A Bitch In Time (Marina: Part One: Naughty Nookie Series) (6 page)

“I don’t want you to feel that
way,” I mumble, feeling a little ashamed.

“Well, then.  Talk to
me.  We’re more than just fuck buddies, Marina.  I care about you.”

For a moment, I’m stunned by
his honesty.  In truth, it staggers me.  I can do no less than offer
the same to him.  Even though I hadn’t meant to.  But those four
words have changed things.  Unexpected, granted.  But they have.

Swallowing back my nerves, I
whisper, “I’m ready to go home.”

If he’d shocked me, I think
that in no way compares to how surprised Nate is.  He jerks with the force
of it.  His brow lowers and more than anything, any questions or whatever,
he looks concerned.  When he untangles our fingers and raises his good
hand to cup my chin in an attempt to force me to look at him, I don’t seek to
evade him.  Our eyes connect and his voice is low as he murmurs, “You’ll
tell me in the morning, right?  Tell me what’s going on?”

I nod and tilt my head so I
can nuzzle into his hand all the more.  The sensation of those rough
calluses against the tender flesh of my jaw has my skin tingling.  The
physical evidence of hard, manual labor stirs me in a way I can’t describe. 
My business was sex, the selling thereof, but with this man; sex is so much
more than an act.  It’s a union of myself and him… and I’ve never felt so
poetical about it before.

And considering I loved my
husband that says a lot.

But now isn’t the time to
think about Jimmy.  There’s never a good time, but this sure as hell isn’t
it.

He’s shocked at the
affectionate gesture, of my face turning deeper into his gentle caress. 
I’m not that sort of woman, I guess and for a moment, I mourn the fact I’m
not.  What am I but an empty shell that lost her soul to her high school
sweetheart?  Genetics, breeding, teachings… they all taught me to be
self-assured and self-aware, but Jimmy’s death isolated me.  Wrapped me in
a case of ice with such a depth, I was sure it would never thaw.

I guess I’m surprised Nate
might be the guy to do it.

I couldn’t even suffer the
prospect of returning to Blue Ridge if he wasn’t there.  I’d do anything;
go anywhere to
not
return home.  As long as Nate’s at my side,
however, I can go back.  So long as he deems it safe for me and the
commune to do so.

For four years, I’ve been in
this weird relationship with him and it’s only as I sit astride him, my face
tucked into his large, warm paw that I realize how deep we are.  Thousands
of miles separate us on a daily basis, but we’re still connected.  With
our eyes bridged, I realize he’s been waiting for me to make that realization.

I guess it’s do or die time.

And Jimmy, bless his
seventeen-year-old soul, wouldn’t have wanted me to be his widow for the rest
of my life.  The time to say goodbye will be back at Blue Ridge, but
without even meaning to, I’ve taken that first step.

I guess, for that, I should
thank the Russians.

Yeah.

Maybe not.

“You’re looking at me weird.”

With his tawny hair against
the crisp white cotton pillowcases, he looks all the more golden.  All the
more delicious.

“Since when does a guy equate
weird with horny?”

His grin widens, displaying
white teeth.  Not dentist-white.  Natural white.  And the difference
is all the sexier.  Nate is one-hundred per cent pure male.  Not
doctored or gone under the knife.  His eyes crinkle with crow lines that
are all the more visible thanks to the contrast of his tanned skin.  Smile
lines border his mouth and his jaw has faint creases running down his cheeks
from too many grins.

He’s a happy man.  His
face paints that picture.

Really, he’s the opposite of
me.  I’m not renowned for an uplifted frame of mind.

“I never thought Ms. Denison
would ever say that word.”

I shrug and if the movement
has one of the straps on my camisole top falling down and if my hair happens to
swirl about my shoulders, then that’s no fault of mine.  Right?

“Truth’s the truth.”

“What if I can’t handle the
truth?”

I grin.  “Oh, you can
handle it.” 

That faint challenge knocks
any and all thoughts out of my brain.  This is no time for seriousness,
but for play.  I’ve waited a long time for it and screw the consequences
of taking this one night, before dealing with the bare facts of the way I’ve
fucked up my life and the people close to me.

Selfish, maybe.  But
sometimes, you’ve got to live a little.

What are a few hours among
friends?

With the sheet gathered behind
me, he’s bare from the neck to his groin.  Those obliques of his make
their silent call and I have to lick my lips at the sight of them.  My
toes twist and cross underneath the weight of my body, burrowing into the
mattress as I force myself away from the thought of nibbling the flesh with my
teeth.  I want to tease and torment.  I want him to beg for me.

Sucking in a slow breath so he
doesn’t realize I’m a little nervous, I smile at him.  

“Oh, Christ, now I know I
should be scared.”

His teasing soothes me like
nothing else could. 

My confidence returns and with
a bang.  I lean down and press my mouth to his.  The instant our lips
connect, quicksilver pours down my veins and supercharges my senses. 

