by K. C. Ale
Bull barely lifts his head as I situate on the edge of the bed, quietly slipping her foot inside the cocooned warmth.
She stirs again, gyrating around on a huff. One fidgety leg zooms out and have both me and Bull wildly diving out of dodge.
“Hell, but you’re lethal,” I mutter to the clueless, sleeping form. It’s a wonder she hasn’t hurt herself.
Deciding it’s not worth his life, Bull finds a safe zone near the corner of the room.
Might need to tie you up.
The thought has my dick jerking to attention. Daring my own life and limb, I drop on the edge of the mattress once again. With all the motion, the thin tank has ridden up her midriff, tantalizing me with glimpses of smooth female skin.
My fingers itch to reach out, run my calloused fingertips along that silky flesh. I don’t though, because once I do, I’m not sure I can stop.
She releases a puff of exhale. “Lee.”
I glance up, expecting to find her peering at me, only her eyes are still firmly shut, her breaths even.
“Gemmy.”
Her lids lift, revealing dark, dark eyes boring straight through me. Gloomier than the room. Blacker than our past.
“I miss you so much.”
When I do reach out, it’s to brush the clinging sleek strands of hair from the side of her jaw. “I’m right here, Gemmy. I’ve always been here.”
A hand slinks up to manacle my wrist against her neck. Her lips tremble beneath eyes gone painfully lost. “No. You’re dead.”
My gut twists, quick and blade-sharp. Propping an unsteady arm next to her head, I skim my mouth against hers, comfort and reassurance. Her sigh is soft, unspeakable sorrow on my cheeks.
“I’m not dead.”
A choked cry bursts out of her, then she’s yanking me down and surrounding me, gripping me so tightly I might very well meld into her. I love it, wanting more of her as she latches on to me as though she’ll never let go, her breasts smashed against my chest and her face buried at my neck.
“I don’t want to wake up. Don’t want to wake up,” she recites the mantra. “Want to be here with you.”
I ease back, intending to tell her she’s not dreaming, but she surges up to capture my lips with hers. That switch she flips so expertly ignites and I’m fucking gone in less than a second, taking over her and anything and everything between us. My tongue is in her mouth, my impatient hands running up her sides and pressing her back onto the bed. Urgent fingers clutch and tug fistfuls of my hair. With a groan, I tear my mouth from hers only to jerk at the heavy bedding, rashly tossing it aside so I can feel more of Gemma soft against me. Immediately her legs wrap around me, bringing me close.
“Gemmy,” I breath, cupping her jaw a little desperately. “Gemmy. God, Gemmy. It’s me. Tell me you know it’s me.”
In answer, she grinds herself against my hard, throbbing length.
Good answer.
I might have blown my load right there and then even as she gasps, her gorgeous face astounded with pleasure. She does it again, her hectic breaths choppy, clumsily experimenting on my groin.
“Oh my God,” she pants. “That feels good.”
“Take it,” I urge roughly and take her lips again. “Use me,” I murmur against them.
She groans into my mouth, eager to burst. I trail my mouth down her jaw, lightly over her neck so as not to hurt the bruises, flicking my tongue to savor her flavor, gulping in her sweet scent, and down her clavicle. Then I’m shoving up her tank and taking in her pretty breasts, perfectly round and as fucking soft as they look when I squish my face against them. I take it as wordless encouragement when she arches, offering more of herself, and draw in the tip for the suckling of my life. First one and then the other, equally vying for my attention.
“Yes,” she gasps, wiggling her hot little body. “Oh God. Lee.”
I release her with a wet pop. Oh yeah, that’s going to leave a mark, I admire at it with pride. “You like that, Gemmy?”
Her half-lidded eyes dip to my mouth before quickly cutting up. She watches me for a pent-up heartbeat before her gaze darts away anxiously.
Her swollen lips open as if to say something but promptly snap shut again. Then, “I’veneverdone thisbefore.”
The words were rushed, a gush of reluctant confession. And unnecessary.
