring up at me. It looked like she wasn’t sure whether to suck, or faint.
I felt kind of the same way.
“Of course I told him,” I replied. “We’re getting married for fuck’s sake.”
“So?” commented Kayla. “It doesn’t mean you need to tell him everything!”
I brought my voice down to a low whisper. “And what—surprise him with a baby popping out of me in nine months? ‘Oh, hi, honey. We have a visitor.’”
Dani kept her round lips poised on the straw, like a cowboy ready for the draw. A strand of her bottle-blond hair had dropped to in front of her left eye. She’d picked up a bit more weight in the last month, but being a little “round,” as she often puts it, has never really bothered her.
“Dani, you’re making me nervous,” I said.
She closed her lips and started sucking on her own Frappuccino, still looking up at me. Pale.
I shook my head and looked down at my Flat White—England’s answer to the Cappuccino.
There was silence between the three of us.
An old lady spoke about her puppy, Dewey. A female barista behind the counter asked a guy where he was from. The scent of fresh coffee beans wafted above and around us.
And still, none of us said anything.
Finally, Kayla said, “And?” She spun her hand around and around, gesturing for me to talk.
“Well...he smiled. And then he hugged me.”
Dani
’s slightly chubby posture melted into a puddle of romantic goo. “Oh, God, that is so romantic!” Of course, with Dani’s “lower class” English accent where all the Ts are omitted, That came out as Tha’.
Kayla slapped her on the shoulder with a backhand. “Are you freakin insane! She’s slept with only one guy her whole life, has barely gotten it on with anyone else, and now she’s carrying a bun in the oven!? She needs to live first!”
“Kayla, you’re embarrassing me. And we don’t know if I’m pregnant.” I shook my head. This was disastrous. Conall had seen my terror this morning. And he’d told me it was my choice what I wanted to do.
How could I have been so stupid! It had been all the stress, all the whirling confusions of the last few weeks. It had been the fact that he and I hadn’t had sex for a few days because of those things. And, well, I just forgot!
“Well, just take the Morning-After Pill, love.” Dani’s love came out as luff.
I shook my head. “I don’t want an abortion pill.”
Both Dani and Kayla sat back in their chairs shocked! Then, again, like a synchronized dance troupe, they leaned forward: “Leo,” Kayla said, “you seriously are one prudish chick, you know that?”
“Well, I have my beliefs.”
“Christ!” Kayla exclaimed.
She explained to me that the Morning-After Pill had nothing to do with abortion! I was a little embarrassed at not knowing this... She explained to me that an egg doesn’t get fertilized straight after sex! Dani jumped in and said I needed to get it done within seventy-two hours. The Morning-After Pill just prevents ovulation!
My hands started to shake. Where had I been when they covered this in sex-ed?
Oh, right, sex-ed had been delivered by one of the “sisters” at the Convent of Superlative Teaching—my and Kayla’s prudish high school. I hadn’t paid much attention...
We were out of Starbucks together within seconds, rushing to the pharmacy to get one of these damn pills!
-2-
I got the tablets and took the first one.
A wave of unbelievable sadness washed over me as I did it.
Deep South (Naive Mistakes #4) Page 3