DREAMS of 18

by A. Kent, Saffron

  “Do I?

  I kiss his beard, then. I lick it, feeling the scrape and rustle that I missed before right on my tongue. “I think if you tried you could write all the poetry for me that I’ll ever need.”

  He fists my hair, tugging my lips away and stares down at me. “I can’t do poetry, Jailbait. But I’m going to do other things for you.”

  “Like what?”

  He bounces me in his lap again and I bite my lip to keep from moaning. “I’m going to buy you a hundred dresses. A thousand dresses. And you’re going to wear them all. You’re going to wear them all for me. And I’m going to tear them all off with my bare hands. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ll buy them all in red. They’ll be as red as your pretty lips. And I’m going to lose my mind over it. That color will call to me, call to my blood like I’m this bull of a man who just has to get to you. Get to your red as fuck mouth.”

  I’m breathing against his lips – I know that – but my body is going into a state where I don’t know if I’m alive or dead or simply burning in lust.

  “O-okay,” I whisper and rock against him.

  “And I’m going to grow all the roses for you,” he promises like all the other promises he’s made tonight weren’t enough, like I needed to be slain some more. “All the roses that you’ll ever want so you don’t have to pick off the dying ones for your gift. That’s what you were doing that night, wasn’t it? You wanted your gift from me.”

  I swallow. More like I hiccup and go all limp in his arms. Limp and breathy and a panting mess as I nod haltingly. “Y-yeah.”

  He looks over my entire face, soaks in my features, and I love that.

  I love so, so much that he’s seeing me.

  Not only that but he’s been seeing me, watching me for ages. I thought I was invisible but I wasn’t.

  I was visible to him.

  To my Graham.

  “And I’m going to do one other thing.”

  “What?”

  In reply, he presses a hard kiss on my mouth and I kiss him back. This time around, I feel his beard rubbing against my skin. I feel the sting as it happens and it makes me even hornier.

  It makes me messier and sloppier, both my kiss that I can’t stop giving him and my pussy.

  My pussy is running like a river. It’s clenching and releasing and I’m gushing cream and soaking my panties. I’m probably getting it all on my thighs too. Thighs that are wrapped around him and I bet he can feel my wetness.

  I’m smearing it all over him as well. All over his stomach where my pussy is at. It doesn’t even cross my mind to stop. Not even for a second.

  It just makes me more shameless and lusty.

  It just makes me moan into his mouth continuously.

  I feel him walking then, going through the bathroom door, striding down the hallway and entering a room – his room, most likely. But through all this, I don’t stop kissing him or moaning and rubbing my hands all over his face and rubbing my pussy over his stomach.

  But then, I have to stop.

  Because he breaks the kiss and launches me in the air.

  I fall on the bed a split second later and scramble up on my elbows. I look up at him, at his harsh, panting form, and a pulse goes through my core.

  He stands tall at the foot of his bed. His chest is flushed a dark hue and his entire body is heaving, juddering up and down, all bathed in sweat.

  While I’m running my eyes over his body, he has his glued to my chest. By some miracle, my dress is still up and around my breasts – it’s the zipper around the back, I think – but it’s sagging.

  The straps lie limply around my arms and I have a feeling that it won’t take much to bare my heaving breasts to him.

  “Graham?” I call out his name when it looks like he’s not going to say anything.

  Actually, it looks like he’ll never say anything because he’s just so lost in his staring.

  He looks up now, though and inhales a heavy breath.

  Then he gets on the bed. And he does it in a way that the whole frame shakes. The mattress dips under his weight, sags and submits like my dress did, back in the bathroom.

  “I’m going to do one other thing to you, Violet,” he repeats, kneeling in front of me but still towering.

  “What?” I ask, looking up at him with wide eyes.

  He licks his lips as he bends down. Down and down, as if descending on me, until our foreheads are almost touching. Until I can’t see anything of his room, not the walls, not the ceiling, nothing at all except him and his darkly flushed face.

