by S A Gardner
And it was surging beyond control again.
My pain subsided only for the emptiness he left behind to threaten to engulf me. I wanted to impale myself on him again, right this second.
To hell with restraint and consideration. To hell with getting him naked. Next time.
But he moved out of my groping reach, flowed up to his feet in the dimness, turned away.
“Have to take care of something first,” he said over his shoulder.
Bathroom? Something else? Maybe work…
Oh. Oh. Protection.
Dammit. And thank God for it.
It was only a second’s deprivation, as he got rid of the used condom and fetched another. Then he turned to me as he started to strip.
I flipped on my belly, wriggled like a hungry lizard for the lantern, turned it up. Gotta see this well, etch it in my memory. I’d need this show to power my fantasies for life.
He surpassed any I’d had as he bared himself to me, had desire cresting and crashing inside my core. And something even hotter splashing in my heart.
It wasn’t his body. As magnificent as it was, I already had obsessive knowledge of his every inch from hands-on experience, when he’d been forging me into a weapon. Neither was it his lust, even if it was the most gratifying thing I’d ever been exposed to. It wasn’t even the indulgence he was deluging me with. All of that only accounted for my physical reaction.
But what cut me open to my essence was far more dangerous. The emotions crowding his expression.
I had to be seeing things. What I wanted to see?
But why would I want to see such searing tenderness or possessiveness and longing in Damian’s eyes? I didn’t want him to feel any of that for me, did I…?
The chaos of self-interrogation stifled, dispersed. Damian was gathering me to him, his every naked, vital inch imprinting mine.
Ahh…
The long, still moment. The reality of him. Damian. So much to me. Too much. Once my maker and destroyer. Today, my ally and armor. And in this moment, my lover.
How I’d fantasized about an embrace like that. Since the first time I’d laid eyes on him. And every second since. When he’d challenged and changed me, when he’d hated and fought me. Then since he’d exploded back into my life, resurrecting everything I’d long buried.
As always with him, fantasy fell far, far short of reality. Feeling I had access to his essence, and the unimagined peace that brought, was beyond description.
Then it all built momentum, blossomed, needed expression. Physical and raw and now. Now please.
As if hearing my plea, he gave me what I needed. In luxurious tongue mating, in generous, greedy all-body owning.
Exquisite. Such lethality, housing such passion and protectiveness. Experiencing them all in such totality.
Suddenly, the emotion-drenched poignancy turned carnal, clawing. From one breath to the next I was at fever pitch again. The throbbing in my sex was becoming pounding, and the emptiness was eating me alive. All those promises of devastation his tongue and body were making—he’d better deliver on them. Fast.
But he kept on stoking me until I was writhing uncontrollably, breath fracturing in my throat. Frustration boiled over and I bit an anchor into his pectoral, sinking blunt nails into his buttock. Had to drag him inside me. Before I expired.
His amused growl singed me, dripped approval of my aggressive abandon. “Dios, Calista, I thought I knew how hot it would be between us, thought I’ve been blowing it out of all proportion in my mind. I knew nothing.”
Him, too? Good thing we hadn’t known then. It would have been impossible to live with such denial. And now we knew, the pangs, when this was over, would be unbearable.
Take now.
Desperation rising higher, I surged into him, taking all I could, hoarding the freedoms. Like I had a thousand times during combat practice, I rolled on top of him, so I could lose my mind all over him. Not that he took it on his back this time. With disconcerting yet delighting effortlessness, he wrestled me around, came on top of me, like I was dying for him to, fusing us from lips to groin.
“Calista.”
His driven groan shuddered through me. I sucked my name from his lips, breathing his breath. My legs clamped his bulk, my hips pumping up, seeking him, begging his completion. But he only raised himself away, making me cry out.
But maybe he did to put on the condom?
No—he only took masses of my hair with him as he propped himself over me on one arm, wrapping it around his nape and back, his groans deepening as it cascaded over his skin.
