Catching London

by MV Ellis

  Before I can overthink it and talk myself out of it, I whip out my phone, quickly and quietly firing off a few shots before tucking it back into my pocket. I know that I’ve just escalated to Stalker Level: Jedi, but I don’t care. The room is bathed in the most amazing late-afternoon light, giving the scene an ethereal glow, and Arlo an almost angelic appearance. This moment is just too beautiful not to document.

  It’s a shame that in reality, he’s the polar opposite of an angel. Even so, standing here gazing at him unawares, I can totally see why he’s been consistently voted number one in the Most Eligible Bachelor and World’s Sexiest Male polls for years. Not that I couldn’t see it before in purely aesthetic terms, but right now I see warmth in him that I haven’t previously picked up on. The combination of his obvious passion for music and the sultry words he’s singing is sexy as all hell. I feel the familiar stirring in the pit of my stomach—like butterflies having a party on molten lava.

  Arlo suddenly glances up, looking directly at me, gazing unflinchingly into my eyes through a canopy of hair. He doesn’t stop singing, or even look surprised to see me, so I wonder if he knew I was there all along. There’s scarcely a minute that goes by in this man’s presence that I don’t embarrass the hell out of myself. Being caught standing around staring at him like the crazy stalker that he once accused me of being is no exception. I just hope he doesn’t realize that I took photos—that would be a whole other level of humiliation. I’m getting used to making a fool of myself though, so I brazen it out, and don’t look away.

  He gives me a rare but dazzling smile—the kind that could move mountains and melt polar ice caps—and it floors me. The smile softens as he continues to sing, and for some reason, I feel like he’s singing to me, not just in my presence. I must be losing my fucking mind. I need to get a grip of myself. Stat.

  Arlo pats the bed, motioning for me to sit, never moving his gaze from mine. The magnetic pull toward him propels me forward. I can’t not. As I get closer, he puts the guitar down and reaches for my hand, tugging me down beside him. I fold my legs under me and sink down onto the lush bed linen. We’re knee-to-knee, nose-to-nose, and I immediately know that he’s going to kiss me.

  He wastes no time in reaching for the back of my neck, pulling my lips to his. This time there’s no gentle buildup. I feel the urgency in his touch from the outset. There’s still an underlying tenderness about the way his lips pursue mine, but his desire and need for me are palpable. The feeling is mutual. Having hardly seen him since the kitchen incident, I feel like a thirsty woman in the desert, finally getting my hands on a long, cool drink.

  Luckily this is no mirage; Arlo is definitely here in all his mouthwatering glory. I can’t stop myself from touching him all over as we kiss. He feels so good—supersmooth, baby-soft skin stretched over taut, rock-hard muscles. It’s a contradiction, but a tantalizing one.

  He leans back on the bed, putting the guitar down before pulling me on top of him. I am not surprised to feel his ultrahard erection pushing against my thigh—I’m pretty sure that I’m as wet as he is hard. Holy. Fucking. Crap. We’re clothed and have barely even touched each other—yet—and already I’m on the verge of coming. That has to be some kind of record.

  How he does this to me with just a kiss, even if it is a horizontal one, is a mystery. What I do know is that I’m losing my will to resist him. I’m ashamed to admit to myself that he and I are a foregone conclusion—nothing can stop me from taking things to the next level with him right now. It’s either that or spontaneously combust with unspent lust.

  I’m still kissing him passionately, my tongue exploring every millimeter of his mouth—my hands suddenly seem to have a mind of their own, sweeping across his body in frantic waves. Behind his head, then all over his body, trying to pull him closer, grabbing his biceps, his pecs, and his waist. I can’t shake the feeling of not being able to get enough of him, or close enough to him. It’s never enough.

  Before I realize what he’s doing, Arlo flips me onto my back, pinning me to the mattress with my hands above my head. His palms press into mine, and he traps my lower half as he sits astride me. The move takes me completely by surprise.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” I feign seriousness, but can’t stop the smile from spreading across my lips.

