Morgan's Chase 1 (Power Play)

by Lucy St. John

Chapter 5

  Darren climbed into the SUV’s passenger seat, closed the door, and the two of them sat together in the luxury vehicle’s quiet, comfortable tomb.

  Darren looked over at her eagerly. Morgan took one glance at his expectant, excited features and nearly regretted the whole thing.

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Don’t act like some kind of mutt who’s about to get a bone,” Morgan admonished.

  “I’m not,” Darren smiled, failing to remove the excitement from his features.

  “Perhaps, bone was the wrong metaphor to use in this situation,” Darren retorted, his grin only broadening.

  Morgan finally gave in and was smiling, too.

  She shook her head from side to side, and blew out air.

  “What am I going to do with you?” she said in mock exasperation.

  “That is the question of the hour, now isn’t it?” Darren playfully said.

  Morgan punched his shoulder. “I haven’t said anything’s going to happen here. Got it, buster?”

  “I know. But you haven’t ruled out anything, either. That’s enough to keep me smiling all night.”

  He was right, of course. Perhaps, it was time to set some ground rules.

  “Okay,” Morgan said. “Let’s just say I’m willing to go along with your Morgan-Darren private-citizen experiment, just to see how it goes?”

  “All right. Call it a test drive of sorts,” Darren put in.

  “I’m thinking more along the lines of a drink, some conversation, maybe some music and dancing,” Morgan clarified.

  “That can be arranged,” he said.

  “Someplace where people in my circles don’t travel,” she insisted.

  “I know just the spot. It’s a Morgan-Darren place, not a Ms. Chase and her assistant one.”

  “Okay, fine,” Morgan tentatively agreed. “Let’s go for one drink.”

  Two hours, three drinks and who know how many jumpy, bouncy, arm-flinging dances later, Morgan was nuzzled in Darren’s arms. His muscular body was as hard as oak. His alcohol-infused breath was sweet and delicious. Even the musk of his sweat was intoxicating.

  And Morgan?

  She was letting herself go, as well. So what if she were a few years too old for this hot, hip nightspot on Pittsburgh’s South Side? No one knew her here. Hell, no one in her circles was up this late. It was like having the entire place, crowded and pulsating as it was, all to herself. And she certainly had Darren to herself. His hot, hungry mouth was at her throat as they swayed to the beat. Her own chest was sprinkled with perspiration. Her nipples were hard, raising the fine fabric of her black dress. Her thong was a humid rain forest. The pleasure button between her legs was activated, as was every nerve ending in her entire body.

  In short, there was no stopping this now.

  Morgan’s body ached for it. The primal part of the human animal inside her that craves contact with the opposite sex positively howled out for it. Her inner college coed who had gone to bed with a vibrator far more often than she had a college guy – and never, ever one in Darren’s elite league -- absolutely screamed for it.

  “We should go somewhere,” Morgan breathed hotly into Darren’s ear.

  He knew at once exactly what she meant. He wanted, craved the same thing.

  “The Sheraton’s just down the street,” he answered, his mouth a flame against her ear, his whispered words and steamy breath vibrating every part of her.

  Darren drove.

  They left the SUV with the valet in front of the hotel. Darren marched directly to the front desk to check them in. Morgan waited discretely but excruciatingly by the bank of elevators.

  It seemed to take forever. But Darren was back with the hotel key cards in a matter of minutes. Nearly 2 A.M. isn’t necessarily a busy time for high-end hotels. But even they get their share of horny couples looking to dance between the sheets.

  The two of them turned to face the unopened elevators like silent, stoic soldiers. But after the doors opened and they took refuge inside, they were on each other like teenagers as soon as the shutting doors sealed their privacy.

  Open hungry mouths, probing tongues, and roaming hands found new places and body parts to explore.

  Darren’s muscles weren’t the only thing about him that was hard now. His crotch was a thick, rigid flagpole, bowed to the left and straining for release inside his tight pants. Morgan’s sexy thong was a damp blotter, long overwhelmed by the torrent of moisture lubricating her velvet walls of pleasure. She jumped and gasped with pleasure as Darren gently slipped a finger inside her.

  The elevator bell rang, and the two separated like two sparring boxers in the ring. But the scars of their battle were plainly visible – the flushed faces, the tousled hair, the jostled clothing and their moist, panting mouths.

  The hallway was empty. There was no one to see their state of passionate dishevelment. No prying eyes could identify their late night rendezvous for what it was.

  They walked quickly to Room 1217.

  As soon as they were inside, they were on each other again. This time, there was no need to restrain their unstoppable, insatiable desire for each other.

  Morgan pulled back from a deep, long kiss to look at the gorgeous instrument that would finally free her from a decade of marriage.

  Darren stared by with brooding, dark brown eyes.

  She reached out at hand and tousled his thick, black hair. It was moist and shiny from the sweat of their dancing and the heat of their lust.

