“Connor hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s why I decided to not discuss this with you. I just wanted you to see that I’m not always the gentle, kind, considerate guy you think I am.”
“And I’m not always the sweet little thing you think I am,” she counters.
“Honestly,” I say with a grin, “I like this side of you.”
To my surprise, she play-slaps my upper arm. “You just think you do. Pretty soon you’ll be saying, ‘Rayanna, what the hell is wrong with you? What happened to that sweet little girl I used to know?’ You know you will.”
That’s it. I just grab her and kiss her. After the day this has been, all I really want to do is relax with her in my arms. Her lips are barely parted and when I run my tongue across them, she opens to me, her tongue thrashing against mine. When I finally pull back to look down at her, she smiles a winsome smile that makes my balls tingle. “Let’s go home, okay?” I whisper and kiss the end of her nose.
She presses her forehead to my collarbone and, loudly enough that I can hear her, she says, “Lucien, never just assume that I won’t give you whatever you want or need. I love you. If you need something, just tell me. If I can’t do it, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, I want to. I want to please you and make you happy, just like you’ve made me happy.”
I squeeze her so tightly. Oh, god, I’ve finally found her―the woman I’m supposed to spend my life with. This is her, right here, right now. It’s been a week since she walked into my life and I’ve never been surer of anything.
My plan was to wait until we got home to tell her that she’ll be talking to Carly tomorrow, but I change my mind. I’m not telling her.
I want it to be a huge surprise.
We stop on the way home and pick up the refill on her birth control prescription. I was a little surprised when I found out she was taking them, since she hadn’t been with anybody in forever, but she said they help to regulate her periods. Then she told me how, before she took them, Connor would beat her if her period was longer than seven days. I don’t blame her―I would’ve asked for them too.
While I’m at it, I grab a box of condoms. Everybody at the club has to have a current testing card all the time, so we don’t usually use them there. We haven’t used them at home either, but I need some now. There’s no point in waiting to buy them. She wants to start experimenting, we’ll start doing just that. And I know the first thing I’m going to ask for.
By the time we get home, it’s almost one thirty in the morning. I’m exhausted, she’s exhausted, and it’s been a totally fucking exhausting day. “What are you doing?” she asks as I undress.
“I’m taking a shower. I can’t crawl into bed beside you with … It just feels like something I need to do.”
“Okay. Can I get in there with you, sir?”
Who am I to say no? “Of course, if you want, but I’m not a very good shower buddy. I tend to hog the space and hang onto the soap,” I say, laughing.
“Oh yeah? Well, we’ll see about that!” In seconds, her clothes are gone too, and I head to the bathroom with her right behind me.
The water is hot, its steam rising into a cloud inside the shower. Once I’m completely wet, I move so she can get under the water. Streams of crystal flow down over her body, dripping from her nipples, and I’m already far too hard to ignore their rigidity. My fingers find them, tweak them, twist them a little, and her sighs and moans only serve to tighten the skin on my already-stony cock. One hand wraps around the back of her neck, pulling her face to me, and the other slips downward, those fingers finding her clit and circling it, lightly at first, then more determined and bold. God, I wish I had four hands so I could touch her all over all at once. The hand behind her neck trails down and squeezes a tit, then pulls that nipple and twists hard. “You think you want it rough?” I whisper, my voice strained with need.
“I do, sir. I want it rough, and I want to take it and like it,” she whispers back, her fingers fondling my balls. When they wrap around my shaft, I groan into her mouth.
Pulling away from her just a little, I press her against the wall of the shower with my hands on her shoulders, then grip her nipples with finger and thumb of each hand. There’s the sensation of a grin pulling up the corners of my mouth as I yank both of them and watch her wince. Then I give them a half twist and yank again, which makes her whimper. Full twist and yank, and she cries out. “Traffic light, Precious. Green is go, yellow is caution, red is stop. What’s your color?”
“Green, sir. More. Please.” Her eyes are closed, and there’s this look on her face that I can only describe as angelic. She looks like she’s being transported to a nirvana somewhere, a place where lavender blooms all year long and puppies and kitties romp in the tall grass. I halfway expect to see a butterfly land on her nose. This time when I yank her nipples, she cries out, “Oh, god! More!”