  “I want you,” he replies, staring down at me. His gaze is intense, and I realize that where I am lighthearted and jokey, he’s deadly serious.

  “I know.” My voice is soft; I’m hoping to lighten his mood.

  “Do you want me?” He’s as serious as ever.

  The look in his piercing eyes is so intense it’s almost a glare. It’s like he’s trying to see into my soul. I nod mutely.

  “Then tell me.”

  “What? You know I do, Arlo.” More than my next breath.

  Surely with the way I’ve been crawling all over him, my intentions are pretty clear?

  “I want you to say it. Out loud. For the avoidance of doubt, and so you can’t flip the script on me later. You want me as bad as I want you. Say it.”

  I roll my eyes, but go along with it. It’s the truth, after all.

  “I want to fuck you more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone in my life. Okay?”

  Judging by the look on his face, it’s more than okay. He flashes me a devilishly triumphant grin, and in one swift movement pushes my legs apart with his knees.

  “Then never let it be said that Arlo Jones doesn’t give a lady what she wants. But first, this.”

  He winks at me again before pressing his lips to mine, then moving down to my collarbone, lavishing it with tiny gentle kisses. It’s as pleasurable as it is frustrating. I just want him to get down to business and scratch my horny itch. Arlo, however, clearly has other plans. I squirm as he moves further south. He pushes up my loose shirt, sliding his hand up to my bra cups, yanking them down to reveal my breasts.

  “Shit. I’ve wanted to get my hands on these since the first time I saw you.” He sighs between tiny kisses.

  His words alone are enough to set my libido alight, but then he starts stroking one nipple while his mouth hungrily devours the other. It drives me wild.

  “Christ, Arlo.”

  My nipples pebble under his touch, and my body jerks upward in response. I feel his lips arching into a smile against my breast as he continues to lick, rub, and suck. The ecstasy is so intense, it’s almost agony. I’m not sure how much more I can take—it’s more pleasure than I’ve felt in a long time.

  “Arlo….” I writhe beneath him.

  I try to push his mouth away, to give myself some respite; otherwise, I’ll come before he even gets his hands below my waistband. God, I want this man inside me. Frustratingly, this seems to be the one time Arlo is able to show patience and restraint. He continues, completely unhurriedly, licking and sucking each nipple until I’m sure I can’t stand anymore.

  He knows exactly the buttons to press to turn me on too, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive me crazy. A few times he gently drags his teeth across my areola, lightly nibbling the tip of my nipple. At the same time he pinches my other nipple firmly. It’s the perfect mix of pleasure and pain, and I’m so close to coming, it hurts.

  “I need you inside me now, or I’m going to come before you get anywhere near me.” My voice is heavy and husky.

  I feel him smile again, but thankfully this time he shifts back on his heels slightly, moving his mouth away from my breast as he does. I feel relieved and ripped off at the same time. I’m longing to feel his touch on my nipple again, but I want his dick between my legs more. He strokes down my side lightly, as though counting each of my ribs, while raining kisses on my stomach.

  “God, I love your body, L.”

  There’s genuine reverence in his voice. My body ripples at his words, sending a fresh wave of arousal down to my sweet spot. I’m throbbing at the thought of him inside me. His kisses stop at the waistband of my shorts, and he slips one hand down and into my thong.
The other holds both of my wrists. He begins slowly circling his thumb over my clit, and has me instantly squirming. I want to push his fingers inside me, or better still, pull down his pants and have him thrust his cock there instead, but he has my wrists firmly in his grasp, so all I can do is writhe with pleasure/pain.

  “Arlo, please….”

  I can’t believe I’m begging him, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “All in good time, babe, all in good time.”

  He’s clearly enjoying his little power play.

  I can hear the laughter in his voice, and briefly wonder how many women he’s said that exact thing to. I shove the thought to the back of my mind. Arlo is here with me right now, and that’s all that matters—for the moment, at least.