I’ve been keeping tabs on her for years. Not in a creepy stalker kind of way. More of a weekly report from Peter and the discreet professionals I have on retainer. I get regular updates on everything from how she did in her economics mid-term to the color of the bra she bought at Target last month. I know she rarely dated, too doggedly focused on school and taking care of Peter. The few men that she had gone out with never turned into anything serious, certainly not enough to test out the backseat of his car.
Not creepy stalker at all.
I smooth a hand down her hip. “We don’t have to do anything at all, Gemmy,” I tell her in a low voice. “It’s just you and me. No pressure. No rush. Whatever you want.”
Even if it kills me.
She gnaws on her lips. “I kind of liked what you were doing.”
“What?” I asked. “Kissing?”
She nods, flushing. “On my body, too.”
Leaning close, I flick my tongue at her earlobe. “What if I kiss you lower?”
Even in the shadows I can see her skin tainting pink. She shifts awkwardly with me wedged solidly between her legs. My favorite place in the world.
“You mean… under my panties?”
My mouth stretches against her jaw. “That’s a great spot for kisses.”
“Will you like it?”
“I’ll love it.”
“Will I like it?”
Only Gemma would want to discuss me going down on her. Tilting up, I stare down at her fretful face. “You want to find out?”
She worries her lips again, glancing down the length of us. Then she mumbles cautiously, “Okay.”
Not exactly the begging I was hoping for, but I’ll take it.
I give her one more kiss on her mouth before pushing to my knees. Holding her nervous yet curious gaze, I flip down the waistband of my sweats to just below my ass. Her eyes immediately zero in on my dick, so fucking hard it can double as a sledgehammer.
I’m in pain and I need relief, and the worn fabric was not doing me any favors.
Watching her watch me, I give it a thorough stroke. Once. Twice. Three times. My thumb swipes over the tip, smearing the drops around.
“I want to be inside you so bad, Gemmy. It’s killing me,” I admit, wheezing and straining as I continue to rub myself. “But only when you’re ready.”
Her huge eyes are glued to my every practiced gesture, her swollen lips slightly parted like she can’t get in enough air.
“So I’ll just take my fill of you,” I go on, reaching for those delightful ass-hugging shorts and panties to skim down her magnificent legs, lobbing them over my shoulder.
I do just that, starting with the visual. It’s only fair. She had more than an eyeful of me. The tuft of dark curls arrows down to my prize. She’s gorgeous, all moist pink and puffy female flesh.
Pushing back her knees, I dip my head. Her taste explodes on my tongue, and I do as promised, gently kissing her at first like I would her mouth. Somewhere in the lust haze I hear Gemma suck in an audible breath, but I’m too busy lapping up my juicy treat.
Not wanting my mouth off her, I slide my gaze up to make sure she’s okay. If she’s too mortified to truly enjoy it, then I’d have to beat back my own fervor and slow down.
It turns out I didn’t have to look. Though her face is hidden beneath her hands, her hips are restless, coming off the mattress and keen for more.
Gemma will want for nothing, so I give it to her. Give her more. My tongue glides down and flicks her damp entrance, using a finger to play with her engorged clit. She jerks beneath me but doesn’t stop me. Needy, audible pants fill the room. Hers and mine. When she’s drenched and
groaning, my tongue and finger switch places.
“Oooooh.”
I have long fingers, but I never realized just how long and thick until I’m sliding one into Gemma. She’s the tightest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to feel, her naive muscles resisting and pulling at the same time. I’m not even past the first knuckle and she’s writhing frantically.
At this rate, my finger might suffer a sweet death from impatience.
Concluding that lube is the answer, I slip my finger out – easily, as I was barely in – and go about saturating her opening, trying my hardest to slither my tongue in, but she’s just too fucking snug.
Maybe if she came first.
Pushing her knees out as far as they can go, I lap at the juices still on my mouth and toss her a grin. “Is it okay?”