“Do you know what this braid of yours has done to me all these years? What I’ve been going through imagining undoing it, bathing in your hair this way?” When I thought he’d leave the speculations up to me, he went on, “You walk around with this braid swinging behind you like a live, willful thing and it’s as if my cock is tied to its every move. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve jacked off to the image of wrapping it around my arm, harnessing you by it as I pound you from behind. Then I’d undo it, fan your hair and lay you down in its pool, mount you and ram inside you and watch you shudder and come against its hundred-shade satin. Then I’d cover us both with it until I fuck you all over again, and find new ways to tether you and pleasure you with it.”
My heart kept tripping with every word. To hear Damian finally revealing what went on in that impenetrable head of his was intoxicating. And to learn that he’d harbored all those fantasies about me, that something like my braid was responsible for all those x-rated ones.
I should thank Dad for not letting me cut it. I’d stop trimming it and let it grow to my knees, if it influenced him that intensely.
I was about to beg him to just fuck me and put me out of my intensifying misery, when he bent to my tense breasts.
My first instinct was to push him away. I’d never been sensitive there. Not to pleasure.
Expecting the letdown, that he’d predictably go for my nipples, the temperature of my fervor dropped.
Next second, I came off the mattress. He’d sunk his teeth in the smooth underside of my swollen flesh, his bite a nip of pain that only unleashed a torrent of stimulation.
“And do you know what those breasts you camouflage do to me?” His ragged words vibrated in my igniting flesh. “How many times I’ve gotten off replaying each time they pressed into me as we parried and fought? How many times I wished I’d overpowered you then, tore off those hard-duty bras and shapeless clothes and made you come just feasting on them?”
By now I realized he could do that for real. I was back hurtling toward release just listening to his words, being buffeted by the ferocity of his hunger, past and present. And that was before he alternated his worship and torment between my breasts. Going nowhere near my nipples. I should have known Damian would never be predictable. I hoped he’d leave marks all over the tender flesh, so I’d feel his teeth and nails there long afterward.
Then he started soothing the pain he’d inflicted, licking around my nipples, until I felt my breasts would burst. By the time he blew his hot breath on me, each phantom touch was a bolt of pleasure electrifying my whole body, forking to my loins. With every gust I jerked harder, gushed more readiness.
Unable to bear any more, I thumped my fists on his back. And he only closed his lips over one nipple. And sucked. Took a long, hard pull as if from life-saving water. I hovered, trembling and sobbing, on the keen edge of release.
My breasts clearly had selective receptors with his name on them. As clear was his intention to bring his fantasy to life. He wouldn’t stop until he made me come this way.
Wanting him to do everything to me, I gave myself up to the alien sensations. I crammed my knuckles into my mouth to stifle my cries, vague thoughts of waking the whole camp floating somewhere in my overheating brain. But he only removed my hand, gave me his instead. Grateful and delirious, I sank my teeth in his tough, precious flesh.
His growls and suckling grew more sava
ge as he took every liberty with my flesh. I pummeled him for more. He gave me more, and more, until he snapped everything inside me.
I came. Hard. An orgasm like none before. Burst after burst of sensation like a drop off a waterfall, the cascade inundating my every nerve.
He tore his hand away from my gnawing teeth, rasped, “Let go, Calista, let it all out.”
Somewhere in my extreme, I understood what he was giving me. So I did.
I screamed. And screamed.
I no longer cared who heard. This had been building up inside me since Clara died. Since they took Dad away and Mom left and Jake was lost. Damian was unleashing it all now, prodding me to purge it all from my system. I screamed now all the screams I’d held back, suffocated on. Every one escaped from my depths like a demon escaping its prison. Leaving me liberated. Released. Cleansed.
Then just as I felt my catharsis turning to distress, he was stifling my frenzy in his mouth.
“That’s it, amor, give it all to me.”
His soothing murmurs flowed in and out of my flickering awareness, until I felt him opening my soaked folds. My whole body jerked, in contrary embarrassment. In surprise at finding myself on the brink of desperation again.