  Then, she reached up another hand and worked the buttons of his collared shirt. When she was finished, she grasped either side near his collar, and pulled his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, like some magician revealing a trick.

  But there was no trick, here. Darren’s dark skin was as smooth as cocoa butter. It made a soft, touchable covering for the ripples and ridges of his hard, developed muscles.

  He possessed the torso of an art statue. And Morgan gazed upon him with the appreciation of an admiring critic.

  Darren didn’t move to undress her. Right now, he was Morgan’s muse. Her model. Her plaything. And he would let her do as she pleased.

  Her hands and fingers stroked his muscled arms, ran down his developed chest, felt the ripples of his honed abs.

  She leaned in and put her hot, hungry mouth on his tiny brown nipples. She kissed his chest, while her hands wandered south, over his firm buttocks and around his waist to the front.

  She pulled back and looked down. She could see his huge erection, undiminished and yearning to be freed from his dark jeans.

  Morgan took his belt buckle firmly in hand, yanked the strap, even jerking and pulling Darren toward her, until she undid the belt. The buckle jangled free. Her fingers slid underneath the waist of his jeans until they found the button clasp of his pants.

  Her fingers worked it open while her eyes locked on his. She undid the button, lowered his fly and pushed down his pants without ever breaking her stare.

  When she looked down, she saw the thick shape of his penis bugling underneath black boxer briefs.

  Without even thinking, she moved her hands to his hardness, rubbing its long length, through the fabric.

  Then Morgan crouched down, until she was eye level to his enormous crotch. She lowered his jeans the rest of the way. Darren stepped on the heels of his shoes, freeing his feet, and then he kicked off his fallen jeans. Morgan ripped down his socks, then flung them across the hotel room -- a room they hadn’t fully entered yet. They were far too occupied with each other there in the room’s short hallway entrance. Beyond them, the room’s curtains were wide open, revealing the picture window overlooking the blackness of Pittsburgh’s three rivers and the dark outline of the city just beyond those waterways.

  Morgan was on her knees now, as if worshiping this Greek god before her.

  She reached up with both hands and worked his erection, which needed no help. She palmed it and fingered it through his unde
rwear. But there was no need for his pretense, for this politeness. She wanted to see it, wanted to give it the kind of female attention it surely deserved.

  She reached both hands to the elastic waistline of Darren’s Calvin Klein’s, and then ripped them down violently.

  Immediately, his heavy, engorged member fell out and twisted slightly to the left, while standing at attention and pointing toward the ceiling.

  It was veined and ridged and thick and bulbous.

  And it was glorious.

  Morgan’s mind echoed with just one word. This male organ before her would not be called a member, a sword, a love muscle, a dick, or even a penis.

  This magnificent specimen was a cock, pure and simple. Maybe it was the dateless college coed inside her spitting out that secret, vulgar word that made Morgan all the hornier. But the word fit. And Morgan needed to say it aloud.

  “I want to suck your cock,” she whispered. “Your big, fucking cock. Put it in my mouth.”

  Darren lunged his hips forward, and his huge erection was in Morgan’s face.

  She could smell the musk of his loins and feel the white-hot heat of his erection, even before touching it.

  She could hold back no longer.

  She pushed her whole face into his cock and balls. She rubbed its hardness on her cheeks, and she allowed her lips to glide over the soft wrinkled skin of his scrotum. And with her wet, juicy tongue, she licked his organ from the end of his ball sack to the mushroom tip of his penis. And when she reached the summit, she opened her mouth wide and lowered down over his throbbing cock.

  She pumped her head, slowly at first, then building speed and rhythm. She allowed the salvia of her mouth to flow out and run down the length of his shaft until it gleamed.

  Morgan would have kept going. She would have kept on pleasuring Darren until he climaxed. But he reached down, his soft hands swiping back her hair and slowing her rhythm, until she came to a stop. She eased off of him and looked up with big, sultry eyes.

  “I want to feel you,” he whispered. “I need to feel you.”

  Darren’s strong hands reached for her shoulders, pulling her to her feet. She stood before her naked lover, and realized she was overdressed. She reached a hand behind herself for the zipper of her dress. But Darren’s own hand stopped her.

  Morgan stood before him, hands at her side. He reached up and touched her hair, her face, her neck, her shoulders and arms with the softness of a painter’s brush. His eyes gleamed with the awed quality of an admiring viewer taking in a masterpiece.

  Ever so gently, he ran his fingers behind her neck and dexterously undid the clasp of her dress and slowly lowered the zipper until it was all the way down. He brought his hands and fingers forward now, slowly, gently lifting the fabric over her shoulders and arms, and allowing it to slide down Morgan’s slender curves, until it fell to the floor. The designer frock gathered in a heap at her heels.

  Gracefully, Morgan stepped out of the dress and then backed closer to the bed. Darren followed her lead. Never did they not face each other as they danced closer to their ultimate destination.

