Blackmail (Skeleton Key Book 1)

by Anna James Watson

  I prop one of her knees over my shoulder so I have a free hand to squeeze my own cock. If I don’t do something to relieve some of the intense pressure inside of it, I might come just from eating her out, and I don’t want to do that. I want to make her come half a dozen times before I let myself come inside her.

  So, with a few good sucks, I drink up all of her juices and then pull out of her to give her sweet little nub the attention it deserves. I don’t have to open my eyes to know the hood has retracted. I rim the edges of her nub all the way around and then settle my tongue just outside of it in the ten o’clock position.

  My tongue flat, I lick up and down, back and forth, until I’m forming an elliptic that tilts along the tangent of her clit. The underside of my tongue becomes a cushion where I direct most of the pressure, and judging by the tightening of her fingers in my hair, it’s exactly the right amount of pressure.

  Her breaths become shorter and shorter pants. They are like drumbeats that I get lost dancing to. I circle my tongue over and over, faster and faster to meet their tempo. I feel consumed by an addictive delirium.

  Her legs go rigid, stretching all the way out, so strongly and suddenly that they knock me off balance. Quickly righting myself, I plunge my tongue inside of her once, only once, and then go right back to the edge of her clit, picking up where I left off.

  “Yes, yes, yes, please,” she whispers, her hands squeezing my skull. “Please, please, please.”

  I keep going and going. My tongue feels like it could fall off from exhaustion, but the strain on that muscle actually seems to be channeling a little bit of the insane blood pressure pumping through my cock. The hardest part about continuing to draw those wonderful, quick pants out of her is keeping the rhythm instead of diving back between her juice-slicked folds.

  I take the hand that has been gripping her thigh and I slide it to her entrance. I slip inside a little and then press down, stretching her rim. “Ohhhh God,” she moans, letting go of my hair to grab the pillow again.

  This eggs me on. I redouble focus on the circles near her clit. “Please, please, please,” she mutters into the pillow.

  She moans and groans. Her hips arch and buck, forcing my fingers deep inside of her. I feel her walls squeeze around them, and her legs come together so I have to fight to stay in contact. Her whole body writhes and twists, and finally I let her go over the edge.

  I stand up and watch her body go from rigid to limp, watch her breaths slowly grow longer, watch her hands gradually release the pillow over her face, until it falls away and her half-open eyes meet mine. I cannot help but grin in satisfaction as I look at her, beautiful and flushed from what I’ve just done. She curves her bottom lip under her top teeth and her lips stretch into an exhausted smile.

  I drop back to my knees and pull her hips so that her wet, throbbing pussy is pressed against my abs. I lean over her and kiss her unabashedly, as if she were and always has been mine to kiss. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me in, welcoming my tongue with hers, sucking on my bottom lip as I suck on her top lip. This warmth and openness is really something. It makes me feel like I am utterly free with her, free to explore her body and mine and all the things they can do together.

  Her hands trail downward and wind under my arms, then worm into the tiny spaces between her inner thighs and my stomach. She reaches between us and grasps my cock. Now it is my turn to gasp into her kisses, as just the touch of her fingers sends electric tingles into my balls.

  She gently traces down to the base and then wraps her fingers around it. I pull away from her just a little to allow more room. She snakes her other hand in there. It cups my balls, pulling them closer. I groan into her lips and our kiss breaks, but our heads slide, side by side, so that we are craned into each other’s shoulders.

  She gently jostles my balls up and down, exactly the way Tristan showed her. I am becoming putty, I just want to melt into her and let myself lose all consciousness beyond the desire to thrust into any orifice she offers. And the orifice I want the most is only inches away.

  I let her stroke and tease until I feel like I’m going to explode from the frustration of being so relentlessly stimulated, but not stimulated enough to release the tension that has been pumping through me for at least half an hour. She releases her grip on my base and trails her fingers up to the rim of my head. She traces around it slow and delicate. That is my breaking point.

