Can't Get Enough (19 page)

Watching him sleep, she began to grow bolder—not content with just watching any longer, she ever so gently ran her fingers over his member, which very pleasantly stirred and, much to her fascination and delight, grew thick and hard once again.
But still he kept sleeping!
She was amazed, baffled but tinged with the disappointment that he hadn't noticed; glad that she could still continue with her game.

Emboldened by her success, she leaned across him and lightly traced the seam of his cock, running her fingers from base to tip and back again, barely skimming the soft, delicate skin. She could feel herself becoming aroused again and allowed one of her hands to stray between her legs, caressing the skin that her lover had so recently lapped at hungrily. The memory of his ferocity overtook her; she could still feel the braided gilt ribbon of the
tatami
mats grinding against her hands and knees as he pounded into her, the slapping of his hips against her bottom, how tightly he had squeezed her breasts and the gentle sting of his teeth on her shoulder when he had finally emptied himself inside her. She hadn't come then.
He was quite selfish really
, she thought then, but now, this was all for her to enjoy.

She straddled his thighs then, (
still asleep and snoring
,
the nerve!
) and touched herself, pushing her fingers against her clit in deep, broad strokes until she was certain she could wait no longer. Biting back the moans that would have most certainly awoken her lover, she took that still hard cock in hand and slid it inside herself, the girth and heat causing her to pause, to enjoy the sensation of being filled under her own terms. Her lover seemed to have only faintly registered what had happened: he sighed and, ever so slightly, bucked his hips upward into her.

Throwing caution to the wind, she began to ride him, slowly at first, drawing him out and then deep within herself, then faster, pushing him inside until she could feel his balls bouncing back against her folds. She ran her hands over her breasts, playing with her own nipples with her head thrown back; she was undone, she came and cried out, her own juices rushing down between her thighs, running over his cock and spilling onto the futon. She stayed in place, panting, still staring at the ceiling when she felt two strong hands grip her hips and force her down farther than she had managed onto his now throbbing cock.

Maybe she hadn't been as sly as she thought: she had been caught and was now being punished for it. The hard deep thrusts were joined by something entirely unexpected: a thumb, apparently having learned something from her own actions, was working itself rhythmically against the almost too sensitive nub. He was merciless; she felt herself shaking as she sat pinioned on top of him. There was nowhere to go, nothing she could do but come, again and again as he punished her with maddening, deep thrusts and that thumb, forcing her to submit over and over. It finally ended when she felt him—felt it—spray inside her; the force of her lover's own orgasm making him animalistic, growls coming from the back of his throat through gritted teeth. Their cries must have echoed off the not too distant mountains because the silence afterward was almost unbearable. Her lover pulled her down against his chest and held her in place, his arms woven protectively around her as he cradled her against him.

“Better?” he asked, and then kissed her, a soft, reassuring kiss.

“Much,” she replied.

“Forgive me?”

“Only if you do that again later.”

THE BEAUTIFUL TRUTH

Sophia Valenti

I
'm sitting across from you at the restaurant, attempting to politely listen to your story—something about coworkers and lost files—but I'm failing completely. My ability to focus on what's proper disappears as I watch your lips move and begin to fantasize about them being put to a different use—one that will involve a slow, hot trip down my naked body.

You're wearing a suit and tie, and for once your hair is combed. It's sweet that you've tried so hard to make a good impression on our first date. I'll admit that I've tried, too. I didn't select this skimpy dress by accident. Scarlet looks good on me, and I'd suspected your eyes wouldn't be able to resist my exposed cleavage. I was right.

I smile and take a sip of wine, nodding in hastily manufactured empathy at your complaints about office life. I do care, but not so much at this moment. My main concern is getting through dinner and convincing you that I don't need dessert, even though you've never known me to turn it down in all the time we've been friends.

The rational part of me tells me I should savor this night. After many longing glances and much flirtatious banter, we've finally decided to do what our friends have said we should for years: date. You asked me out to dinner, not to “hang out” with you and your friends. You made it clear that your intention was a romantic evening for just you and me.

But I've waited too long for romance. It requires patience to play that game, and I'm all out. My desire for you is too overwhelming for me to endure that subtle dance.

You raise an eyebrow when I pass up the chocolate cake you know I love, but you're happy when I agree to your offer of a moonlit stroll. I suggest the long way to the waterfront because I know that commercial strip will be deserted this time of night. I have a plan, but in the end, I think it will suit you.

Outside, you hesitate only a second before taking my hand, but you quickly entwine your fingers with mine. And it feels right.

The barest hint of apprehension worries your brain; I know this from our talks. You're concerned that by taking this chance—by trying to build on what we have—we might harm a friendship we've grown to love and depend on. But you think it's worth the risk, and I
know
it is. We're great as friends, and tonight I plan to show you how well we fit as lovers. But I can't wait much longer for that.

Those thoughts are in the forefront of my mind as we head down the empty sidewalk. During the day, this area is teeming with traffic and pedestrians. However, at this time of night, the only sounds are the whoosh of occasional speeding cars, and they're few and far between.

Once we're a safe distance from the restaurant, my eyes begin to scour the storefronts. I see exactly what I'm looking for—a narrow alley between two brick warehouses—and my heart begins to pound.

“Come,” I whisper, keeping my voice low, even though there's no one around to hear me but you.

You're confused—your mind set on that riverfront walk—but I toss my head to the left, toward the mouth of the alley, and tug your hand as I start in that direction.

My body is acting on autopilot. I've given up control of myself to my libido, letting it take over and steer us where we need to go.

In the shadows, I push you against the wall. I lean in for our first kiss—hot, hungry and laced with anticipation—and you join me in a perfect moment of unfettered lust. Years of longing swirl with our urgent desires, and I feel drunk with passion.

