Just the Sex: Erotica Shorts Page 2

  I move, my limbs sluggish and irritable, my orgasm party cut short. My brain tries to process his words, tries to remember where the Master Bedroom is. I am aided by his hands, pushing me through the kitchen, down a short hall and into the first doorway, my bare feet hitting thick carpet as my eyes adjust to darkness with a rainbow of a thousand city lights stretched before me.

  My body is spun by his hands until I face him, the lights reflecting in his eyes, his mouth finding mine, his hands gripping my waist and lifting me up and outward, until soft bed is beneath me and he is above me, the thick length of him stiff and heavy against my thighs. I part my legs, his body settling between them, his mouth taking my throat, soft kisses alternating with delicate feedings of my flesh, his tongue teasing and torturing the hollows of my neck.

  He grinds against me, his hand reaching down and placing his cock upward between our bodies, its hard shaft heavy between my legs, every thrust of his pelvis creating delicious friction on my sex. He lifts his mouth from my neck, hovering above my mouth and changes the pace, kissing me softly and deeply as he slides his bare cock over me. I gasp against his mouth, an ache between my legs growing, the tease of his shaft driving me wild, every withdrawal thrust giving me hope that he will move it two inches lower and bury it inside of me.

  I, despite my ridiculous stripper standard of abstinence, have had plenty of partners; my college career littered with drunken hookups and failed relationships. The one-night-stand experience and I are old acquaintances, having shared three or four awkward experiences. One-night stands have, in my experience, always been disastrous, two strangers fumbling through sex while trying to convince each other that they are having timeoftheirlife sex. This is something else entirely.

  This is electricity, sizzling between our bodies and creating heat of intense need. There is, at this point in time, no going back. If he changes his mind, pulls off of my body, I will tackle him to the ground and take his cock. I am ravenous, my body crying out for his, my mouth, fingers and skin itching for his touch, for his domination. What he demands, I will freely give, his orchestration of our sex uncontested. I don’t want to battle with him, I want to pour out my body for him to use in any way he sees fit. I have tasted submission to him and love the release of control.

  He pulls off of me, disappearing for a brief moment, only to return, his hands rolling over his cock, shielding it with a thin skin of latex. I lay back, my fingers where his shaft had previously been, my sex begging for stimulation, needing a release that will only be sweet enough if he participates. My eyes devour him as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between my legs, his eyes on mine.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  I don’t respond and he grips my legs, pulling me to him, my legs and body open to him, his hands pushing mine away. He brushed his stiff head over my swollen lips, watching my eyes. I take a quick breath, the tease of his head too much, the look in his eyes even more of a turn-on. Possessive, dominating, with a fire behind them that both terrifies and electrifies me. He knows what I want, what I need. But I love this look in his eyes, the raw need and demand in their intensity. If withholding my response lights that fire, then I want to drag it on as long as humanly possible.

  He leans forward, grips the back of my neck and lifts me towards him, till my face is beneath his, his hot breath on my lips. “Tell me,” he spits out.

  I resist, my eyes glued to his, my body swooning when he presses his thick tip against my soaked opening. My eyes shutter close, the pending sensation too good not to savor. Another inch, shoved firmly in, another quick intake of breathe. Holy hell. My body reacts to his in a way I’ve never experienced. His firm grip, tangled in my hair, grounds me – his cock causes me to soar to unnatural planes, satisfying a carnal need I never knew I could have.

  “Tell. Me.” He orders, his mouth against mine, close enough to touch, but just enough space to torture. He withdraws slowly, causing me to moan in anguish.

  “You,” I whisper against his mouth.

  “Louder.”

  “You,” I say stronger, spelling out the word as our eyes meet. “Your cock. Now. Please.”

  He thrusts fully, my body crying in joyous celebration as I get to experience all of him, his hard shaft causing my eyes to shut and head to fall back against his hand. I grab his shoulder, gripping the strength of him, wanting to be close to him as he withdraws. Then thrusts. Then withdraws. Long slow fucks in which my body memorizes his shape, contracts around his girth, and worships his stroke. During these minutes, he owns me, regardless of the money or the orders. I am fully and completely his.

  I wrap my legs around his strong body, my heels digging into his perfect ass as he increases his pace, the slick sounds of our bodies mixing with hot breaths and rough kisses. He kisses like he will never get enough, feasting on my mouth while maintaining a fluid rhythm with his body, propping himself off of me with one hand while the other hand cradles my neck, holding me up to him.

  I can’t take much more of this, the furious pace building an animalistic need inside of me, a need that will only be fulfilled when I come. It is close, my core pulsing around his cock, our kiss interrupted by my gasp, my whimper as my entire body tenses underneath his.

  “Don’t. Stop.” I beg, bucking backwards against his hand, my head rolling as the buildup reaches an overflow point, my orgasm on the edge of explosion. He releases my head, bracing both hands on the bed and unleashes the full force of his cock, quick, fast thrusts that are perfect in rhythm, perfect in speed, and heavenly on my body. I risk a look upward, at the god above me, his body framed by city lights, his face determined and intense, the muscles of his chest and arms emphasized by the position, the overall package too much. The orgasm rips through me, tearing out sensibility and logic and barriers on its path, my body tensing underneath him, my heels gripping him tightly and I wildly reach out, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him to me, the movement doing nothing to slow the fuck, my orgasm stretched out with every pump of his muscular hips.