She’s flushed and mussed. And I think she’s suffering from oxygen deprivation. Eyes glazed with passion, fingers clutching for dear life at the edges of her pillow, she’s the sexiest virgin alive.
“That…” An attempted throat clearing. “That was amazing.”
Poor thing doesn’t even know she hasn’t come yet.
“Gemmy.” I smirk and lower my head. “I’m not close to being done.”
This time, I slip that distended nub in my mouth and sucked. Her hips shoot off the bed and she’s crying out, throat arcing as her head squirms from side to side.
I give her time, let the hard spasms gradually lessen and her curled toes to straighten. My lips gleefully skim along her shaky thigh, the inside of her knee, to find my way back to her tempting mouth.
“Hey,” I murmur soothingly. “You okay?”
That silly grin on her face is answer enough, but she responds with, “Now I know what the fuss is about.”
“You’re very tight, Gemmy.”
Her forehead lands on my shoulder. “Sorry.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Sorry? Are you kidding? You’re every man’s dream.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “It’s going to hurt a lot the first time, isn’t it?”
I won’t lie to her. “Probably. It will be better after that.”
Fifteen
Gemma
“Tell me if I’m hurting you.”
Oh my God.
This has got to be the weirdest thing I thought I’d say yes to.
Let me use my finger, Gemmy. It’ll help a little. Just tell me if I’m hurting you or if you want me to stop.
So I agreed. Now Lee – or Hawkes – I’m not sure anymore, is slowly sliding his big old finger inside me. The initial penetration was a raw pinch, the untried muscles stretching like never before, but then I was so wet, he didn’t have any troubles slipping in. An inch in, and I was struggling not to squirm in discomfort.
That was when he started gently thrusting.
I’m writhing for an entirely different reason now. I can’t manage to tell him it doesn’t hurt. Not really. It’s an odd feeling. A sensitized fullness and achy tenderness at the same time. I love it. Relish him so focused on bringing me pleasure that he forgot his own.
Or maybe this is pleasure for him.
That amazing, skillful finger is massaging a spot I heard all about but never experienced. Before I know it, I’m thrashing and spasming a second time all over his hand.
Only he’s groaning too. Frantic male grunts and shallow pants explode in the room as he frenziedly strokes himself. “Oh fuck, Gemmy.”
Thick spurts of warmth plop on my stomach and breasts. Seconds later his heavy weight flips onto the mattress next to me. A muscular forearm is thrown over his eyes while that wicked mouth greedily gulps in oxygen. Lifting my head, I glance down at my chest, my top bunched up above my breasts, feeling strangely affected about him finishing on me.
There’s shifting next to me, then Brad Hawkes is rolling off the bed and padding across the room to the bathroom, adjusting his sweats over his hips.
Too bad. I really liked looking at him. I flop back on the mattress, disappointed. I’m technically still a virgin, but even without the actual sex, I already feel different.
Leaving the bathroom light on behind him, he returns in less than a minute with a wet hand towel, carefully swiping it over my sticky breasts and stomach as I gaze at the ceiling. My nipples, the achy, newly awakened things, pebble up at his careful ministrations. They liked what he did almost as much as I did.
His hand pauses over the side of an eager breast.
I don’t have to look to know his eyes are on fire, flames licking over my exposed skin. Feeling the rush of blood to my cheeks, I want to yank down my tank and stuff those greedy bits back under.
“You okay?”
He asked me that several times throughout the last hour or so, but I’m not sure what I am. Confused would be a starting description.
“Gemmy,” he tries when I only continue to gaze at nothing. “Look at me.”
Not a sheet shields my nakedness from the chest down, but he’s seen everything already. There’s nothing left to hide.
The novice in me doesn’t know how to handle the awkward aftermath. I turn, meeting his quiet gaze head on, and say the first thing that pops into my blurred head. “Why do you keep calling me that? No one calls me that.” Not anymore.
“I call you Gemmy.” He tilts his head. “Are you saying I’m no one?”
