The Savage Gentleman

by Harlan, Christopher

  Her cheeks look like summer strawberries—rosy and beautiful, and I grab a hold of her face when she’s right in front of me. I start to run my fingers through her hair, gripping it just enough to angle her head back. I’m about to lean in to devour her neck, but before I make it all the way in I hear her say, “Take your fucking pants off right now.”

  It’s forceful and I love it. The woman knows what she wants, and I’m going to give it to her like she’s never had it before. I unzip and pull my pants off. Then I pull my shirt over my head and throw it on the floor. What’s left is me and my boxer briefs—black, the only color I own—with my hardness extending the fabric as far as it’ll go without breaking. The sensation I’m feeling is something in between being totally turned on and being in pain. All I know is that the tension in my body is building, and it needs relief—fast.

  She looks at me with those eyes—eyes filled with a burning passion. “Finish.” That’s all I need to hear. I pull my boxer briefs down and step out of them. She looks down, breaking eye contact for the first time since she grabbed my collar and kissed me. I know why she’s staring, and she’s not the first woman to give me that treatment. I’m not bragging, because I don’t need to, but the truth is I’ve got a huge fucking dick. Right now, it’s standing at full attention.

  “Holy shit,” she says, still holding her gaze on my throbbing member.

  “Surprised?”

  “A little. I mean. . . what do I even do with that?”

  “I have a few ideas. Wanna see?”

  This time it’s my turn to take a forward step—two of them—until her firm tits are pushed up against me—the hardness of her nipples pressing into my chest through the thin fabric still covering them. I reach behind her and unclasp her bra. As the straps fall slowly down her arms I look at her beautiful breasts. They’re perfect. Round, supple, and waiting to be in my hands and mouth. I lean over and start to suck on her nipple, and it’s round and hard in my mouth. She moans, and runs her fingers passionately through my hair. I reach down with my other and squeeze her ass as hard as I can and she jumps. We start kissing again, but only for a few seconds.

  The time for foreplay is over.

  I scoop her up and carry her into my bedroom. She feels like nothing in my arms. Once we’re inside I toss her onto the bed. She falls onto her back but sits up right away and grabs a hold of my cock. Before I know it, she takes me in her warm mouth. She closes her lips and then I feel the suction as she moves her mouth methodically up and down my shaft, pulling gently at the base as she does. I feel like I’m all the way down her throat, and she takes every single inch of me, and that’s no small task. I can’t help but grab her hair and pull her forward. She let’s me, and I hold her there, my cock replacing whatever space she has in my mouth and throat. While I hold her, she grabs my ass with both hands and runs her nails against my skin. When I let go she goes back to work, moving backwards and forwards quickly, then slowly, until my eyes are rolling in the back of my head.

  When she’s done sucking my cock, I push her down by the shoulders and inch my way onto the bed. She opens her legs wide for me, and lies on her back in a totally submissive posture that’s driving me absolutely fucking insane. I take a second to look at her—how hot she is, how sexy her body is just lying there waiting to be defiled by me. My eyes take in all that they can. Now it’s time for our bodies to go to work.

  I’m so hard that it hurts, and there’s only one thing that’s going to relieve the force that’s building like a pressure cooker ready to erupt, and it’s sitting between her legs, staring at me. She sits up and we start kissing, and while we are I reach down and put my middle finger as deep inside of her as it will go. She’s so tight! Once I’m in her I move in and out, and reach up with my thumb and circle her clit with as much pressure as she can take. As soon as I hit that spot her whole body reacts like she just got an electric shock. I keep going, separating from our kiss and priming her pussy for what’s about to come.

  She strokes my cock as I finger her, but there’s no need. I’ve never been this rock hard in my life, and when I feel the wetness covering my entire hand I know it’s time. I grab myself, covering my dick in all of her juices. She’s going to need to be wet to take all of me inside her. I position the head of my red swollen cock right on the lips of her pussy and we make eye contact. I like to tease. I rub the outside with my head, and tap her clit a few times until she’s ready to go.

  She grabs onto my wrists. “Put that huge cock in me right fucking now.”

  “You want all of this?”

  “Give it to me, baby. I want every fucking inch right now!”

  “Be careful what you wish for.”

  I thrust forward, guiding myself with my hands at first, then letting my hips do all the work. With a single push I hear her moan, and her eyes open wide like she just saw a ghost. I can tell she’s never had something this big inside of her before, and she’s loving it.

  “Oh my fucking God, Lucas!”

  “That’s right. And now I’m going to fuck you.”

  “You’d better—fuck me right now!”

  I grab onto her hips as she angles her whole pelvis up towards me. I’m on my knees, and I start fucking her silly. Not only can I tell that she’s never been fucked by someone this big, I can tell she’s never had a man go this hard or this deep. Her whole body is shaking. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open, so I put a finger inside of it as I fuck her, and she latches on and sucks it hard. It doesn’t stop my rhythm, it just makes me go even harder.