  Clamping his jaw tight, he grabs hold of my dress.

  My spine arches with the force of it. He pulls at my dress with both hands, bent over me like a beast from the mountains.

  “I’m going to make you my slut,” he growls, tugging the dress down and it goes easily.

  In a second, I’m bared to him and his gaze drops to my breasts.

  I’ve always thought they were average. They were small and nothing to go crazy over.

  But he’s going crazy over them. I can see that.

  He likes the shape of them, the size, the paleness of them. And I know he likes my nipples. They’re cherry-red too. Hard and tight and rude, sticking up like that. Sticking up for him.

  He swallows tightly and looks up. “You want to be my slut, don’t you?”

  I nod and fist the sheets. “Yes.”

  “I’ll make you my slut, Violet,” he whispers, coming even closer to me, his hands on my ribs now, spread wide, just under my breasts. “I’ll make you scream like a slut. You know how I’m going to do that?”

  I’m breathing so hard that I’m actually shaking with it. I’m rolling my hips already, undulating my spine, making my breasts jiggle.

  “How?”

  “I’m going to give you your birthday kiss.” He licks his lower lip again like he’s imagining it. “The kiss I wanted to give you as soon as you turned eighteen. The kiss I couldn’t stop thinking about while I was on that useless date.”

  I’m pretty sure he can feel my heart right now. He can feel it bouncing around in my rib cage, pounding against the bones and muscles, probably pounding against the palm of his hands.

  “The date you were on?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is that why… you came back early?”

  “I came home early because I wanted to see you. Up on the roof. At midnight. But you weren’t on the roof, were you?”

  “No.”

  “Where were you?”

  He digs the pads of his fingers into my ribs and my heart shifts there, where his hands are. Banging inside my body. “I was stealing your roses.”

  “Yeah, you were. Because you wanted your gift from me.”

  I nod. “Uh-huh.”

  “So I’m going to give it to you now. I’m going to give you your special birthday gift.” He presses down on my body and I realize he wants me to lie down, so I do.

  “And you’re going to scream, isn’t that right?”

  I lie down on his bed and put my head on his pillow and almost drown in his scent, his musky, outdoorsy scent. “I will.”

  “Yeah.” He hovers over me now, his hand on my stomach. “You’ll scream so loud that everyone will hear you. They’ll hear you screaming for me. Everyone back in Connecticut will hear you, won’t they? Everyone who made you cry and called you names. The ones I keep wanting to destroy every five seconds. They’ll hear it and they’ll know. They’ll know what I’m doing to you. You’ll make them hear it, won’t you?”

  Oh God.

  I’m so turned on right now. So fucking turned on.

  I’m nodding to everything he’s saying, to his every question. To every demand he’s making of me and I’m nodding not only with my head but with my entire body.

  I’m sliding my legs up and down his sheets. I’m rocking my hips, and all the while he has this one hand
on my stomach, keeping me pinned on his bed.

  “I will. I will. I will scream. I promise.”

  “Good. I want them to hear it. I don’t want you biting your lip. I want them to hear you scream and moan when I give you your kiss, Violet. I want them to know that I make it so good for you, that I make it so fucking fantastic that you can’t help but scream. You scream because you’re mine and I want them to know that. I want them to know that you’re in my bed. That you’re my slut and if someone dares to call you that again, I’ll fucking destroy them.”

  I arch up at his tone, at the finality of it, at his determination to make things right for me. To make all those people pay and to make me feel cherished.

  I do feel cherished. In a way that I’ve never felt before. Cherished and protected and so completely dominated as he moves down and spreads my legs and at last, I get the presence of mind to ask him, “W-what’s my birthday kiss?”

  Like, how did I not ask him this before?

  How was I not curious?

  But whatever, I’m asking now. I’m looking up at him with needy eyes and in reply, he inches up my dress, exposing my damp panties.

