She caught me staring, and a slight smile crossed her lips. “What? You see something you like?”
“You know I do,” I said, rolling toward her.
She bit her lip, watching me, not moving. “You…you don’t mind that they’re small?”
“Mind?” I wedged my body against hers, leaning partially over top of her.
I palmed one breast as I kissed her shoulder, her breastbone. Slid my tongue around the underside of one breast, my thumb flicking her other nipple. She moaned, gasped. Head tipped back, eyes closed. I suckled her entire breast into my mouth, and then let it out and circled her nipple with my tongue, tweaking and twisting the other between my finger and thumb. Her moans became louder, and her hips lifted. I leaned across her, using my mouth on the other breast now, and flicking and tweaking with my fingers the one I’d mouthing moments ago. Sucked, tweaked. Twisted, licked. Cassie moaned, murmured, whimpered. Her hips began flexing, and I gave her a rhythm—pinch, twist, lick, flick, flick, pinch, twist, a complicated rhythm.
She rose to the occasion, spine arching and her voice calling wordless encouragement to me, as I switched mouth and fingers from one side to the other until she was mad with it, hips driving, seeking.
Finally, when she was crazed and gasping and moaning, I palmed both breasts and pinched her nipples hard, so hard she screamed, and at the moment of the pinch and the moment of her scream, I devoured her clit, sucking it into my mouth and twiddling it with my tongue and thrashing it side to side, and Cassie’s scream broke, shattered, became ragged and breathless and she was arched off the bed, spine bowed up, all of her weight on her neck and heels, thrusting herself against my mouth, seeking the heat and pressure and movement I was giving her as fast as I could move my head and tongue.
Until I ached, until the delicate, complex flavor of her arousal was seared into my taste buds and her essence was smeared on my mouth and cheeks, until she went limp, gasping, panting, utterly spent and stunned.
“Fucking hell, Ink. I have never, ever, ever…” a pause to suck in oxygen, calm her pulse, “EVER in my life come as hard as you make me come.”
I grinned, moving up her and kissing her belly and then her ribcage and then her breasts again, until she cackled and pushed me away.
“Too sensitive, too sensitive! I need a second. Jesus.” She pushed me away from her nipples, but yanked me by my beard up to her mouth, used her palm to wipe away her essence, and then pulled me in for a kiss. “God, all I can taste is my own pussy.”
I laughed. “Me too. And I’m more than okay with that.”
She laughed with me, kissed me again. The kiss deepened, and then she rolled into me, pressing me onto my back. She broke the kiss, still gripping my beard under my chin in one hand, the other cupping my cheek. Kissed me once more, a swift peck on the lips. And then she grinned, wickedly.
Shifted down my body.
“Cass, wait.” I caught at her. “Don’t. Not that.”
She transferred my blindly groping hands to her hair. Kissed her way down my belly. “I want to.”
“It’s…I’m—too much.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She hesitated as she settled between my thighs, grinning up at me. “What if I want to taste you as much as you like to taste me?”
I groaned, because I ached. Hard as a rock again, ready again. More ready for her than I’d ever been in my life. Wanting her. I wanted her. I didn’t want to come in her mouth, I wanted to be buried inside her.
I needed it.
Nothing mattered to me except the need to feel her sweet tight hot sex clamped around me, her breathing raw in my ear, whimpering my name.
I felt it, saw it. Saw it happening. Needed it.
“Cass, I need—”
She cut me off by taking me into her mouth. I lost the ability to speak. To breathe. To think. To exist outside the sensation of her warm wet mouth sucking hard around me, plowing downward. Taking me. Accepting me deeper. I felt her breasts sliding against my quads. I groaned, aching, throbbing.
“Fuck, oh fuck, Cass.” I heard my voice, but it sounded alien. From someone besides me. It sounded hoarse, raw and ragged and weak and whispery and destroyed.
Sweet unholy blissful hell.
Her mouth, god her mouth.
It was too good.
Too much like heaven. Too much like a perfect home for my cock that I never wanted to leave, ever. Could it just go on forever?