“Up against the wall. Stay there,” I warn, then reach up and grab the showerhead to pull it down on its long hose. Adjusting the spray to a pulsing, piercing quad stream, I part her lower lips with my fingers and train one of the throbbing jets right onto her clit.
“Eeeeeeeee, oh my god!” she screams.
“Stay still,” I bark at her.
“Oh, god, sir! That’s … Oh, my god. Oh, oh, god, sir, I’m gonna come right now.”
“You’d better not or you’ll get a spanking,” I warn.
“I can’t hold back!”
“You have to. I haven’t given you permission to come,” I growl.
“Oh, shit! Please!” I can tell she’s struggling. “God, sir, please? My pussy’s burning! I need you! Please? Oh, god.” She’s getting sort of frantic, her breathing irregular and harsh, and I think she’s had enough.
“Come for me, Precious. Let go.”
“Ahhh-ahhhh-ahh-ahhhh-AHHHH!” she screams, her hips thrusting against the flow of water, belly tight and quivering. God, I love watching a woman come.
In seconds, I have the showerhead back in its holster and I spin her facing away from me. “Brace your hands on the wall while I fuck you.” Once her hands are in place, I lift her, my hands under the insides of her thighs as her legs bend forward, and impale her on my cock.
Seconds later I’m bouncing her on my dick as I thrust up from under her. She’s moaning, and with all the bumping, it sounds like, “OhhOhhOhhOhhOhhOhh,” as I slam into her over and over. Just when I think she’s probably had all she can stand, she cries out, “Oh, god, fuck me, sir! Harder! Please!”
I truly think I’m fucking her harder than any woman I’ve ever fucked, and that’s saying a lot, seeing as how when I’m with a submissive I feel like I can do whatever I want to them short of ignoring their safeword. Drilling is more what I’m doing to her than anything. Pistoning. Pile-driving. She won’t be able to walk all day, and I don’t care. I’m filling her up, piercing her, splitting her open, my hardness scraping inside her. She’s still moaning and crying out when I hear, “EEEEppppp!” and feel her tighten around me.
That’s it. I lose it. I pour what feels like about a gallon of cum into her, and my balls are like an inflatable beach ball with the plug pulled. My knees are weak and I can’t catch my breath. It’s hard to set her down without letting her fall, and her hands slide down the wall as I gently release her legs. “God, Rayanna. Shit. You okay?”
“Oh my god. Yeah. Fuck, that was awesome. More?” she asks, and I’m stunned. She wants more?
I grab two towels and wrap one around her. “Come on,” I say as I grab her hand.
At the side of the bed, I tell her, “Climb on, elbows and knees.” I take a condom and a tube of lubricant from my nightstand, slip on the latex, and squirt out a generous dollop of lube into my palm. Using the fingers of the other hand, I spread it around her asshole, then run a finger in, making sure the lube goes with it. Switching to two fingers, I squirt more lube on them and slip them in. I line up with the little dark hole and press the head of my cock against her tightness―hard. There’s the i
nitial pop as I breach the first ring of muscles, and then I push even harder until the second opens to me.
“Shit! Oh, god! That hurts!” she wails as I keep moving into her. When I’ve buried myself all the way up to my balls in her, I stop. “Oh, god. That burns!” she cries.
“It’ll burn worse when I start thrusting. Sure you want this?”
Her face is buried in the sheets and she slaps her hands on the mattress. “Yes! I want it!”
“Well, okay then, Precious. This ass is all mine.” I draw back and listen to her hiss, then press forward again and she wails even louder. Slowly. Very slowly, I tell myself. Stroking back in, I notice her muscles aren’t fighting me as much as they were the first time, and I hope she’s settling into it. “Doing okay?”
“Yes, sir,” she groans. “Oh, god.”
“Third time’s a charm,” I tell her as I pull back, and this time, I slide in fairly quickly.
“Oh my god,” she whispers.
I can’t help but grin. “Good to go?”
“Yes, sir.”