  He doesn’t give me time to rest, rolling with me until I am on top, dizzy with lust, staring down on the beauty that is BlueEyes.

  “Ride me.” Dark, dangerous words, spoken with an edge.

  I move, grinding my hips against him, a rolling motion that creates friction on my clit.

  “No. Up and down.” He scowls at me, the expression doing nothing but making whatever vibe he rocks more devastating. I move my feet underneath me, resting my weight on my feet and move, lifting up and then down, feeling him respond inside of me, his shaft thickening and straightening, a slight twitch in its movement. I groan at the sensation, the stiff rod slick and hard inside me, filling my sex with every downward path. I settle fully down, the depth surprising me, the complete fullness something I can’t remember ever experiencing. His hands reach out, gripping my waist and holding me down, thrusting slightly from below, my mouth opening slightly at the new sensation, my glazed eyes held by his, a cocky smile crossing his face. He pins me against him and moves both of us upward, sliding along the bed until he is propped against the headboard and supported by pillows, sitting half up, the change affecting the angle, a delicious effect that has me shivering in pleasure.

  “Fuck me.” His words are strong, his eyes locked with mine, his smile dropping slightly as need overtakes his features.

  I move, sliding up and down in hard bounces, the impact eliciting a smile from him, a nod of approval. I move my hands to my breasts, the movement familiar, one I do on a nightly basis during a lap dance. I lift the weight of them, squeezing them against my skin and am surprised by the change in his face. He sits fully up, knocking my hands to the side; my vertical movement temporarily paused by the action.

  Moving swiftly, he grips my wrists, pinning them behind my back and transferring them to one hand. I pull with my hands, unable to free them and frown, his face now level with mine, inches away. I lean forward, trying for a kiss, wanting to calm whatever storm I have awakene
d, but he pulls back. “Keep riding,” he rasps.

  The new position forces me to my knees, my feet sliding beneath me. I obediently continue, my inner stretch indicating that my unknown foul in no way affected his arousal. He grips my wrists harder, using them as resistance, my fucks turning shallower as I move to the position he seems to want, my back arched to allow my hands to travel lower, my breasts now offered to him, his breath becoming ragged as I continue a hard rhythm on his cock.

  “Perfect,” he groans, holding my wrist tightly, that hand now at my ass, a firm finger escaping from the cluster of hands and pressing on the exposed pucker between my cheeks. “You are fucking perfect.”

  A compliment. I fight to hide my surprise, warmth spreading through my body at the words. It seems that, since the moment he walked into my life, I have second-guessed my movements, my touches, my appeal. The words give me renewed confidence and I continue riding him, a gasp escaping me when his mouth lowers to my breasts.

  That thing he does, that alternation of teeth and tongue – it has a stronger effect than before, my entire body at a new, ungodly level of arousal, the buds of my breasts sensitive and crying out for the attention he lavishes with his mouth. His finger moves deeper, pressing gently on my ass until it is given entrance, the tightness causing him to swear against my breasts, the added sensation causing me to tremble.

  “I can’t – I’m about to...” my warning isn’t going to occur in time, my orgasm impatient, seizing my body in a full attack, my legs going dumb from the assault, pleasure rippling through me even as alarms warn me to keep moving, danger of weakening this orgasm ahead.

  He takes over, pants of excitement coming as he fucks me from below, thrusting in and out as he holds my body still with his hands, his finger in my ass gripping slightly as I come apart in his hands, a cry ripping out of my throat, animalistic in its strength.

  I think he’s coming also, grunts coming from deep within his throat, his upward thrusts hard and fast, pounding and shaking my entire body with their strength. He releases my wrists, gripping my waist with both hands and forcing my body into action, pulling me up and down in rhythm with his strokes, until he roars, a primal bellow of ownership and conquer, his strokes slowing as the sound fades from his throat, wildness in his eyes, his mouth taking mine as his hips slow, his arms wrapping tightly around my body and holding me solidly against him. He marks me as his, strokes of his tongue speaking clearer than words ever could, ragged breaths coming from both of us as our mouths separate, and then reconnect, him tasting me fully as his cock softens inside of me. Then he pushes against my chest, lifting his mouth off of me and rolls over, depositing me onto the bed and kneeling on a tangle of sheets, his bare body towering above me on the bed.

  I stare at him through drugged eyes, my eyes making a slow and delicious journey over every curve, cut, and bulge of his body. The best sex of my life has officially wiped me out, every muscle a relaxed mess of orgasmy uselessness. He breathes hard, staring at me, then wipes his mouth and hops off the bed, walking bare assed out of the room.

  angry.

  rough.

  dominating.

  sex.

  Nathan is a man possessed, grabbing me the moment I enter the room, his hands tight on my arm, my robe’s thin silk doing nothing to prevent what will be bruises. I drop the cool exterior, the mask that I adorned before stepping into this house, and look at him in panic.

