«Copyright © 2014 J. Kenner The right of J. Kenner to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the ...»
Right then, I was playing as dirty as I knew how. I arched my back, spread my legs just a bit wider, and slowly thrust two fingers deep inside myself. “I was hoping to give you ideas,” I said. “Like subliminal suggestions.” His mouth twitched. “Oh, really?” “I want you to fuck me, Cole. I want your cock inside me.” I moved my hips in time with my fingers, and saw the way that he watched the show —and the way he was watching got me even hotter.
“I intend to get what I want. I promise you, I can be very persuasive.” “I bet you can,” he said.
He put the wine and the glasses on a nearby table and took a single step toward me.
“I believe I told you to come in here, get undressed, and lay down on the bed while I went and got some wine.” “You said that,” I admitted. “I think I mentioned that I’ve never been very good at following the rules.” “I assume you know what happens to girls who are naughty?” He gave the drawstring on his sweats a tug, then let them fall from his hips to the ground. He stepped out of them, then walked naked toward me, fully erect, huge, and intimidating as hell.
I swallowed, then shifted my gaze up from his cock to his face. I stood up and walked toward him. “Just so you know, I intend to be even more naughty.” I put my hands on his hips, then sank to my knees in front of him. Slowly—so deliciously slowly—I ran my tongue along the length of his erection, pausing to pay special attention to the tip.
He shuddered, then moaned, then said my name, his voice hoarse and full of longing. I didn’t reply.
Instead, I drew him in, then tasted him, teased him—took him as far as I could.
I clutched his ass with my hands, felt the way his hands twined in my hair, the way he took control of my head and the rhythm of my thrusts, making me go farther and deeper than I had been.
I liked it—knowing I was making him harder. Hotter.
Knowing that he wanted this and that it was me who was making his pleasure grow, making this tension and passion build up so hard and so fast. He was close—so damn close. I could tell from the tightness of his body and the way his fingers tightened in my hair. I could tell from the tempo of his breath and the way small shudders burst through his body, radiating all the way through me.
He was going to come— and damned if knowing that didn’t make me even hotter. I was so wet, so turned on that I thought I might come, too, simply from the pleasure of knowing that I took Cole August over the edge.
And then, without warning, he stepped back, pulling me off him so that I was sitting on my heels, gasping and wet and desperate to finish him off.
To feel him explode and know that I did that—that I brought him there.
“On the bed,” he said, his voice all command and sensuality.
I must have hesitated, because he took my arm and lifted me to my feet, then slid his hand between my legs to stroke my sex. My knees went weak, and I sank onto his hand, so it was only the pressure of his palm cupping my sex that kept me from falling.
“Mine,” he said, then thrust two fingers inside me.
“Christ, Kat, do you know how much I want you? How hard I’m going to fuck you?” “Show me,” I said, and he lifted me up and put me on the bed. I lay on my back, but he made a circular motion with his finger. “Knees and elbows. Legs spread. I want to see your cunt. I want to see how wet you are, how much you want me. And I want to see your ass turn red when I spank you.” I felt something shift and tighten inside me as I complied. Anticipation, yes.
Longing, most definitely. But a little bit of fear, too.
Because there was an intensity in his voice that hadn’t been there when he’d spanked me earlier, and that hint of fear—of not knowing what was coming or what he had planned—made me all the more excited.
“Oh, baby.” His hands stroked the globes of my rear, and I bit my lower lip as he spread me wide then slid his hand down to find me drenched and wanting. “Right here,” he said, teasing me with his finger. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, baby. Tell me that’s what you want.” “Yes.” I could barely get the word out past the storm of emotion rattling through me.
“Tell me,” he said. “I want you to say it.” “I want you to fuck me, Cole. Please.” “I think you can do better than that,” he said, sliding his fingertip down to flick lightly over my clit. I gasped, as sparks and shocks raced over my skin. My nipples burned they were so hard, and my sex throbbed with a need so desperate I wasn’t sure that he could ever fuck me long enough or hard enough to satisfy.
“Kat,” he urged, thrusting his finger back inside me, then trailing his drenched fingertip up to tease my anus.
I sucked in air. “I want your cock. I want you to hold me tight and thrust into me. I want it hard, Cole. I want you to pound inside me, over and over, until I can’t stand it anymore. And then I want to explode.” “What else?” “Oh, god, isn’t that enough?” He chuckled. “Frustrated, baby?” “You know I am.” “Then stop teasing, and tell me.” I realized what he wanted me to say. What he’d told me he wanted to do. And, yes, what I wanted as well. “I want you to spank me.” “Why?” “Cole...” I shifted, feeling open and exposed, and not just because I was naked with his hand between my legs.
I waited for him to say something else, but he stayed silent, and I knew that this was part of my punishment, too—exposing myself to Cole. Not my body, but my whole self. My desires. My everything.
“I liked the way it felt,” I admitted, my voice so soft I knew he was having to work to hear it. “There was pain, but it was so sharp and so pure—and I was already so turned on that it was like— like it was bigger than pain.
Like it was electricity, and it was sparking through me, making the whole experience bigger and fuller. I don’t know,” I finished lamely. “I just know I liked it. And,” I added before he could ask, “I want more. I want harder, Cole. I want to go farther. I want to go there with you.” I waited for his reply. For him to tell me that I’d said what he wanted. Or, god help me, for him to demand I reveal even more of myself to him.
But Cole was done with words. Instead, his palm lightly stroked my rear. I sighed, relishing the pleasure of his touch. But I tensed, too, because I was certain that I knew what was coming.