  With his free hand, he deftly undoes the button and zipper of my shorts, yanking them down my legs and off. He leaves my thong on though, which bothers me. I’d like to think that underwear is surplus to requirements right now. He immediately moves down, and after pulling my thong to the side slightly for better access, replaces his thumb on my clit with his hot sweet lips, and slips a finger inside me.

  “So wet, L, ready for me.” Fuck yeah.

  His words echo my thoughts—I’ve been ready for this for weeks.

  His tongue dances in exquisite circles while he moves his finger back and forth, hitting my sweet spot each time. I arch my body into him, wanting him deeper. Taking the hint, he starts to move his hand faster and harder, slipping a second finger inside me at the same time. All the while, his tongue is still lapping at my clit.

  “Jesus, Arlo.”

  As my orgasm starts to build I’m torn between wanting more, and wanting him to stop so I can feel his dick inside me. I realize too late that I’m past the point of no return—my muscles start to clench against him, I’m so close to the edge.

  “If you carry on, I’m going to come,” I pant.

  “I know, I can feel it. I want you to come for me.”

  He doesn’t need to tell me twice. Before the words are fully out of his mouth, I’m shattering—tightening around his fingers and grinding against his mouth. My orgasm is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I’m seeing stars as my body bucks and shudders against him.

  “Christ, Arlo. Fuck!” I scream through clenched teeth.

  He moves up to kiss my lips, finally releasing my hands from his grasp. I grab on to his shoulders and continue to grind against him. My body is alive with sensation, almost as though my nerve endings have risen to the surface of my skin. I’m throbbing and clenching with aftershocks as he withdraws his fingers. Holy fuck. I literally don’t know what to do with myself.

  “That was intense.”

  I say the first thing that comes to mind. With Arlo, I seem to have no filter, as though I’ve lost the capacity to edit my thoughts before blurting them out.

  “I know, and I loved every moment.” He looks smug, obviously pleased with his handiwork.

  I’m lying back on the bed, sated, but a little shaky and weak. Arlo shifts up onto all fours so he’s hovering above me, kissing me gently as I come back down to earth.

  “I can taste myself on your lips,” I murmur.

  He gives me his trademark roguish grin, and begins licking his lips like the cat that got the cream. I guess in some ways, he is.

  “You’re delicious. I could eat you all day long.”

  Always with the charm, this one.

  “I don’t think I could take that all day long. I’d lose my mind,” I mutter.

  I’m suddenly exhausted—I can just about muster the energy to talk.

  “Yeah, but we’d have great fun until you did.” The wolfish grin develops into a chuckle. “You look so fucking beautiful when you come. I want to see that look on your face over and over again. I want to taste you on my lips again, and I want to slip inside you, and watch you come all over my dick.”

  Although I’ve just been smashed by the most intense orgasm of my life, when I hear those words, I’m immediately ready to go again. What the actual…?

  “I want to feel you inside me.”

  The words are out before I can stop them.

  As well as completely obliterating my filter, the chart-smashing orgasm has also eroded any sense that I should play even the slightest bit hard to get. I would never normally be this open with a guy like Arlo. Mostly because I’d never normally be with a guy like Arlo, period. I should be doing my best to be sultry and aloof, yet here I am practically begging him for sex.

  “I know, L, and you will, soon. You know I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined what you would feel like wrapped around my dick. I was beginning to think it would never happen,” he whispers.

  For a professional wordsmith who writes most of the Heartless Few’s songs, his pillow talk needs work. In fact, his talk needs work. Period. I’m so out of my mind with lust that his lack of polish doesn’t put me off. In fact, the level of honesty we’re sharing is refreshing. I’m relieved to know he’s been thinking about me the same way I’ve been thinking about him. In my mind, that evens things up between us a little, and makes me feel a bit less like a desperate fangirl.

  After a few moments’ rest, his lips roam my body again, and we’re on for round two. He kisses the dip between my neck and my collarbone, moving down to my ribs, kissing each one as he goes, his hands delicately caressing where his mouth just left as he runs his fingertips back and forth, gently circling my tattoo.

  “I love your tat, it’s so hot,” he says between kisses.