  He shifts it up and reduces it to a red sash around my stomach, exposing my breasts and that place between my thighs.

  It makes my heart skip a beat. It makes my heart skip several beats, actually. It makes my heart beat in my stomach. In my pussy, which he’s looking at right now, for the first time ever.

  Or rather, he’s looking at my panties – red ones – and they’re wet, getting wetter under his scrutiny.

  And instead of feeling shy, I think they’re a nuisance, my panties. They’re hiding what I really wanna show him.

  I wanna show him my pussy.

  My wet and deep pink and pulsing core that’s been dying for him. That I especially prepared for him. I shaved and primped not because I expected this to happen but because I just wanted to be pretty for him even though he’d never know it.

  But he’ll know it now, I think.

  Because he has the same idea of my panties being a nuisance and so, he goes for them.

  He goes for my panties.

  He hooks his fingers in my waistband and yanks them down. He keeps yanking until they are off and somewhere on the floor where he throws them before coming back to me.

  Before coming back and lying down on his stomach, as sprawled as I am on the bed.

  My legs are all open now, almost in a split and his shoulders are jammed between them. His face is at my open, bare core that he’s breathing over, fanning my steamy folds with the air within his lungs.

  He stares at it, burning my most intimate flesh with his eyes, as his thumbs run in circles at the juncture where my thighs meet my hips.

  He stares at it and stares at it, getting lost for a second like he did when he looked at my breasts, and I have to call his name again. “Graham?”

  He looks up, then.

  “What’s my special kiss?”

  Finally, he growls, “This.”

  With that, he licks me.

  He licks me right there. With the flat of his tongue, going from bottom to top, and he does it so lazily that it makes me think he’s lapping up the juices of a fruit.

  A fruit that is me.

  And then, he goes and finishes that shameless and open and direct lick with a groan. As if it really was juicy. My pussy really is a fruit, his favorite fruit.

  In fact, it’s such a favorite that he does it again. And again and again. He licks and licks and licks, using the flat of his tongue, so that my hands snap off the sheet and go to his hair.

  I arch up on the bed, thrusting my core into his mouth. Not only thrusting, I rub my core over his mouth, his jaw.

  His bearded jaw.

  And God, God, that makes me moan like the slut I am.

  His beard on my pussy makes me moan like a whore. I moan so loudly that I swear I hear the rattle of the bedroom window. I hear the glass crack, almost. I hear my moan reverberating and echoing through the woods.

  So it’s really a surprise when amidst my screaming and moaning, I hear him groan.

  Which only makes me moan some more. His sounds of satisfaction, his approval and of course, his tongue.

  He’s swirling it around now, I think. He’s up at my clit and he’s flicking it with his tongue. He’s going in circles up there, lashing it, slapping it and I’m writhing because of it.

  It’s like that hand on my stomach that he had a little bit ago. He was keeping me pinned to the bed with it.

  Now, it’s his mouth at my pussy.

  He’s keeping me glued to the sheets, he’s keeping my ass glued to the bed while my entire body jerks and twists under his ministrations.

  It twists and twists so much that he has to bring his hands in to the mix.

  He puts both of them on my thighs and grabs me there. He nails my legs to the bed and now my lower body is really at his mercy.

  Who am I kidding? My entire body is at his mercy.

  My heart, my soul, everything about me is in the palm of his hands and the flat of his tongue and hooked on his heavy, panting breaths.

  His wild breaths.

  As if he’s really this beast who found me somewhere wandering in the woods. He came upon me and he wanted me.

  So he dragged me back to his cave and now has me trapped in his clutches, the girl in the red dress. And he’s making her scream as he takes juicy bites out of her, out of her pussy like he’s so hungry.

  So hungry that it’s in every beat of his tongue and pull of his lips. At one point, he does what he did on my lips. He takes my core into his mouth, my wet, silky folds, and sucks on them.