That kiss immediately unlocks something inside you, something primal and all male. Your tongue flicks against my lips, urging them to open. They do, and I let you in. You deepen our kiss, tangling your fingers in my hair as your tongue claims my mouth. I like that you've gone from polite and sweet to sexy and savage in no time flat. I always knew you had it in you.

I'm light-headed with lust, as if your kisses are stealing my very breath. I feel as though I might swoon, but you hold me tight and I manage to stay on my high-heeled feet.

In one smooth motion, you flip us around. My back is up against the bricks, their rough surface scraping my nearly bare shoulders. Your entire body is pressed against mine, and in this position I can feel the evidence of your arousal. Your cock, hard and insistent, presses against my belly; I feel it even through the layers of our clothes. Knowing that you're so hot for me, so fast, makes me ache even more for you.

Tugging my hair gently, you pull my head to the side and expose my neck. I allow my eyes to flutter closed as I concentrate on your tongue and how it feels skidding down my flesh. You kiss and nip at the skin above my collarbone, and I feel a
jolt of arousal shoot straight to my clit. My lust now has a pulse of its own, beating wildly between my legs.

As my passion increases, I begin rhythmically thrusting my hips toward you. The motion does little to satisfy my demanding clit, but I know it's driving you closer to the edge because of the growl that escapes your lips. The sound unravels me; it's like I've never known the real you—the sexy you—but it's clear that I'm about to find out exactly who he is and what he can do to me.

That tantalizing thought is still swirling through my head as you turn me to face the wall. I brace my hands against the bricks—still warm from the day's intense heat—and my fingers aimlessly claw against the uneven surface as I thrust my ass toward you in a lewd offering.

You lean over me to whisper hotly in my ear. “It's been too long,” you say, as you yank down my panties. Keeping my hands against the wall, I shimmy my hips to help you dispose of my undies, kicking them away when they reach my feet. “I want you—I need you. Now!” Your voice is filled with raw, unbridled emotion and makes me shiver. Goose bumps pebble my skin, despite the heat of the night.

The world outside of this dark, private space ceases to exist. All that's real is the rustle of fabric and the rasp of a zipper, and your hand at my hip with my dress balled up in your fist. Your cock is nestled between my thighs, barely kissing my clit, and I can't resist arching my back a little more, adding to the pressure that's making both of us crazy.

“Oh, girl, you don't know what you do to me.” Your mouth is on my neck again, biting me so hard that I wonder if you're going to leave a mark—and don't really care if you do. Your harsh kisses leave me panting and gasping and breathing heavily between parted lips. You're rocking your hips, letting the length of you slide along my slit, the head of your cock gliding across
my swollen clit and making my body quake. Before long, my thighs feel slick with the honey that's flowing out of me. I need you more now than I have ever needed anyone in my life.

“Show me,” I manage to utter, my voice as ragged as my breath. “Show me how I make you feel.”

As those words leave my lips, you plunge your cock inside me. A single hot, hard stroke, and you're balls-deep. My pussy's so wet and ready for you. One of your hands is working its way inside the bodice of my dress to cup my breast. As you pinch my nipple, I cry out loud and my voice echoes in this desolate space.

My fingers clutch at the wall, searching for purchase as I thrust my body back against you. You're pumping in and out of me, corkscrewing your hips to hit the most delicious spots inside me. We settle into a lustful rhythm, our complementary motions taking each other ever closer to the brink.

I work my body faster and faster. As your name falls from my lips, you slide your hand down my body, your palm settling on my mound. Your fingers ride along either side of your shaft, picking up some of my moisture each time you slide out of me. Using the evidence of my arousal, you bring those fingertips to my clit and press against it. One, two, three lovely circles and my body bucks wildly, my pussy pulsing around your cock. As my sex spasms around your shaft, you keep pumping into me and extend my pleasure. Holding me tightly, you thrust into me one final time, and I feel you throb inside me as you reach your peak.

After we pull apart, I turn to you. You're loving and gentle as you hold and kiss me, but the sweet, perfect ache resulting from our frenzied coupling tells me the beautiful truth: yes, we've been great friends, but we're even better as lovers.

WAITING

Erzabet Bishop

I
f you saw me on the street, you would pass me by. I am the woman next to you in the checkout line at the grocery store and two tables over as you eat dinner in your favorite restaurant. My build is average. My blonde hair is straight and long and I usually wear it in a simple bun or ponytail. Nothing fancy. My clothes are basic: blue jeans and a black blazer with a taupe blouse. Pretty conservative really. Until you look at my shoes and see the three-inch heels and a name brand that would take up more than a week's salary.

Hurrying down the sidewalk, I pause midstride to check my watch. Five minutes. My heart becomes a fluttering dove in my chest as I walk faster. Legs shaking, I balance on the edge of the curb, just moments from my destination. Every Tuesday and Thursday, for just an hour, I am alive. My panties are already moist and my hands shake, remembering the fullness of his cock inside me. Picturing the strike of a paddle across my ass as he lovingly stroked my clit into sublime abandon makes me
weak with anticipation. Recalling our session last week charges my body with anticipation, and I struggle to walk faster. It is the waiting that makes me savor it all the more. I have to be with him.

The room is not far from my office. It is a private club in a nondescript building, one you wouldn't notice from the street. It too is hidden in plain sight. The room I am seeking is on the second floor. Sir does not like it when I am late. A pleasant flush creeps up my cheeks, and a secret smile turns up the corner of my lips. The thought occurs to me that maybe I should tarry a moment longer to see how much I can test his resolve today. Will he punish me? I shiver with anticipation, aching to feel the sting of a flogger against my flesh.