I can’t second guess her. I have to take her at her word. Gripping her hips tighter than before, I power into her and listen to her moan. Four more strokes and I don’t know how long this is going to last. Super tight, super hot, super fine―all those describe this ass fucking to a “T.” Better yet is the sight of my dark skin against her pale. There’s no describing it. It’s kind of like waking up and finding oneself in a foreign country. I expected it to be pretty damn amazing, but this is exceeding all my expectations. Fuck, she’s so god damn tight I can barely stand it. Paying more attention to my strokes, I find I’ve speeded up and didn’t even know it. I’m driving in and out of her with force now, and she’s crying out under me. It’s tempting to ask her if she’s okay, but she has a safeword and she hasn’t used it. At some point she has to take responsibility for her own sexual involvement, and this is the time.
Ten seconds later, I grit my teeth and mutter, “Oh, shit,” then fill the condom. Pressing in hard, I bury my whole shaft in her, lean down over her back, and wrap my arms around her waist. “Babe, that was incredible. You okay?”
“Yes, sir,” her muffled voice replies.
“You sure?”
“Uh-huh. But my legs are cramping.”
It takes me two seconds to pull out of her and help her onto her side. “Better?”
“Yeah. Much.” That’s all she says, so I lean down and kiss her lightly. She counters by wrapping her hands around the back of my neck again and pulling me into her. “Mmmm, Lucien. That was good.”
“Yeah? Let me get this condom off and I can relax. Hang on.” I make the trip to the bathroom, throw away the condom, wash my hands, then grab a wipe and clean up everything from behind my balls to halfway up my belly. When I come back, I get the surprise of a lifetime.
She’s lying on the bed on her back, knees spread apart, and she’s diddling herself. Holy hell, I was not expecting that. “Having fun?” I say with a laugh and climb onto the bed beside her.
“More fun if you’d do it.” The smile she gives me is wicked, and I love it.
I pinch her nipple and she squeals a little. “Who are you and where’s the Rayanna I used to know?”
“Dunno. Got mad a little while earlier and left, I suppose.” I watch her finger for a few seconds and realize she’s not in a hurry to get where she’s going. She’s just enjoying herself and taking her time.
And then I remember. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yep.”
“What did Brian say to you while you were watching me earlier? I mean, I know he talked to you while you were sitting there with him.”
“Private conversation, sir,” she says with a snicker. Now I’m really surprised. She’s never been bratty.
“Oh yeah?” I sit up, grab her wrists, straddle her belly, and press her hands into the pillow. “Tell me what you talked about.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re different somehow. I’m not sure how, but you are.”
“Different bad or different good?”
That makes me laugh again. “Yes.”
“How?”
“Different good because it seems like you’re really enjoying yourself. Different bad because you sound like a brat.”
“Oh, is that right, sir? I sound like a brat now?” she says, laughing. She’s gorgeous when she laughs―absolutely, positively gorgeous.
“A beautiful brat.” Then I lean down to kiss her. It’s not a deep, tongue-filled kiss. Instead, it’s like one of those kisses you give someone when you first meet them, like they’re special and you don’t want to push too hard. When I pull back, I look down into her face and find her wearing a dreamy smile. Releasing her wrists, I run a thumb down her cheek and whisper, “I love you, Rayanna.”
“I love you too, Lucien.”
Neither of us says another word. I throw my leg back over her and lie down beside her, then pull her into my arms. Her free hand strokes my cheek, and I can feel her love. It’s right there in her fingertips. The breath she draws in is deep, the exhale slow, and I hope she’s enjoying my scent, memorizing it, and taking it into her. Snug and comfortable here in my big bed, I let myself relax even as I squeeze her tighter.
I love her. I want her. God damn it, I need her. And I’m going to keep her safe if it kills me.
Chapter Eight
I didn’t set the alarm―for fuck’s sake, it’s Saturday―and the sound of my phone ringing wakes me. A quick check of the clock tells me it’s almost ten thirty. Good god, we slept. Then I remember …
The call.
Grabbing my phone, I bark out, “Hello?”
“Mr. Pelletier?”