How was she breathing? She hadn’t stopped. She was just plunging her mouth down on me, swallowing around me, sliding her lips up and swirling her tongue all over me, and her hands were everywhere, cupping my balls and squeezing and massaging, a finger sliding along the tenderest underside, then clasping around my base as she spent a moment with her lips wrapped around the head and sucking and licking and bobbing hungrily, eagerly, almost desperately.
“God, Cass…Cassie, oh god—why?”
She just hummed, what sounded like an affirmative, and slid back down my length until she was swallowing around me again and her hands were doing incredible things, pumping at the base and cupping my sac and fondling and driving me absolutely insane.
How long?
I couldn’t fathom time. Couldn’t count seconds or minutes. I was just utterly lost in her, in the glory of her mouth.
And she never stopped, never slowed.
I ached. Throbbed.
My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out everything, and my hips flexed and heat soared inside me and pressure mounted behind my belly and inside me and through me but it never stopped and she didn’t slow down and I wanted it to last forever.
Then, after a moment, she pulled free, gasping. Staring at me with wonder and awe and something like frustration. “Fucking hell, Ink. How long can you last?”
The moment she took her mouth off of me, I was done. It was over.
Madness took me.
I growled something, a curse perhaps, or something without words. Just a sound of feral sexual insanity. Need gone berserk.
I reached down, picked her up, threw her onto the mattress. She bounced once, on her side, and then I gathered her to me. Up on my knees, aching and pounding with the need to be home, to be inside this woman who was fucking mine. Mine for the taking.
God, the need was making me see double, red.
All I knew was Cassie. Round ass taut and spread apart. Skin slick and smooth and warm. I palmed her ass in one hand, wrapped my other arm around her hips, across her belly, and yanked her to me. Grabbed myself with one hand, fingered her opening with the other. She gasped, reached back, took me from my hand and guided me where I belonged.
“Ink, fuck, fuck, fuck, Ink, ohhh god—there you are, oh god, you’re fucking huge, Jesus…” A ragged whimper as she began accepting me inside.
I watched myself bury into her. Slowly. She was whimpering, a low long moan of ecstasy.
“Cass…god, tell me it’s okay. Tell me it feels good. Tell me it’s okay.”
She just cried. Sobbed. “Holyshityou’rehuge—it’s okay, it’s okay, Ink, more than okay, it’s beautiful. It’s beautiful, god it’s beautiful.”
She was watching us join, head turned to one side and angled to watch down the length of her body as I drove in slowly; her head and shoulders were on the mattress, ass high, thighs pressed against her belly. Feet crossed over each other, toes curling. She was shaking all over. Trembling. Even her voice was shaky.
“You’re beautiful, Cassandra, so fuckin’ beautiful. So perfect. God you feel…” I choked on sentiment, gagged on it. “Home. Fucking home.”
It took an eternity to slide all the way into her hot slick sex. She clenched around me—so tight it nearly hurt, and then she squeezed, did something with muscles I didn’t know she had and clamped even harder around me as my thighs and hips seated home, pressed against the gorgeous firm squish of her ass.
All the way.
She had all of me. I didn’t know that was possible. Yet there was the evidence, wrappe
d around me like a vise of hot wet silk.
“Cass, god, how are you taking all of me? How is it possible?”
She sagged forward, and then reached out with both hands and grasped and scrabbled desperately at the sheets, blankets, mattress, fingers flexing and curling spasmodically. Shaking all over, she suddenly pushed back against me, and sucked in a breath which told me she’d been holding it, not breathing for quite a long time.
“FUCK!” She surged forward, and I stuttered through her spasming channel. “Move, Ink! Move. Just fucking—god, you fill me like I’ve never been filled.” Another ragged gasp. “You fit me perfectly, Ink. No one’s ever fit me like you. I thought I was…I thought I was too big, inside. Small outside, tiny body…oh god, oh god, you feel so good.”
A pause, and she kept talking, through our joining. Conversational even as she shuddered, shaking like a leaf in a long wind as I drew back, pulling out most of the way.