  I reach between us and pull my hips back. I grab my dick, knocking her hands away. I glance quickly at her, looking for any indication that she isn’t ready, although it feels like torture to even take that extra second. Her eyes dance with warmth and excitement and hunger. She bites on her bottom lip again, that mischievous, knowing smile blossoms, and that is all I need.

  I practically fall into her. She is slick and warm and I bury myself in her wetness all the way down to my balls, grabbing her hips to pull her as close as possible. She arches her back and her eyes slide shut and she moans again, a moan of mixed pleasure and pain. I fight back the animal that wants to recklessly fuck her and hold still, letting her adjust to having me inside of her.

  Her body slowly relaxes and her legs spread farther apart, welcoming me even deeper. Her hands wind up between her own knees, forcing them back, and I sink into her, allowing myself slow, tentative, circling thrusts. My eyes are locked on her face for any indication that she needs me to go slower, to take more time…but her ass rocks back and forth, thrusting up, and I don’t need to know anything beyond that.

  Circling my hips, I pull out and then let myself fall back in, out and in, out and in. Each time the friction makes her soft cavern hotter, makes my balls squeeze a little tighter as the trigger to pour into her is drawn just a little closer to release. To fight it back, I focus on her face, on every micro-indication that a particular spot gives her more pleasure.

  It takes a bit of twisting from side to side, but then I hear a change in her breathing. Gasps that are just a bit sharper than the ones before. Thrusts that make her eyes flutter open for a second and her hips arch even higher. Like the studious soul I am, I memorize them and then repeat over and over, hoping to achieve mastery.

  Her upward thrusts become stronger and more frequent. I let her control the pace, not only because I know that she is more likely to come at a rhythm she sets, but because it is easier for me not to, and although I’m pretty sure that I don’t actually have the self-restraint to make it to half a dozen orgasms tonight, I at least want to get halfway there.

  I look down at her nub and adjust my angle just a little, so I am leaning over her more than I am perfectly perpendicular to her, hoping my pubic hair will tickle it enough to help engorge her other pleasure spots. I wish Tristan were awake to lick her nub into orgasm while I focus on her G-spot. Just the thought of that, of seeing his head between us, of seeing her hands in his hair the way they were in mine as I rock my cock in and out of her, just that fleeting image is enough that I actually have to break our rhythm so I don’t explode on the spot.

  Her eyes flutter open and meet mine, the obvious question in them. I plunge back inside of her and lean down all the way, locking our lips together. She flings her arms around my neck and kisses me hard. I wrap my arms around her back and decide to pull her into a sitting position, so she is practically sliding down my dick.

  I swirl my hips around and around. “Fuck,” she gasps into my mouth, breaking our kiss. Her head falls to my shoulder and her teeth land at the base of my neck and wrap themselves around my muscle, sucking more than biting. I groan into her hair and thrust up harder.

  She moans again, so I repeat the same twisting thrust, squeezing her closer to me. My thighs burn, but her nails on my back and her constant muttered pleas keep me going.

  Her nails and teeth dig into me harder. So hard that it hurts. So hard that I feel the animal slink out of its cage and prepare to pounce. I slide my arms farther down, holding her pelvis tighter to mine as I thrust up harder, faster.

&
nbsp; “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” she pants and I thrust and pull, downright pounding into her. There is more freedom in this than what I am used to with Tristan. The truth is, you do have to be more careful with anal sex—the anus is not made to take this sort of thrusting. Sex like this invites complete abandon.

  Her mouth leaves my neck, her nails leave my back, and her arms wrap so tightly around my shoulders that she is practically supporting all of her own weight. Her body goes rigid except for her shuddering pussy, which thrashes in every direction against my cock. She spasms with orgasm and I slip my arms open and catch her by the ass, giving a few more final, hard thrusts just to make sure she’s finished.

  She goes limp on me, and I know I’ve succeeded. I am so close to coming, but I have a goal. I’m going to make her come at least one more time, and in order to do that, I need to give both of us a break.

  I lift her off my cock and slide her down onto the couch again. We’re both so sweat slicked that she does literally slide down. She collapses backward and looks up at me with dazed eyes and the most beautiful honest delirious grin I have ever seen.