  He feeds on them and my knees jerk up and fold. My ankles go around his neck and I’m thumping my heels on his upper back. I’m jerking my hips to the rhythm of his feeding, rubbing his beard with my thighs, feeling the scrape, the sting, and I’m moaning.

  I throw my head back into the pillow as I do that. As I make sounds and needy noises.

  I’m so close. So fucking close.

  My pussy is clenching and I bet he can feel it because that’s where he is. He’s moved down from my clit, so he can be at my hole.

  He can be at my needy, horny hole that’s rippling and he circles it with his tongue.

  He goes round and round, his fingers spasming on my thighs.

  It makes me think that he’ll enter me with that tongue. He’ll enter my body and taste the walls of my pussy, the messy, sloppy walls. It makes me think he’ll dig out my juices. He’ll curl his tongue inside of me and make me cream for him.

  Make me gush all over his jaw and beard and just the thought of that makes me do it.

  The thought of him entering my body makes me come.

  I draw my knees up to my stomach, fist his hair and press my core in his mouth and I come.

  I come in great, rolling waves. They take me away with them, make me move up and down. Make me shake the bed with the violence of his kiss.

  His special kiss for my eighteenth birthday.

  And it’s not over yet.

  As I’m coming down from my high, my body going lax and sated, I feel him moving up. I feel his lips pressing small kisses on my stomach and my chest. He takes a nipple in his mouth and pulls at it hard and I go up, I arch up at his mouth and my core jerks.

  “Graham,” I whimper, my hands going to his chest, my fingers burying in his chest hair.

  He lets go of my nipple and moves further up. He kisses my pulse and I bend my neck to the side to give him more access. Then, he’s at my lips. But he doesn’t stop there. He goes up and up and finds my forehead.

  Closing my sleepy eyes, I nuzzle my nose at his stubbled throat as I feel him kiss me there, at my sweaty forehead, and whisper, “Happy birthday, baby.”

  I had a dream.

  I was a kid, probably four or five and I was with my father.

  We were in his rose garden out ba
ck and we were picking out flowers for my mother. Then, the scene changed and we were inside the cabin.

  I was the one offering her the bouquet of roses and she took it with a smile. She appeared happy and I was filled with pride. I was filled with this boyish accomplishment that I made my mother smile and then, I woke up.

  I’m not sure if it was a memory that I’d forgotten or if I made it up in my head. I’m not even sure why I dreamed it in the first place when I haven’t had a dream in so long. Probably, never.

  I think it’s her.

  I think she gave me some of her magic.

  Or at least I’d think that if I didn’t know better. If I believed in things like magic.

  If I believed that simply because I tasted her on my tongue – both sweet and salty with a hint of strawberries – I’m a changed man.

  I’m a man with dreams.

  I take in a long breath then and smell her scent. She’s sleeping right next to me.

  She went to sleep as soon as she came. She sighed, said my name and curled up on her side and went to sleep.

  Like she hadn’t slept in ages.

  Instead of leaving her alone and giving her privacy, I put her head in my arm and spooned her with my body.

  Her back is stuck to my chest now, her dress is all rumpled up and those straps that I destroyed snake down her delicate arms like red ribbons.

  Jesus Christ. What the fuck came over me?

  Why would I do something so… savage and untamed? Something so criminal and crazy. Something I’ve never done before.

  But the moment I kissed her, something happened to me. It was beyond the mere knife in my chest. The pain, the need, the craving was more like a phenomenon. An earthquake that destroys towns and cities and apparently, my self-control.

  She affects me in ways I don’t understand.

  I don’t understand why I want to consume her. Why I want to ruin her and keep her safe all at the same time.

  Why am I such a fucking asshole that I haven’t even straightened up her clothes? I haven’t even pulled down her dress to cover her tight ass that’s currently glued to my very hard cock or covered her perky tits. All I’ve done is shield her against the cool air with a blanket and my body heat.