As if he knew, as I was sure by now he did, he pumped his fingers between my lips, strummed my clit, stroked and stoked until I bucked, squashed myself against his hand, any reticence evaporated. More. I silently begged.
He gave it to me, drove two long, powerful fingers inside my channel, knowing just what to do, how hard and fast to do it. Without any hint of buildup, I convulsed around them again.
My shrieks this time were weaker, even if my climax was stronger. But he didn’t seem about to stop there.
Without letting me catch my breath, he slid down my body, opened my legs over his shoulders, nudged the slick lips of my sex with his nose, inhaled me as if he’d been suffocating for my scent.
“As for the times I imagined going down on you, making you come so hard and long you’d need rehydration afterward, that probably amounted to solid months of the past years.”
Though I’d just climaxed, his words were like an intravenous injection of an aphrodisiac. The moment he started licking my folds, my clit screamed for his touch. Before I could drag his lips there, he was there, tonguing the swollen nub, grazing his teeth against it, suckling on it.
My breath disappeared as each suckle sent a mini-orgasm rippling through me, had a larger tidal wave building. I thrashed, smashing myself against his lips, the need to spill over hollowing me out.
Putting his lips on my opening, he groaned, “Let me taste your pleasure. I’ve been starving for it. Come Calista. Come on my tongue.” And he thrust it into me.
Everything compacted for one last second, then burst. Every nerve in my body splintered into a million shards of pleasure as the orgasm crashed through me. Damian drank it all right at the source.
This time, I wasn’t knocked out, just fell into a disembodied state. Damian was all around me, caressing and murmuring and soothing.
Floating in this realm of gratitude and satiation, my abused voice creaked against his lips. “I have to draw your attention that those premature orgasms were all your total fault.”
“And my absolute pleasure.” His smile spread on my quivering lips, his hand cupping me, desensitizing my flesh. And only succeeding in igniting it again.
It figured. For Damian to be the one who unlocked my full potential in every way. My sexual capabilities were just another area for him to mine and hone. His every touch showed me that my body was just hitting its stride. And ready for a long, hard, jarring ride.
But I might have a cerebral accident if I didn’t do something first. Something I’d been starving for since that first day, when he’d had me in a headlock and I’d rammed his teeth.
I squirmed from his gentle hold, slid down his body. This time he let me complete my quest.
I gulped as I took hold of his cock. Man, I was literally drooling over him. As I should be. He was incredible. Apart from his massive size, his shape was beautiful. And he was living steel, as sleek and polished. Sheer daunting perfection. Just like the rest of him.
Even when I hadn’t known what he’d be like in reality, worshipping him, bringing him to orgasm this way had been a staple of my fantasy life. Now I no longer had to imagine.
But he was reaching for the condom. I stopped him. It was bad enough I couldn’t feel him inside me without that barrier. But it was a necessary evil to protect against consequences we couldn’t afford. Health-wise, I wouldn’t trust anyone on earth more than Damian.
His hand dug in my hair still, stopping me from pouncing on him. “I’d be fine with the condom on.”
Was he worried I’d be grossed out? I did know many women found oral sex unpleasant, some even disgusting, especially the swallowing part.
Not this woman. Not with this man.
“I’m damned if after all these years of fantasizing about it, I have you in my mouth only to smell and taste latex and artificial flavorings.”
His gaze widened for a second, before he threw his head back and guffawed.
Then he spread himself for me. “Have at me, then.”
Without the least finesse, I grabbed that pillar of hard flesh with both hands as if I was afraid his offer had a time limit, opening my lips over the hot, smooth crown and sucking off his copious pre-cum.
“God, Damian…your taste.” My moan was stifled as I lunged to engulf all I could of him. That was just a few inches, pumping the rest of his length in prickling hands, bingeing on his heat and hardness, his taste and texture.
I held his eyes, watching his every nuance, worried about my too limited experience, the performance made more subpar by my feverish eagerness.