He’s far from no one. He’s too much like someone I keep reflecting that I don’t know what to do with him.
On a frustrated huff, I veer up and jerk my tank down. Since my panties and shorts are probably still out sharing cozy, postcoital ice-cream, I snatch at the bedding and negligently toss it over me.
With my back propped up by a pillow, I fold my arms. “I don’t want you to call me that.”
“Why not?”
Why not? “No one calls me that.”
“I think we’ve already established that I call you Gemmy.”
“Well,” I counter, knowing full well I’m being ridiculous and don’t care. “I don’t like it.” I don’t need more reminders of Lee. I’ve already been bombarded with them.
“You didn’t have a problem with it earlier.”
“I have a problem with it now,” I contend.
Instead of getting upset, his mouth visibly works not to let it twitch. “I see. What should I call you then?”
I cut him a withering look. “Gemma.”
“Hm.” He nods, easily agreeing. “Alright. I’ll call you Gemma. You call me Brad.”
“I’m not calling you that.”
“Why not? It’s my name.”
“That’s not your name,” I dispute just to be contrary.
A brow quirks. “It’s not?”
“Nope.”
“What’s my name then?”
“Jerkoff.”
He huffs out a surprised laugh. “Jerkoff?”
“Yup. Your name is Jerkoff, and you have a dog named Bullshit.”
“Is that my first name or last name?” he asks, obviously humoring me.
“That’s your last name. Your first name is Anita.”
“Anita Jerkoff?”
I have to bite my lip to keep the laugh in. “That’s right.
Shaking his head in exasperation, he pushes to his feet. “You’re as stubborn as they come,” he comments with little heat, scooping back his hair with his free hand before disappearing into the bathroom with the soiled towel. “You will call me Brad, Gemmy,” he calls out from within, “make no mistake.”
“It’s Gemma!”
The light switches off but not before I catch a delicious glimpse of him sans sweats. I thought men who looked like that were only a figment of lusty women’s fantasies.
My tongue lolls back into my mouth when he nonchalantly crawls into bed with me. I shoot straight up to gap at him.
Ignoring my incredulous frown, he pulls me back down. “It’s late, Gemmy, so unless you’re ready for round two, let’s try to get some sleep.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
>
Male lips brush against my temple. “At the moment?” A hand cups my breast over the tank top and squeezes. “Coping a feel.”
*****
What did I do?
What did I do?
What did I do?
I almost fucked Brad Hawkes. The man who fired my dad. The man who tried to appease his guilt by paying me off with enormous and offensive tips. That’s what he does – arrogantly throw his money around. Then he proceeded to mechanically dictate how my dad should go about recovery, ruthlessly orchestrating it without consulting with him or me. To top it off, the micromanaging asshole has the nerve to arrange my life, as if I don’t know what I’m doing and have been running it amok all this time, needing him to step in and take over like some sort of appointed guardian to a reckless teenager.
And I let him finger me.
Among other things.
And I liked it. I liked it a lot.
What is wrong with me?
I groan noisily, not the muscle griping, convulsing in pleasure kind last night. It’s the kick-myself-the-morning-after type that I’d rather do without.
The green numbers on the bedside clock blinks to eight thirty-nine, but I make no attempt to get up as filtered sunlight steadily brightens the silent room. Semi-conscious, I dimly heard Hawkes scoot out of bed when the sun was hardly stirring, whispering to Bull about going outside. Then I woke up alone a half an hour ago with Bull curled up on the floor near the bed.
For a staggering minute last night, I thought for certain Hawkes was Lee. He felt like him. Smelled like him. Looked at me like Lee used to, and it was as if he came back from the dead. In that elated moment, all the wrongs in my life were righted, and I knew everything was going to be the way it should have been.
I wanted Lee back so badly, wished it so agonizingly, that I conjured him up in another man.
He called me Gemmy. Lee was the only one who called me Gemmy.
The pang is there, deep in my chest, anguish so heartbreaking I can’t handle it.
So I don’t.