“I thought I was too big, thought my—my pussy was too big. What a joke, right? Like, thanks, God. Give me tiny legs, tiny arms, tiny hands, tiny feet, tiny tits, tiny ass, and a huge gaping pussy no cock has ever filled.”
I pushed in, with exquisite care, slow, gentle, and now I was the one shaking with the effort to be what she needed—slow, careful, gentle, soft. “Cass, you’re perfect. I didn’t think anyone could take me.”
She met me, thrust for thrust. Impossibly wanting more. Surging forward as I pulled out and sinking back into me as I pushed in. Whimpering all the while, shaking, fingers clawing at my bed.
Slow, so slow. Agonizingly slow. It was torture to move at all, because all I wanted, down to my molecules, was to ram into her, pound home, go savage with the caveman need to dominate and take and claim and use and show her that she was mine and I was hers.
I could not. Dare not. Would not.
She began to spasm, whole-body shivers, folding inward, torso contracting into itself to pull me out, and then her spine torqued in, down, and her ass slammed backward—taking me in. I had that sweet delicate round perfect ass of hers in my hands and I was palming and squeezing and gripping as I fought with every fiber of my being to hold on, to hold back, to not tear her apart, as my loss of control surely would.
Was already more than half-mad.
Snarling.
Growling.
Pushing in as my hips met her ass cheeks and pushed deeper, and she cried out, cried my name, reached back to grasp at her buttock and pull it aside, and somehow I went deeper yet, as if she was truly just endless and able to take more and more and more, and want it all.
I felt a ravaging madness boiling in my veins.
Knew it was nearly time.
And I had no clue how I would hold back through my orgasm. I had to, though. Had to.
She was lost, then. Spasming thrusts, slamming into me, crying without compunction, and then she clenched around me so hard I thought I was going to explode inside her from the force of her clenching heat, and she screamed, long and loud and hoarse, and pushed back against me so hard I felt like I was about to explode through the front of her.
“Cass, ohh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck—” My voice was a ragged whisper as I struggled with the last dregs of my restraint to keep from letting loose, from ripping her open with my animal need.
She pushed back, sobbing. “Ink, oh my god, Ink, ohmyfuckinggod, Ink…”
“Cass, I’m—I’m—I have to come. I have to.”
She surged forward, but this time it wasn’t to push back into me—it was panic. “You can’t! Ink, you can’t! God, no, no, you can’t. You can’t!”
I yanked myself back at the last second, roaring out loud as I fought to control myself, rolling away, gasping as if I’d just sprinted a hundred yards full-out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
My eyes were closed, squeezed shut. Fighting to keep it back. To hold on.
Straining, all over. Every muscle tensed.
And then…
Utter softness, wet soft heaven all around my aching, straining erection.
And I lost it all, in a single instant.
The moment she sank her mouth onto me, I lost it. I couldn’t even warn her. It was automatic, beyond my capacity to control. She gulped, shocked, and then recovered, and her hands gripped around me and stroked me hard and fast, both hands blurring on my sex-slick shaft, and I pulsed and my whole body shook, clenching, spasming.
I couldn’t even breathe. My lungs were empty. My heart pounding fit to explode. I couldn’t even thrust, because she was doing it all for me, but then I had to—had to. Pushed up, once, and she didn’t pull away. No, she took that, too, measuring her movements to accommodate my helpless thrust.
She had my balls in her hand, massaging them sweetly, gently, lovingly, pressing a finger under them and I came even harder, came again, and she swallowed it all.
Finally, she let me go.
I flopped with a loud slap against my belly, and she lifted my arm, settled herself into the shelter of my arms. Nuzzled against me. I groped blindly, found a blanket, and tugged it over us.
Cassie
Sunlight streamed in through the windows. I woke slowly. Became aware, gradually, of myself and my surroundings…and last night.
I was sore, down there. Beautifully, incredibly, perfectly achy.
My mouth tasted like…well, like him.
I didn’t mind that either, although I wanted a toothbrush in the worst way.