  Some primal male pride swells to life within me. I caused that grin. I’ve certainly made women come before, which is why I know that it really is an achievement—making a woman come is not nearly as easy as making a man come. Of course I know I’ve made Mia come before, but I know her better now and tonight feels different somehow.

  I collapse back onto my knees and kiss her thighs, her belly button, all the way up to her breasts. I take one in my mouth and the other in my hand. I swirl her nipple around my tongue then gently suck it in. She groans and arches her hips.

  I let go of her nipple temporarily, just long enough to pull her to the edge of the couch and slip my dick back into her. It’s been less than a minute, but I bury myself in her like I’ve been dying of thirst and she’s an oasis. Her groan is almost primal this time and she instantly wraps her legs around my back.

  I pull out and then thrust again. She thrusts to meet me. Clearly, she is ready for more.

  She rolls her hips around and around, grinding into me, hungry. I watch her abandon, and whatever self-control I have left gives way to my own abandon.

  Bracing myself by grasping under her thighs and pulling her toward me, I thrust in and out, meeting her grinds. With each slip out and every plunge back in, it feels like she grows wetter and tighter, like she sucks me in farther. The pressure in my cock quickly returns to nearly bursting.

  “Ah, ah, ah, ah…” Her breaths become disjointed, cut-off pants and her hand lashes around for the pillow, which she immediately shoves over her face when she finds it. Her pelvis grinds into mine. My hands slide from her thighs to her ass and I grab her cheeks, angling her so that what little space was left between us is eradicated.

  “Pleeeaaassseee,” she groans with the frantic yet slow, tortured moan of someone who is at the verge of falling over the edge of pleasure; so close that it is painful. I know the feeling. I’m having it too.

  My knees burn from friction against the rug, all the muscles in my body are exhausted, but I pump hard and harder, pull her closer and closer. I focus on the feeling of my balls smacking her ass and the sight of her pert breasts bouncing faster and faster.

  I feel her thigh muscles tense in a new way. She lets go of the pillow and her arms stretch out; she grabs the edges of the couch. Her back arches. The pillow falls away from her face and I see her eyebrows crease and curve, her mouth clenched in a silent feral growl, and then I feel a hurricane of warmth erupt inside of her, and it didn’t come from me.

  Her pussy clenches hard, even harder than it did last time. Her calves are so tightly locked around my ass that I couldn’t take myself out of her if I wanted to, and I don’t. I plummet into her as hard as I can, finally willing to let the animal take control.

  He goes from thrusting to rutting harder and harder, hard enough that to my surprise she is huffing and panting and twisting her face up within thirty seconds and her barely relaxed legs go tense again. She grabs the pillow and squeezes it over her face and actually growls into it.

  Then I find myself growling too, and with one last desperate push into her, my balls tighten, and the pressure finally goes over the edge. I erupt into her and feel her muscles suck up my seed. Our sweat-drenched hair entangles as I breathe into the curve between her neck and shoulder and she leans her jaw against the top of my chin. I collapse on top of her, breathing hard.

  I don’t know how long we lay like that, listening to the sound of our own hearts beating and each other’s breaths slowly growing longer and deeper. At some point, I slide out of her and I feel a pang of loss and regret as I leave her warmth, but it allows me to settle my head on her stomach, which is soft and comfortable and close enough to her vag that every breath is flavored by the smell of our juices as they leak out of her onto my couch.

  Her fingers fall into a rhythm combing through my hair just as they had Tristan’s earlier. I feel lulled into the tug of sleep. Although it is nearly dawn and I am absolutely exhausted, I know I will regret letting us fall asleep half on, half off the couch.

  All the muscles in my body are ready to turn to goo, but I summon the last bit of strength in them and not only manage to stand up, but to also slide my arms around her back and hoist her up. She wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my hips.

  I carry her back into my bedroom, just as I’d carried her out of it. I gently set her on the bed, far enough away from Tristan not to wake him. She lays back, her hair sprawled out across the rumpled sheets, her eyes picking up the moonlight and glittering as they wordlessly speak to mine. I don’t know what they’re saying, but I know I never want them to stop saying it.