Our tongues brush, a faint
flutter as the sensitive flesh tingles in reaction.  My breath catches in
my throat, making it hard to breathe and my hands flutter, the fingers
spreading and opening as they knead the air.  Within seconds, I concede
defeat and wrap them about his upper arms. 

The instant my skin touches
his, a shiver quakes down my spine and I bring a halt to the play of lips and
tongue, the tug-of-war that has me panting like I’ve just run a marathon. 

The only way I can separate
myself from him is to rip my mouth away from his.  A part of me wants to
launch myself at him again, but I withhold the urge and fling myself upright. 
Christ, the momentum should have been enough to give me whiplash!  But I’m
saved by the thick, work-roughened fingers of his left hand as they dig into my
butt cheek.

I settle myself against him,
so that his cock is in the deep ‘V’ between my legs.  The instant the heat
from his shaft settles against my clothed pussy, my toes curl again and of its
own volition, my head tilts backwards, as ecstasy pours through me.  All
of a sudden, my sensitivity levels shoot through the roof and that point of
contact feels almost as painful as being branded.  Okay, slight
exaggeration, but you tell me what it feels like after three months of no sex
while existing in a sexually charged environment for a living!

I’m fucking desperate to be
fucked!

Breathing is hard,
too
hard
and I suck in air like I’ve never inhaled before.  And what caused such
need of oxygen?  The sight of his cock, lying flat against his belly, just
above where I’ve seated myself.

His cock isn’t the largest
I’ve seen.  In my line of work, I’ve seen many.  Even if it was
through a peephole!  But Nate’s seven-incher is in no way average. 
It’s thick.  I’m talking as ‘thick as his wrist’ thick.  I’m talking
every time he sticks it in me, I feel like a virgin.  I wonder if I can
take it all.  If it will even fit.  My body panics.  My pussy
rebels and then, he forges deep inside, pushing the mouth of my sex wide open
and it all makes sense. 

That memory is the one to
stick with me through the months separating us.  

I’ll masturbate to it. 
Fuck myself with a finger and wish it were him.  In a way, Nate’s cock has
ruined me for any other.  Nobody else can fill me the way he does. 
Nobody else can fuck me the way he can.  He’s the best lover I’ve ever
had.

Okay, he’s the fourth guy I’ve
ever slept with.  Mona and Eddie have this idea I’m promiscuous. 
That I have all the ‘sexual’ answers.  Well, yeah.  You work in a
brothel, and you’re pretty
with it
.  Hell, it’s my industry. 
My job is to know what the clients want and provide it.  Or should I say
it
was
.

I refuse to feel depressed
when the cock of my dreams is before me, literally pulsing with arousal. 
My mouth waters and I reach for it like I’ve been fasting for thirty days and
someone has just pushed a one-hundred pound éclair my way.

I want to lean down and suck
it.  Swallow it.  Massage it with my tongue.  But I’ve been
taking lessons from Jenna and I want to try it out.

With both hands, I cup his
dick at the base and press down tightly until his hips ripple a little, his abs
flexing, forcing a hiss from his mouth.  Then, with my thumbs on the
underside of his shaft, I slide my hand upwards until I reach the tip and the
mushroom head with its thick, corrugated line of tissue.

My pussy clenches in sensory
memory.  Once that bit has wedged its way in, my cunt starts to feel like
a competitive eater after his eightieth hot dog. 

And at that point, my thumbs
stay in the exact same place and I begin to massage that very point. 
Jenna calls this edging, although that isn’t my intention. Well, maybe just to
tease a little. 

Pre-cum has soaked the glans,
already
. 
I use the moisture against him, letting my fingers trail up and down his shaft,
gently, almost tickling.  Learning each and every vein, rubbing it and
giving it a bit of treatment before returning to the head of his cock and
loving it. 

The mushroom-shaped tip starts
to throb and seeing it, my pussy softens, melting almost with the need to have
that thick rod inside me.

Not yet.

Knowing he’s on the brink of
cumming, I bring a halt to my play and start to move toward him and ultimately
settle at his groin.  I spread my legs so they’re as wide as I can
comfortably stretch and with his cock down the central line of my cunt, I rock
my hips. 

His back immediately arches,
the tendons in his neck flaring, the muscles in his belly rippling as he grunts
out, “Fuck that feels good.”

He isn’t kidding.

Even with the cloth of my
short shorts separating us, it feels intense, so fucking good it should be
illegal.  The friction of the fabric is both a pleasure and torture. 
Had the room not been damned hot already, steam would have started to mist it
up. 

As it is, the temperature is
like standing next to a geyser.  The atmosphere feels as pressurized as
that too and the air con can’t keep up. 

Beneath me and between my
thighs, Nate is tense.  I can see each and every muscle straining against
the simple rub of my covered sex against his bare one.