  “Don’t fucking stop!” she yells. I have no intention of stopping. I make sure to pull all the way out before reinserting myself, so that she gets the full breadth of my hard, swollen manhood. After a minute, I turn her over and tease the outside of her ass. I’m destroying that little pink pussy. I spread her open with one hand as she balances on all fours. I slide inside so easily and grab her hips again and start pumping. Her body is slamming into mine, and the slapping sound is echoing throughout the room.

  I want to keep going, but the sight of her and the feeling of her tight, wet pussy is making me want to come all over her, right now. “Are you ready for this come? I want to give it all to you.”

  “Shoot it all over me, baby, give me all of it.”

  I’m there. I pull out just when it feels like I can’t take anymore. I’m out of her just as I start to spasm. She turns over and I shoot a hot load of thick white cum all over her tits. Some of it goes even higher, touching her neck. She lies there and takes it, a huge smile on her face as I explode everywhere. “Oh, fuck!” I yell as the last drops fall onto her sweaty body. Then I let myself go. But it’s not over.

  I dive down and spread her legs open. It’s time to let my tongue go to work. I know this isn’t going to take long at all. I start to rub my tongue all over her clit, finger-fucking her as I do. She starts to shake and moan right away.

  “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come again. . . holy shit, Lucas!” If her body seemed like it got a shock before when I first touched her clit, now it’s trembling like she’s got a thousand volts running through her all at once. Her pussy clenches around my finger, and I keep working until she collapses. When it’s over we lie there, sweaty, happy, and—quite frankly—still a little turned on. “I’ve never come that hard in my entire life. Holy crap.”

  I wrap my arm around her and she puts her head on my chest.

  I don’t say it, but I’ve never come that hard either. I’ve never experienced anything quite like that before. I don’t know what it is, but there’s just something about this girl!

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lucas

  The Next Day

  “Keep your hands up, bitch!”

  The shit talking follows a stiff jab to my nose. My life is so fucking weird.

  Last night all I felt was pleasure—the feeling of her soft skin and tight body against mine. Hours and hours of some of the best sex I’ve ever had. It seemed like it went on forever,
and I loved every second of it. And now I’m feeling different things against my skin—mostly leather.

  The dude screaming at me is Mike Suranov —a Russian lightweight amateur boxer who has a real chance of making the Olympic team next time the games come around. His real name is Mikhail, but we all just call him Mike around here. The kid’s hands are lighting, and if you’re not on your game he’ll piece you up in there. Even with head gear and a venti Starbucks coffee coursing through my veins I’m still struggling with my reaction time. Oh yeah, and he also loves to talk crazy shit when he spars.

  “If we were in prison, I’d make you my bitch. You know that, right?”

  He says the whackiest shit just to motivate his training partners whenever he feels like they’re not giving their all. Apparently today he’s attacking my body and my masculinity. It’s all good, though—Mike’s a cool dude, and to be honest I need a little motivation. It’s not that my head’s not in the game—my head’s always in the game—it’s just that it’s early in fight camp, and I’m still not in fight shape. But really, it’s last night. I’d never tell Matt what happened because he’s old school about stuff like that, but I am a little too relaxed.

  I get my back off the ropes and use my footwork to get back to the center of the ring. I hit Mike with two left jabs, a right cross, and a left uppercut in a rapid-fire succession. Then I decide to talk some shit of my own. “Who’d be the bitch again?” I hit him some more. “Not me.” I get a second wind and unload a barrage of punches and duck all of his counters.

  The bell rings to signify time is up, and I drop my arms and then tap gloves with Mike. “Good shit.” His English is broken. He’s still a Russian citizen, traveling back and forth between New York and Dagestan in between fights—but he trains here a few times a year, and always flies in when I have a camp. He’s one of my best training partners.

  “Good shit indeed.”

  I don’t get changed because I have Matt “the Second” coming in for another workout. After sparring, Master Splinter calls me over. “You look good, but your reaction time is off. He got the better of you a few times in there and you’re a better boxer than that.”

  He’s right. I got it back at the end of our round, but I’m way better than that. Mike’s a better boxer than I am, by far, but he doesn’t usually get the better of me for that long in a sparring session. Maybe Mila’s making me soft. Nah, I just need to get my head into fight camp mode.

  “You know how I am at the start of training camps.”

  “I do,” he tells me. “But I also remember what happened last time. Do I really need to remind you about everything?”

  I don’t mean to dip my head down like I’m embarrassed, it just happens. “No,” I say, ashamed. “No, you don’t.”

  Master Splinter’s honesty hits harder than any fighter I’ve ever met. It’s what I love and hate about him, but to be fair the hate part is just because I don’t like to be reminded of my own mistakes. There was a lot of shit that went down in my last training camp before the fight with Wes. Matt’s not a petty guy, but he will remind me in a not-so-subtle way when he feels I need it. He’s just looking out for my best interest, but it still stings.

  “Good.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, almost like a dad. “Listen, I’ve been around fighters my whole life. Self-sabotage is a real thing. Sometimes we say that we want something, but then our actions tell a different story. I’ve been around this game long enough to know not to trust people’s words—I just see how they’re behaving. You remember last time. Now I need you to have your shit together if you really want what you say you want.”