  I crawl on the other side of Tristan and pass her a pillow. She settles onto it as I do the same. We look at each other in silence until her pretty eyes slide shut; mine are quick to follow.

  I drift off thinking about how nice it will be to wake up and see both of them naked in my bed. These thoughts turn into dreams about making eggs hollandaise, but for some reason in the dreams I add raspberry jam to the hollandaise sauce. In the dream, I don’t realize I’ve messed the sauce up until I’m about to serve it, but it doesn’t matter because when I come out of the kitchen they’re having sex on the table. Even in the dream, I know that’s how I’d like to start every morning.

  — Mia —

  I listen to Julian’s breath fall into rhythm with Tristan’s as I pretend to sleep. When I’m sure that he’s asleep, I gently sit up on the bed. For a few minutes I just sit there, staring at them in the waning moonlight. They are both beautiful, both warm and cold, soft and sharp.

  I want to reach out and touch them in little ways—brush a lock of hair off the side of Tristan’s face, pull the blanket up a little higher over Julian, so he doesn’t get cold. I resist those instincts though. I need to leave without either of them waking up.

  I slip off of the bed and feel around in the dark until I find my pants. I creep out of the room and softly shut the door behind me. It creaks slightly and I freeze, my teeth clenched, but long seconds come and go and no noise or motion is made. I shut it completely.

  I retrieve my shirt and sweatshirt from the living room, then sit on the couch and pull Julian’s socks and boots on, only to pull them back off when I remember I don’t have my phone and will have to look for his if I am to get home. I find it on the kitchen counter just as the first hints of dawn poke through the windows.

  I sign into my Uber account—I could walk, but twenty minutes in the slush with just a sweatshirt and boots does not sound appealing. There is a driver who can be to me in ten minutes. That’s both a very long and very short time.

  I look around for paper and a pen. Luckily, Julian really is a dork and those implements are not hard to find.

  Dear Julian, I write.

  My lips immediately twist together in embarrassment. Dear Julian? I internally chastise myself, Are you eighty? I tear that piece of pape
r off and start again.

  Julian,

  I don’t know what to say. I’m happy I stayed, but I also just don’t know what to say. I promise that I’ll tell you when I do. I’m sorry. Please tell Tristan (unless he reads this first, in which case, Tristan¡¦) I’ve got to tell my roommate something, but all I will tell her is that he was sick, his roommates were out, and he needed someone to help him to Health.

  I really am glad I stayed.

  Sincerely,

  Me

  I read it over and cringe. I consider rewriting it again, but decide that there is no point. It’s definitely honest and straightforward, and that’s the best I can do at the moment. I leave it on the counter, where I found Julian’s phone, which I place on top of it.

  Quietly, I pull his door open and make my way out of his fancy building. It’s only a few minutes before the green Toyota Camry I’m waiting for appears. The driver must be a morning person because he is chatty, asking me about what I’ve got planned for the day.

  I decide to practice the story I’m going to give Leanne on him. In the back of my mind, I wonder when Leanne went from being the friend I told everything to, to being the friend I hid everything from. I really have too much to think about to add that to my list right now, though.

  —

  Leanne is asleep when I get back, but she wakes up when I get into bed. Fuck you, I mentally curse my squeaky mattress as she pops up like a meerkat.

  “What happened?” she whispers before a great yawn takes over her face.

  “He’s sick, his roommates were out, he needed someone to take him to Health,” I answer, just as I’d practiced. I shimmy down under my covers and add, “I’m so tired,” hoping that she’ll just drop it.

  “He needed someone, or he needed you?” she shrewdly scrutinizes.

  Damn.

  “He needed someone, I think I’m just—I mean the three of us are the only philosophy majors on this floor and we have class together in the morning so maybe he figured I could tell the TA why he didn’t show.” I fake a yawn of my own and snuggle deeper under my covers. Please, Leanne, I silently beg, just let it go.