  “Thanks. It’s… um… I… oh….”

  Lucidity isn’t my strong suit right now. His lips move down to my stomach, while his hands tightly grip my waist. My body is alight as I concentrate on where his mouth is going next. He kisses a trail down from my navel. At last, his hand is at my waistband, grabbing my panties and yanking hard. In one swift movement, he tears them from my body like an excited child unwrapping a Christmas present. The thin elastic sides give way easily, with a satisfying ‘ping’ sound. I guess that’s what I get for wearing teeny tiny underwear.

  I never would have thought it possible that I’d like this kind of clichéd “Me Tarzan, you Jane” behavior, but it’s totally freakin’ hot, and I actually kind of love it. Weird from the girl whose best friends always tease her about going for men who don’t have “the Beast” in them.

  The Beast (TB, for short), according to my best friend, Nic, is that raw male thing that appeals to a woman’s primeval instinct to want a strong and powerful man—going back to the days when women needed protecting from saber-toothed tigers, woolly mammoths, and other shit like that. I genuinely thought I was missing that gene—before now, if anyone needed protecting in my relationships, it was probably the guy—but apparently not. Maybe I was just waiting for the right guy to bring it out in me. And by right, I mean wrong, if that guy is Arlo Jones. So totally wrong.

  My breath catches as Arlo reaches his destination and starts gently lapping at me again with his tongue. I let out an involuntary groan, arching my spine and throwing my head back. At the same time, he moves his hand to my hips and quickly pulls me closer to him. Next he slips his tongue inside me, jerking me toward him again, pushing his tongue further into me. It feels so good that I’m dripping wet in an instant.

  “So wet again, and we haven’t even gotten started,” he remarks.

  Why do I get the impression that he’s teasing me in more ways than one? His hands continue their journey down my body to massage my clit while he plunges his tongue in and out, his pace quickening with every thrust.

  “Arlo….”

  The word hangs in midair.

  “Hmmm...?” His voice sounds muffled as he continues to kiss, lick, and suck.

  “I… can’t….” I can’t even finish the sentence. My breathing is heavy, coming in labored puffs and grunts.

  “Can’t what?”

  I can hear the amusement in his voice,
and I know he’s smiling, even though I can’t see his face.

  “You need… um… I’m… I….”

  Each time I try to speak, he takes my breath away with another stroke or nibble. Everything is so intense with him. It’s like I’m experiencing everything on a deeper level than ever before. Everything feels bigger, better, sexier and more pleasurable. So much pleasure, in fact, that I’m not sure I can take much more without coming completely undone again.

  I try to close my legs and push him away, to sit up and move out of his reach, but he’s got plans for me. He quickly withdraws his mouth, causing my body to jolt.

  Despite my efforts to sit, he pushes me back down onto the bed and positions himself so that he’s kneeling between my legs. Not a moment too soon, he reaches inside his tented pants, and frees his straining cock. Next, he stretches across to the nightstand and pulls out a condom. Ripping the packet open with his teeth, he rolls it on quickly and expertly.

  Having seen him with a hard-on through his pants several times, I know that he’s well hung, but seeing him naked and fully erect now is something else. He’s huge and hard as rock. In one swift movement, he rears up on his knees, pulling my legs up so that my ankles rest somewhere near his shoulders. Another swift movement and he’s quickly sliding inside my slick entrance.

  The thought enters my mind that he’s too polished, too much of an expert at this. That he’s got all the moves, and maybe I should be concerned about that. This train of inquiry doesn’t last long, as my arousal and the feel of him sliding inside me drown out all other feelings, thoughts, and emotions. I should care more, but I can’t. Don’t want to. Won’t.

  He fills me completely, the tip of his cock hitting my sweet spot harder with each thrust, driving me nearer to climax. He’s close too, I can tell. He grabs my butt and yanks me toward him, driving into me hard. Having him this deep inside me, thrusting this hard, puts me right on the edge of pleasure and pain. I take a deep breath every time he hits home, which helps me handle the intensity. I love it, but it’s making me kind of delirious.