  “Yes, sir. I get it. I’ll do better next time.”

  “That’s all I needed to hear. Oh, the kid will be here soon for his lesson today. Just a heads up, his dad sounded a little urgent on the phone.”

  “What the hell’s going on with that?”

  “No idea, but it’s something. Guy sounded upset. Just watch out, he might come in hot.”

  “I can handle hot, don’t worry.”

  About thirty minutes later Matt the Second walks in with his dad. Before he even gets to me I have the whole situation figured out. Dad looks like he’s ready to kill someone, and Matt has one of the worst black eyes I’ve seen in a long time, and I’ve seen a lot of them.

  “What the hell kind of operation are you people running here?” Nothing like an angry father. He’s irrational, and his face is turning red. Of course he’s upset, his kid keeps getting his ass whipped, I get it. My dad looked the same way when it was me.

  “Sir. . .”

  Master Splinter tries to jump in, but I put my hand up to let him know that I’ve got the situation under control. These kinds of things don’t bother me at all. “He got beat up?” I ask.

  “Yes! He got beat up. Again! I thought you were teaching him self-defense.”

  “Dad, I. . .”

  “Quiet, Matthew!” his father yells. “Let me handle this.”

  “I have an idea,” I say. Steven stops and looks at me. “How about we let Matthew tell me what happened before we start screaming and blaming anyone? Because I’d like to know what the situation was exactly.”

  First Steven just gives me the crazy eyes. I meet them with quiet confidence, and he slowly meets my energy level. He strikes me as the kind of guy who gets what he wants by yelling and being intimidating. Corporate type. But I fight trained killers for a living, so some red face and crazy eyes don’t bother me any. Finally, he concedes.

  “Fine. Matthew, explain please.”

  “It was in gym class,” he begins. “The same two kids who always mess with me started doing it again. I did what you said, professor. I kept my shoulders back the whole day, I looked people in the eye. I did all of that.”

  “Okay. That’s all good, it’s what I told you to do. So what happened next?”

  “I looked one of them in the eye and they took it like a challenge. ‘What are you looking at, homo!’—that’s what they yelled at me, in front of everyone.”

  “So, what did you do?” I ask.

  “I didn’t back down like I usually do. I didn’t run away. I stood there with them, and when they tried to push me I swung at one of them, but I missed and the kid’s friend sucker punched me and threw me to the ground. They each took turns hitting me until it got broken up. That’s what happened. Just like that.”

  I’m sure that Matt’s dad and I heard different stories, even though we heard the same story. What I mean to say is that I can already tell by the man’s reaction that our interpretations of what Matt just said are totally different. What Matt’s dad just heard is that he got into a fight and didn’t know how to punch and kick, therefore it’s our fault that he got beat up. But what I heard deserved a. . .

  “Good for you, Matt. Atta boy.”

  “Excuse me? Did you just say ‘good for you’?” I was expecting this reaction, so I turn all of my attention to Steven so that he can get the last of his bullshit out before I have a chance to rebut. “What is wrong with you people? Have you taken one too many blows to the head or something?”

  “Dad!”

  “Quiet, Matthew. Listen, I’m paying you. . .”

  “For your son to learn self defense, correct?”

  “Yes, and clearly you don’t know what you’re doing if this is still happening to him. I’ve had enough of this already!”

  The man practically has tears of frustration in his eyes. I’m not taking a single word he’s saying personally, because I remember my dad’s anger and feeling of helplessness when he saw me getting harassed all the time at school. I don’t have a kid yet, but I can’t imagine what that’s like.

  “Steven, come over here and let’s talk. Matthew, you come too. We’ll use Master Splinter’s office.”

  “Who?” Steven asks.

  “Sorry. Matt, the gym owner. We’ll use his office.”

  As understanding as I am of what Steven is feeling, I can’t have the man make a bigger spectacl
e on the mats. There are people training, classes going on, and a general sense of balance. Last thing we need is a disgruntled parent throwing everything out of whack. Once we get into the back, I sit in Matt’s seat and motion for Steven and Matt to sit on the other side. I don’t give him time to talk, I just start to explain the situation from my point of view.

  “Sir, listen. . .”

  “Steven, please.”

  “Fine, Steven, then. I want you to understand something that only a few people in the world know about me, okay?” Steven nods. “I was bullied before bullying was a word everyone knew. For me it was the 8th grade. Every day was hell. It got so bad that I used to find reasons not to go to school—I’d have sudden illnesses so often that my parents started taking me to specialists.”

  “Jesus,” Steven says. I can tell his face and tone have softened since his outburst. Now he looks less angry, and more like the concerned parent who walked his son through the front doors of the gym to begin with. “That must have been hell on your parents.”

  “It was. Just like this is for you. I can’t imagine. But I need you to see things the right way in order for you to help Matthew as much as you can.”

  “And what way is that?” he asks.

  “Not like a father. I know that’s a huge thing to ask, but you have to try to separate the emotion from this. Yes, Matthew got into an altercation that he probably shouldn’t have. And yes, he got hit, which definitely shouldn’t have happened. And if I were you, I’d speak to that school. . .”