“Yes! Yes, this is Lucien.”
“Lucien! This is Reagan Easterly, Rayanna’s sister. Did I wake you?”
“Yes and no. It was past time to get up. Would you like to speak with Rayanna?”
“Could I please?”
“Sure. Hang on.” I shake her just a tiny bit and one eyes opens. “Hey, babe, somebody wants to talk to you.”
“Me?” Her face is all wrinkled up when I hand her my phone. “Hello?” There’s a long pause and her eyes pop open wide. “Reagan! Oh my god! What are … How did … Oh my god, it’s good to hear your voice! Uh-huh … Yeah … Real good. I’m doing real good. Lucien is amazing.” There’s another long pause before she says, “Yes. I went, and it was horrible. He’s a monster, Reagan, a real monster. I was lucky to have a lot of friends and my therapist there with me or I’m not sure I could’ve done it.” I hear the voice on the other end of the phone chattering, and then Rayanna says, “Oh, god, could I? Please? Oh …” She looks to me and all I can do is smile as the tears start to trickle down her face. And then it’s the magic moment.
“Carly? Baby, it’s Mommy! Hey! How are you?”
I take her free hand and hold it. Honestly, I have no superpowers, but I really believe if I wasn’t there to grip her hand, she wouldn’t be able to talk. I’ve never seen anybody cry that hard and still be able to speak. She asks all kinds of questions, like does Carly like her school, and does she have new shoes, and what does she like to do for fun there. Apparently the little girl is in scouts, because there’s a spirited discussion about her troop. Along with that, she asks how her daughter likes living with Reagan and her husband, and if she’s involved in anything at school like music or art.
Suddenly, I hear her say, “Oh! Well, okay then. You don’t want to be late to a birthday party! Is this your friend from school or from scouts?” She waits for the answer, then says, “That’s great! I’m so glad I got to talk to you, baby. I love you and I miss you so much.” Her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth opens in a silent scream as she listens, and I know her child is asking when Rayanna will be able to come and get her. But she pulls it together long enough to say, “As soon as I can, baby. As soon as I can. I miss you so much and I love you so much. Please, please, don’t be mad at me.” There’s more chatter,
and then I hear an adult voice. “Uh-huh. I know. She told me. Go help her have a good time, and Reagan? Thank you so much. I love you. I’m sorry about all this but … I know, I know. Talk to you soon? Please. Thanks again. Tell Terry I said thanks too. Bye.” Just like that, the call’s over, and the phone goes dark in her hand.
Her grief fills the room. It’s so sharp and hot that I can feel it on my skin as I hold her, sobbing along with her. There’s nothing else I can do. But her pain pierces into me, and I alternately curse being so close to her that I can feel it and thank the powers that be for allowing me to be the one person who makes sure she’s not alone in this world.
Then I get an idea. It’s a crazy one, but it’s something just the same. “Hey. Listen. Let’s make a list of things you could do to get ready to be reunited with her, okay? Anything we can think of. Want to?”
She nods, still sobbing. “Yes. Please.”
“Okay. Let’s find something in the kitchen for breakfast, get our showers and get dressed, and then we’ll sit down and brainstorm. How does that sound?”
Her eyes rotate upward until they catch mine and she whispers, “I love you, Lucien.”
“I love you too, Precious. Come on. Let’s get on it.”
It’s noon by the time we’re done and settled. Hell, we were up most of the night. Who cares? It’s Saturday. I grab two legal pads and a couple of pens and head into the living room. To my utter delight, she’s put on another pot of coffee and a fresh mug sits on the coffee table, steam rising enticingly. “Here’s a pad and a pen. Let’s think of some things. And keep in mind that we need to ask ourselves, ‘Would Dr. Lawrence approve of this?’ He’s going to play a big part in getting her back, so that’s a factor.”
She nods. “And the social worker.”
“Yes. Absolutely. So let’s work this out. What would have to happen for her to come back?”
We sit and talk for two hours, making notes, occasionally scratching one out, and then starting again. We come up with a simple list.
Eternally Yours: Bliss Series, Book Six Page 15