  Darren’s admiring, respectful hands found her body again. The lightness of his touch prickled Morgan’s skin with gooseflesh. It was as if her every nerve ending were crying out, moaning, for more.

  He traced a finger on the silk bra straps on each of her shoulders, following the soft trail of material to her breasts. Her erect nipples strained at the thin, silky fabric. As his gentle hands reached their destination, they cupped her womanhood. Heat radiated from her chest to his hands, and then back again.

  As his hands worked north again, his fingers twirled around the delicate shoulder straps, then slowly brought them down. He reached to the center of her rising and falling chest, and undid the clasp.

  The bra fell away. And Morgan’s loosened breasts were no less pert and perfect.

  Darren lowered his head to her chest. His breath and mouth were so hot, it was as if they were radioactive. His hands crawled up her stomach and lifted one breast, then the other to his greedy, hungry mouth. His wet tongue painted and swirled all over her nipples and around the rises of both sides of her chest.

  It felt wonderful, even though both of them realized that even this would not quell their mutual hunger.

  As he buried his face in her chest, his hands moved down the small of her back to her buttocks. He took the firm flesh freed by her thong into each hand, and kneaded and squeezed.

  With every rotation of his hands around her half-moons, Darren moved closer and closer to the center. Soon his wandering figures were brushing her moist mound and fingering her wet lips through the sopping fabric of her panties.

  The pleasure was so exquisite, the muscles of her legs spasmed, making her bounce with the electric charges racing all through her body.

  Darren’s knowing hands increased their rhythm until Morgan’s entire body was aquiver. And when he brought her to the highest state of maddening delight, his strong hands found the thin string of her thong at the small of her back. He tore it in two, and let the last garment fall from her body.

  Then, in one motion, he lifted her off the ground. He held her high above himself, she looking down at him, he at her. Then slowly, gently, she slid down his muscular torso. Her legs wrapped around his waist. And finally her warm, wetness enveloped his hardness as their aching bodies interlocked with each other.

  It was as if Darren’s erect manhood could support her entire weight. She lowered herself still more to take all of him inside herself.

  Morgan’s hands were clasped loosely around his shoulders, and her high-heeled feet crossed behind his back. But the strongest connection between them was the long-delayed joining of their needy, throbbing body parts.

  The undeniable power and pleasure of that initial coupling was so strong, the two of them froze this way for a long moment. There was no movement, no thrusting. Just a still, static artist’s sculpture of two bodies having become one for the first time. The thrill of this long-awaited connection between them built enough heat and moisture to be worthy of the most humid rain forest.

  Morgan felt her wetness dripping out of her in rivulets that would paint Darren’s loins and scrotum with the shiny sheen of her pleasure. His rigidness was a pulsating piece of molten steel, boring deep inside her. And when passion dictated that they could hold their pose no longer, the natural, nocturnal rhythms began.

  He thrusted from below.

  She grinded from above.

  These instinctual movements were slow and deliberate at first. She needed to feel every inch, every vein, every ridge of him as he slid in and out of her. Morgan would ride up Darren’s full length, then down to its base, and back again. The silk of her canal, its heat, and the intense smoothness of all her body’s natural lubricants painted him with pleasure. And as minutes passed, their pace quickened until it was Darren’s muscular legs, supporting their weight, that now spasmed with uncontainable pleasure.

  He backed her to the waiting mattress and lowered her body to the bed’s soft embrace. Darren enveloped her as he took position over Morgan. His thrusts were deeper now, more urgent. And she urged him on, squeezing his tight, muscular buttocks and pulling him deeper inside of her.

  Darren’s eyes were locked on hers as he hovered right above her. His sweet breaths were coming quicker now, building to an undeniable, unstoppable conclusion.

  But Morgan didn’t want it to end. She never wanted this to end.

  She wiggled from underneath him like a wrestler escaping a hold. She gripped his shoulders to raise herself up. And when her body reached his level, she pushed him down until he was the one lying flat. It was Morgan’s turn to rule over him.

  Darren looked down the length of his body as Morgan crawled up toward him. His erection was a fully-armed, purple-tinted warhead aimed at the sky.

  The launch code had been initiated. All Morgan need do was to fire this weapon.

  Morgan climbed on top of him
, straddled his loins. She used her hand to guide his hardness inside her wetness.

  And then she began her gyrations. Her undulations. Her languid sloshing and rolling. Her riding and galloping. Her absolutely fluid, wonderful movements.

  Controlling everything astride her man, Morgan reached a cascading, quivering climax, just as Darren’s entire body jerked, arched and shuddered with his own spasm of release.

  The heights of ecstasy the two had summited together were so stratospheric and cataclysmic, their pleasure zones would continue to tingle and buzz until yet another round of passion kindled between them.

  By dawn, it would be as if their bodies were drained of every last drop of fluid.

  They never even bothered to close the drapes.