My whole body was sore, and I realized it was because I’d come four times, each time harder than the last, and the least incredible of those four orgasms was a million times better than the best orgasm anyone—including I myself—had ever given me.
I was still in his arms. We hadn’t moved the whole night.
And I didn’t want to.
Which scared the living blazes out of me.
Because this feeling, this not wanting to leave the safety of his arms came with…a depth of other feelings that I could not handle having.
“You’re panicking,” I heard a deep, low, sleep-raspy voice say.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“Don’t.” He tightened his grip on me.
“Yeah,” I whispered again, this time laughing sarcastically. “Let me just will myself to stop having a panic attack.”
He rolled to his back, taking me with him, so I was lying entirely on top of him. And…it was surprisingly comfortable. He cupped my head in his hand, pressing my ear to his chest. “Just listen to my heartbeat and tune everything else out.”
I curled up into a ball on his huge body, which was an odd combination of hard and soft—hard with deep, powerful muscles, but just a little soft, too. So perfect. A perfection I hadn’t known I’d always craved, this particular, specific sensation of hard and soft all together. Soft embrace, gentle and sweet, but beneath it was a well of unutterable power. Vibrantly masculine strength—masculine without being at all macho. Just confident. Male.
I thought of him last night—shaking as he slid into me. Just…shaking, like I’d never felt anyone tremble before. And I knew, with total surety, that he’d been shaking with the effort of holding back. I’d been so delirious with the sheer breathless wondering shock of the way he felt inside me to do anything about it last night, or to even fully understand it. But now, as I lay here with a sore sex, knowing that he’d been in complete control, holding back…what seemed to me like everything, I knew I wanted—needed—to know what it would be like to feel him lose that edge of control.
He hadn’t hurt me.
If anything, I’d wanted more. Even then, drowning in the incredible out-of-this-world feel of him inside me, more than I’d ever even guessed was possible, fitting in me as if whatever artist had created this world had created Ink and created me and created us to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle—even then, I’d wanted more. Wanted to feel him move. To be gone for me, as I was gone for him.
The one thing that hurt in a not so nice way was my leg.
It hur
t like a bitch. Throbbed with soul-shearing agony.
The muscle, the bone, the screws and plates. Everything. It just hurt. Reminding me that I’d been slacking on my mobility exercises. Slacking on my whole post-PT rehab routine. If I wanted to be able to walk without a limp, to run, to even think about dancing again, I had to work on it.
And I hadn’t been.
But I couldn’t.
What was the point? There was no point. I, as a person, had no point.
Ink’s heartbeat was all that kept me from shattering into tears on the spot—duh-DUM—duh-DUM—duh-DUM. Solid, steady, reassuring.
Damn him, though, he knew.
“Cass.”
I shook my head, clenching around him, clawing into him, every muscle paralyzed as I attempted to shut down and hold back the breakdown.
“Let go, babe. It’s okay.”
I shook my head again, swallowing compulsively against the hot lump in my throat, trying to swallow the burn and sting in my eyes.
He rolled to one side, bringing us to our sides, and he curled up around me. And somehow, I was wrapped in a warm solid sheltering cocoon of Ink. He was everywhere. His heartbeat was loud all around me. His heat was like a kiln on full blast, like standing over an open oven. His power was all around me, a visceral presence.
And he just…held me.
I curled tighter, tighter. Into a woodlouse ball.
“It’s okay, Cass,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
I wondered if he knew I’d never really grieved for everything I’d lost?
How could he know that? I’d held it together until Mom showed up, and then when I’d seen how delicately she was holding herself together against some mysterious tension of her own, yet was there for me, worrying with frantic desperation about me, as only a mother can, I just…kept holding it together. We got here, and she was clearly deliriously happy to be with Lucas, who sometimes grated on my nerves and annoyed the shit out of me, but Mom was blissed into nonsensical incoherency when she was with him and I just couldn’t anchor her down with my sob-sob bullshit pity party.
But I wasn’t okay.
I’d never really cried.
For A Goode Time Call... Page 15