I continue with the gentle
movement, teasing myself and him.  Sweat beads my brows, drips down
between my breasts and is only caught by the damp fabric of my demi-cup
bra.  Maintaining the rocking motion, I cross my arms at the waist and
drag the camisole top I’m wearing over my head. 

The sight of my slim
body makes Nate hiss.

With any guy, I’d feel
uncomfortable revealing myself.  My body confidence isn’t all that
huge.  When you’ve got the Next Top Model as your best friend and another
who’d make Marilyn Monroe jealous, it’s easy to feel overshadowed.  Even
cocksure me.

But never with Nate.

He doesn’t see the
flaws. 

The pointy bones and ribs that
show through my flesh no matter how much I eat.  I wish I were curvy,
feminine instead of boyish.  But he never complains. He just sees me and
likes the little there is of me.

My hands move around to my
back and I make to release the catch of my bra, but he grabs my wrist and stops
me.  Shrugging, I return my grip to about his waist and shudder when his
fingers peel down the cups of the bra and provide a shelf for the meager offerings
of my breasts.  The dexterity of his prosthetic is surprising and having
grown accustomed to just the one set of fingers plying my body with sensation,
to have both nipples teased and tugged simultaneously has my back arching, head
flinging back on its own volition and a hiss whistling through my teeth.

The perfectly timed pinches
send bolts of fire down to my already molten-hot pussy and the act stirs me
into motion.

From my kneeling position, I
bolt upright and away from the pleasure-pain pinch of his fingers.  Once
standing, I proceed to peel down my short shorts to the sight of a bemused if
satisfied Nate.

When I’m naked, save for my
tangled and mangled bra, I return to my earlier position.  This time, as
bare flesh hits bare flesh, the pair of us share a long, low groan.  I
spread my pussy lips, surround his shaft with the clinging petals, and once
again, continue with my rubbing motion.

I rock until my hips ache and
my thighs are wincing with the abuse but I don’t care.  This is slow
torture for both of us and somehow, it’s just what the doctor ordered.  A
way to reconnect, to come together again after such a long time apart.

I hiss every time his drenched
glans nudges my clit and he grunts, when on the backward rock, his cock almost
finds its way inside me. 

I can’t say how long I
tortured us both, all I know is I turned myself mindless.  I become
nothing more than a rutting madwoman using the cock between my legs for my own
pleasure.  All the while knowing that the cock doesn’t belong to a
stranger, but to a man who means too much to me, and who is being driven as
crazy as I am.

I was dragged out of the odd
trance, a stasis that had my pussy so slick with juices it was like lube had
been poured over my sex.  I was too far-gone to give a damn or to be in
anyway embarrassed.  Hard hands suddenly gripped my hips and forced me to
stop the endless rocking.  The instance I was back in business, my head no
longer spaced with the sheer gut-wrenching pleasure of being at one with Nate,
I buried my nails deep into the muscle-ridged expanse of his belly.  He
didn’t let that stop him though.

Within seconds, I’m riding his
head.  His show of strength fills me with arousal and I let him position
me, as my brain ponders if what he’s just done was physically possible. 
Then, I stop giving a shit; because he stops rearranging me and lets me just
sit there. 

Dazed, I hover, both awaiting
the next touch and dreading it.  I’m too sensitized.  I know it and
my pussy knows it. 

Inches away from Nate’s mouth
and nose, I know my scent, the most intimate part of me, is likely to be
filling his senses.  I should be embarrassed at the idea; instead, it just
ratchets up my need a little more. 

As I breathe, my body
naturally moves.  Only inches, hardly at all, but it’s enough to feel the
faint rasp of stubble against my most sensitive parts.  With each faint
grate of coarse hair against the tender lips of my sex, I quiver. 

It’s immense, intense. 

The sensations rattling
through me are turbo-charged, so Christ knows what the tug and suck of his lips
will do!

With each slow release of his
breath, I begin to shudder.  The hot and cold gusts of air shoot me right
to the edge until I screech, “Do it, Nate! For God’s sake, do it!”

Driven to the edge, he can
hear the desperation bleeding out of me and he does exactly what I wanted.

The screech of seconds before
seems low-pitched in comparison to the shriek that escapes me now.

His lips pull my clit between
their soft pillowing flesh and he tugs.  Then sucks and then licks.

The rhythmic trio is a series
of actions invented to break my sanity.

My hands claw at the air,
wafting about, unsure of what to do, where to settle to calm the raging beast
of my arousal.  Eventually, I rest them on my head and pull at my hair as
numbing heat singes my very soul.

On a lick, I explode. 
And Nate takes advantage.  His tongue flutters down to the opening of my
sex and he rims it with the pointy end of the slick muscle. 

Had I been seeing stars
before, now with the sounds of his slurping filling my ears as he licks my
cream, and the faint sting of my hair-tugging roiling around my system, I’m at
St Peter’s pearly gates.  Because nowhere else could possibly be this
beautiful.