He didn’t disappoint, and soon his hand landed on my rear with a hard smack. As before, I felt the sting, and gasped in surprise and pain.
But then his hand smoothed out the rough edges and those sweet sparks buzzed through me. And then he did it again and again, alternating his blows to get both of my ass cheeks, finding a rhythm that soon had me almost floating and gasping—and my sex throbbing in demanding, unfulfilled longing.
“Now,” Cole said, when the sparks had so consumed me that I felt like I was made of nothing more than electricity. He took my hips and tugged me toward him so that he was standing at the foot of the bed, the tip of his cock pressed against me. “I’m clean,” he said. “I’ve been tested. But do you want me to use a condom?” “No. No, I want to feel you.” I was on the pill, so I wasn’t worried about pregnancy, and I knew I was clean, too. But I appreciated his control, especially considering I hadn’t even thought about protection, I’d been so caught up in the haze of desire.
“Good,” he said. “You’re so wet, baby.” And then, as if to prove it, he thrust inside me. Slowly at first, and then, when he was buried to the hilt, he drew out and then slammed hard into me, just the way I’d asked.
I gasped, losing myself to the sensation of him filling me. Of his hands on my hips guiding me. Of the way his body exploded against mine, making my undoubtedly red ass fire even more with each thrust.
“Touch yourself,” he said, his voice tight with the effort of holding back what was surely a rising storm. “Touch yourself and come with me.” I shifted my weight to one elbow so I could comply, then slipped my hand between my legs and teased myself with small circles, letting the sensation build, knowing that he was claiming me totally and completely— and losing myself to the pleasure of that sweet and decadent reality.
He exploded then, his fingers digging hard enough into my hips to bruise—and that was just enough to send me over, too. He waited for the shudders to die down, both his and mine, then pulled out and slid onto the bed, pulling me into his arms as we both lay there and looked into each other’s eyes, our sated bodies touching and his fingers stroking idly over my naked and sensitive flesh.
“You’re amazing,” he said.
“You make me feel amazing.” His lips brushed my forehead, and before my sleep-heavy eyes finally closed, I saw satisfaction in his warm, dark eyes.
I laid on my back on the warm sand, feeling the surf rush up to my toes, then recede, cooling my overheated flesh.
My eyes were closed, and Cole was beside me, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on my skin, teasing my breasts, sliding down to my sex.
One finger slipped inside me, and I drew in air as heat from the sun and this man consumed me.
A shadow fell over me as he shifted, momentarily blocking the sun. Then he gently spread my legs apart, his palms stroking upward, the movement slow and teasing.
And then I felt the smallest flick of his tongue over my sex, but enough to make me arch up, wanting more.
Dear god, he didn’t disappoint.
His mouth closed over me.
His tongue teasing and tasting. Laving me, playing me, bringing me closer and closer and closer until— It wasn’t him—oh, Christ, it wasn’t him.
Not Cole but Roger.
Sixteen years old, with dark hair and droopy eyes and soft fingers that played with my sex, groping and exploring, as I lay there, frozen and scared and turned on, with all the sensations building and building inside me, but I had to hold them back. Had to keep quiet and still. Had to keep the secret because— Because— Because if I didn’t, then— I came awake with a gasp, but kept my eyes closed.
I was on my back, my legs spread, and I could feel the warm heat of Cole’s tongue on my clit, teasing and playing. I wanted to pull him up, to cry out for him to stop.
I wanted to do that, but I didn’t want to explain. Didn’t want him to see the secret on my face.
And oh, dear god, as he played and teased my clit with his tongue, I couldn’t deny that I didn’t want to stop him because it felt too damn good.
So I stayed there, legs spread, Cole’s mouth so intimate upon me, his expert tongue doing amazing things, and the whole world reduced to this tiny point of pleasure that began as a single spot between my legs and would soon grow and grow until it had no choice but to explode.
And I would explode. I knew it. Hadn’t Cole taken me there already? Over and over and over?
I waited, letting it build, relishing the sparks, the growing culmination of this ultimate passion. I clenched my hands at my sides, silently willing myself to go over, because it was too big now to hold in.
And yet, just like in my nightmares, the explosion wasn’t coming.
I writhed against his mouth in silent demand, wanting, needing, and yet not finding. And god help me, I wanted to cry, because this was it—this was me right back again. Unable to get there. Unable to achieve.
Unable to experience that last, final rush of pleasure.
Most of all, unwilling to explain to Cole.
So I did the only thing I could do. Something I knew how to do because hadn’t I done it with every boy I’d dated? Every boy who had wanted to get close?
I cried out. I arched up. I let my body shake and quiver.
I brought my thighs together, as if in an effort to ward off the near-pain of too much pleasure.
In other words, I put on a hell of a show.
And then, when the performance was over, I gasped and sucked in air and rolled over on my side saying, “Oh, god, oh, god, that was—shit, that was incredible.” “I’m glad you thought so,” Cole said, pulling me close.
I rolled over and buried my face in his chest, then snuggled close.
He kissed the top of my head. I stayed as I was, not wanting to raise my lips for a kiss, because I didn’t want him to see the lie—or my disappointment.
I’d thought I was cured, for lack of a better word. That being with Cole was all I’d needed to fix what had been broken since childhood.
Apparently I’d been wrong, and I hated myself for having gotten my own hopes up. Hated myself even more for caring so much about a goddamn orgasm.
But I did. Damn me, I did.
“Am I that much of an asshole?” His words, so soft in tone and harsh in meaning, pulled me from my thoughts.
“What?” I looked up at him, saw the hard lines of his face and the hurt in his eyes.