But he put my mind at ease, generous with his confessions and demonstrations of extreme enjoyment. Something I thought he’d never be where his own pleasure was concerned. My heart expanded, filled my whole chest.
“Calista, don’t get me wrong,” he rasped in between grunts. “I dreamed of you doing this—everything to me, with me, too, but…” He stopped, heaved up, hauled me over him, taking my swollen lips in another exercise of profound intimacy. “But I want to be inside you now.” He was panting now, the man who ran ten miles with regular breathing. “I want to feel your flesh clinging to mine, to feel you abandoning all tension and worry and pain. I want to lose myself in you, make you lose yourself to the pleasure of me.”
Given some practice, this man would make me come just talking. “Damian, if you don’t shut up and do it, I swear the only thing I’ll lose is my temper.”
He laughed. God, I loved his laugh. “And we know what happens when you lose that, eh?”
International incidents. Casualties in the hundreds. Dead loved ones.
This was the second time he’d brought this up without a truckload of venom and bile.
Was it only sex mellowing out his longstanding reaction? Somehow I didn’t think it was that simple.
But that implied I could think. Beyond thinking of putting that condom on him and jumping him for a repeat performance.
I tried, but it was harder than it looked. Or I was just coming apart. Or just too inexperienced to live.
Ironic, wasn’t it? The bitch-monster Calista St. James had a sexual résumé to fit on the back of an inch-by-inch price tag.
Jake had been so long ago, and we’d been intimate for such a short time before he’d disappeared. The few times we had been, he’d been careful and worshipful, in consideration for my mint-condition and youth. None of our encounters had extended to condom-fitting while shaking with the ferocity of my body’s demands like that.
Damian pushed my hands away, completed the simple task with all the finesse of a fifteen-year-old on his first, fumbling back-seat time. It felt so damn good. That I weakened him, too, drove him beyond himself.
Then he pushed me back and mounted me. Then knowing I couldn’t bear any more preliminaries، ev
en if they ended in orgasms, he hooked my knees over his forearms, opened me fully and drove into my drenched depths in one long, forceful thrust. Hot and thick and so long craved.
It felt like it was my very first time. It was. The other time didn’t count. Any other time, when it wasn’t him, didn’t, either. I quaked, keened, clutching him with all my strength, biting his shoulder in my extreme.
“Don’t you dare come on the second thrust.” His distressed humor made my heat shoot higher until I felt I might burn a Calista-shaped hole in the mattress. This side to him was like finding a feast where you never hoped for a crumb. Showing him my appreciation, I sank my teeth into him harder. And he gave it to me, the second thrust. Then the third. Then I lost count.
Everything we’d ever shared, all the ferocious, tangled feelings, the crazy, convoluted history unraveled. Then I did.
No. I wanted this to last.
No use. Beyond the physical reality, the grind of flesh in flesh, the idea of him inside me, doing this with me, to me…
Every heartache and frustration looming in my life’s horizon crashed on me. Shockwaves of pleasure, damaging in intensity razed me, an orgasm that shook me inside and out. It needed some outlet besides screams. Tears, suddenly easy, vented the critical surplus.
My storm raged, and he bore it all, rode it, rode me, wringing my flesh of its last shudder and spark of pleasure until I was whimpering
“No more.” Sated, sensitive, raw.
Lapping my tears, he only began moving again. “Again, Calista.”
Again? How? I was depleted never to recharge. So how could I tell him to just go on and help himself?
“Want a live body, you’ll have to get another one,” I gasped. Then winced. This had come out far worse than anything I’d been worried to say.
“I’ll give you another one.” His smile was the very sight of sensual menace. He took my legs over his shoulder, held my eyes and plumbed new depths inside me. Then he made me watch as his fingers did things to me that I didn’t know were there to do. And the tide rose again in me, as if it had never ebbed.
How did he know? How did he always know I had more, how to mine it, exploit it, wring it dry of potential?