  He is a ball of barely restrained emotion, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts, his face dark, the lines in his face heavy and pronounced. He pushes me, over to the leather chaise lounge, until I am on my back and he is towering over me, his hands in fists.

  “Nathan, please.” I gasp, moving away from him, my robe open around my legs.

  “You think this is a game?” he hisses. “Our marriage, our agreement?”

  I open my mouth, searching for something to say, not understanding his anger. Was this over the pool? My little ridiculous swim?

  He leans closer, ‘til his mouth is inches from mine, ‘til his breath is hot on my skin. “Answer me.”

  I wet my lips. “No,” I whisper.

  “No, what?” he snarls, yanking the sash on my robe, the silk moving easily under his strength.

  “No, its not a game.” I keep my face timid, my voice soft, but inside my teeth bare and my claws flex. No, it’s not a game, this is my life, my worth, my sanity. For a man who doesn’t like games, he should throw out the rules and stop keeping score of who is ahead in the I’m-in-control race. His eyes are hard on mine and staring in them tells me exactly how furious he is. I have never seen him this angry, have never seen this level of emotion from him in any way. It lights a fire in my belly, knowing that I have elicited this response, knowing that he cares enough to be mad.

  He reaches forward, gripping the back of my neck and pulling me up, pressing his mouth roughly to mine as he pulls open my robe, baring my body to him. It is not a kiss. It is a domination, strong movements of his tongue that tease, taste, and torment my tongue. He nips my bottom lip, fucks me with his tongue, then gently kisses my swollen lips, taking one final journey of my mouth before he pulls off.

  I open my eyes, expecting a softer Nathan above me, expecting the change in his kiss to reflect the forgiveness that had occurred. His fists have loosened, those hands now running rampant over my body, my robe fully open, my legs parted with his knee. His face has calmed, the deep lines faded, the set of his mouth relaxed. But his eyes betray him. His eyes show the fierce anger that still burns brightly. And I know. I know that my punishment is not over.

  These depths of fire flicker to the backyard, then return to me, and I understand. This is how he will punish me. Public humiliation, putting me on display while he fucks me senseless. He will remind me of where I came from, treat me like the whore that I – that one night – was.

  And he does. He makes me stand, naked before the window, my palms to the glass, his hands on my ass cheeks, fucking me so hard that my breasts bounce from the impact. I feel the sting of his hand, against my ass, while his words spit out hard and unforgiving, “You belong to me. You are mine.”

  The landscapers, bless their hearts, keep their eyes low, focus on their work. But I know they see. They see when he forces me to my knees, his hand firm on my head, my bare body before his clothed one. They see when I take his cock deep down my throat, my body shaking from the effort, when my back contracts and I gag. They see when his thighs flex and his eyes close and he fills my throat with satisfaction.

  But that’s not the worst of it. The worst of it I am ashamed to say, ashamed to admit to myself. The worst is that, even at the height of it, even when I felt their eyes, and hated Nathan’s demands, I was aroused. Panting in my pussy, moisture dripping down my leg, aroused. I moaned when he spanked me. I begged for more as he fucked me. I looked into his eyes and asked for his cum.

  I know. I am as screwed up as he is.

  forbidden.

  cheating.

  want.

  “I jack off to you at night.”

  I have angered Drew. Too many questions, which is a common mistake I make. But my workout is over, two mind-crushing hours with Beth, the bitch who won’t stop till I vomit, the one who thinks soy is delicious and sweat is pleasure. And I feel, as I twist the cap and chug cold water, that I should have some sort of reward, such as answers.

  I don’t know why the questions make the bodyguard so mad. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it is the mention of Nathan that boils his blood. But if he is that easily riled up by Nathan, the man would have gone crazy by now. Drew’s life spins around the axel that is Nathan, his every move orchestrated by the manicured hands that are Mr. Dumont.

  My question of the day is a simple one, coming to me during an agonizing long set of sit-ups. A simple question. I ask it in the kitchen, twisting off the lid of my water bottle, the five words rolling off my tongue as casually as I can dispel them.

  Drew’s eyes go from disinte
rest to stone to anger to fury. My water bottle hits the floor, water jetting in all directions as he grips my shoulders, slamming the refrigerator door closed and shoving me against it, his face close to mine. I tense, closing my eyes to his furious green ones, taking a gasp of air before shutting my mouth, willing my questions to shutthehellup for a moment. “Shut up,” he whispers, the words a growl against my skin, my feminine body realizing so many things in one brief second.

  His hard body against my own, the unforgiving ridge of his muscles impressive.

  The peppermint flavor of his breath, hot in my ear, yet finding its way to my nose, and I inhale his scent – a blend of grass and sweat and mint that is intoxicating.

  His hands, originally against my shoulders, have moved. One is now cupping my neck, pulling my head to one side, the other grips my ass, his large hand slipping under the loose hem of my shorts and grips my bare skin tightly, fitting our bodies together in one, unending connection.

  His breath, that hot air that was against my ear has moved, along the curve of my neck, his head lowering to my skin, his breaths quickening to match the fast beats of his heart, which thud hard against my breasts.