Read Lana Online

Authors: R.K. Lilley

Lana (5 page)

 
He rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes when he’d recovered.
 
“Fuck,” he cursed.
 

 
I sat up, worried.
 
Did he regret it, already?
 
Couldn’t I at least get one night of pleasure before it all came crashing down again?

 
I stood and walked, naked, to the window.
 
It was huge, with a perfect view of the ocean.
 
I leaned my head against it.
 

 
“You are gonna give some lucky bastards quite the show if you plaster your body to the window like that.”
 

 
I glanced back at him, pressing a breast very deliberately against the glass.
 
“Oops,” I said, batting my eyelashes at him in a mock innocent pose.
 
The beach was empty at the moment, so I wasn’t worried about it.
 

 
He gave me an exasperated look.
 
“You are as sassy as ever.
 
Some things never change.”

 
I arched my back, wiggling my bum at him, just a little bit.
 
“Do you need to spank me?”
 

 
I watched, in frozen fascination, as his semi-hard cock came to full attention again.
 
He groaned, as though it were the most bothersome thing in the world.
 

 
It wasn’t bothersome to me.
 

 
I leaned against the window, arching my back and parting my legs.
 
I lay my cheek against the glass as I sent him what I hoped was a sultry look.
 
“We already had sex.
 
Why stop at once?
 
The damage is done, right?”
 

 
He was striding to me before I’d finished taunting him.
 
He grabbed my hips from behind, pressing hard against me, and working himself in, inch by hard inch.
 
He went slowly at first, making sure that I could take all of him at that angle.
 
After he’d cleared my passage twice, he began a pounding rhythm that had me making desperate little sounds in my throat. My climax built fast.
 
He grabbed my breasts, squeezing and kneading at them.
 
“I’ve jerked myself off to your pictures more times than I can count,” he whispered into my ear.
 

 
That did it.
 
I came, gasping out his name.
 

 
He jerked into me a half a dozen more times before he reached his own climax, clutching at my breasts and biting my neck almost roughly.
 
I loved the rawness of it.

 
He pulled me into bed with him after that, cuddling against me.
 
I hadn’t forgotten how sweet he could be.
 
The memories still haunted me.
 
Often.
 

 
“Did you really masturbate to my pictures, or were you just saying that?” I asked him, looking up to see his eyes.

 
He looked down at me, where I cuddled in my little spot on his chest, his expression baffled.
 
“Why the hell would I just say that?
 
It’s perverted and nasty, not to mention embarrassing.
 
I felt like I needed to get it off my chest.
 
And it’s not ‘did’, it’s ‘do’.
 
When I jerk off to a picture, I guarantee it’s yours.”
 

 
I laughed, loving the disgruntled look on his face.
 
“Prove it.
 
I haven’t modeled in years.
 
Where would you even get my picture?”
   

 
He gave me a pointed look, pushing me gently from his chest.
 
He rolled to the side of the bed, reaching underneath it to pull out a rather beat-up issue of Sports Illustrated.
 
Sure enough, I was on the cover.
 
“Exhibit A,” he muttered.
 
It was the most high profile modeling job I’d ever done, my fifteen minutes of fame, posing in a tiny yellow bikini and straddling a surfboard on the coveted cover spot.
 
I’d walked away from the business after that job, feeling a strange but overwhelming need, at the time, to reconnect with my family, and the family business.
 
Modeling just hadn’t been for me, and I’d burned out on it quickly.
 

 
I smiled at Akira.
 
“You know I don’t mind.
 
You can use my pictures in any filthy way you want to, you pervert.”
 

 
He flushed, and I laughed.
 
I enjoyed tormenting him.
 
I always had.
 
For years and years, it had been my favorite hobby.

 
“It drives me crazy sometimes, thinking about how many other men are doing exactly the same thing.”

 
I just shrugged, not really concerned about anyone else so much as
him
.
 
He had always been the only one I cared about, the only one I saw or concerned myself with.
 
It was the joke of my pathetic life that he didn’t feel even remotely the same way about me.

 
“What else?
 
Is there an exhibit B?
 
What other pictures do you have of me that you like to do filthy things to?” I asked.
 

 
He glared, but walked to his computer.
 
“Observe.
 
Exhibit B.
 
See my browsing history?”
 
He clicked on it, and another bikini shot of me popped up.
 
This one was more scandalous.
 
It had been taken when I was surfing, some discarded shot from a photo shoot, maybe.
 
But someone had leaked it.
 
I was straddling the surfboard, looking intently at the waves, one of my nipples showing clearly due to a wardrobe malfunction.
 

 
I laughed.
 
I hadn’t even known that was out there.
 
“I’ve never seen that one.”
 

 
“I made the mistake of reading the comments under it once.
 
It was the angriest jerk-off session of my life.”
 

 
I laughed, feeling positively giddy at the thought of him wanting me that much, enough to search me online to see a picture of me.
 

 
We were both still naked.
 
Neither of us had even thought to cover up as we looked at the computer.
 
He sat in his computer chair, just staring at me, dumbstruck.
 
His gaze ran up and down my body hungrily, but he was still so hesitant to touch me.
 
My hands skimmed along my naked torso.
 
“Which do you prefer, the photo-shopped pictures, or the real thing?” I asked, cupping my breasts as I finished.
 

 
He swallowed hard, looking up into my eyes.
 
“It’s like you have no clue how far out of my league you are.
 
Guys like me don’t get girls like you.
 
You know that, right?
 
You’re a filthy rich supermodel, who also happens to be the daughter of my mentor, the man I respect more than anyone else in the world.
 
I’ve never even met my own father; I’ve had my share of run-ins with the law, on several occasions, in fact, when I was a stupid, violent teenager.
 
I still struggle to keep my fists to myself with the wrong provocation.
 
I almost punched a guy in the bar just last week for talking about those damned pictures my mom won’t take down.
 
I’m not
good enough
for you.”
 

 
I just listened to him as he dissed himself, wanting to
punch
him, but wanting to hear where he was going with his tirade even more.

 
I sat on his lap, or rather, I straddled him, naked.
 
It was a mistake.
 
He closed up like a clam after that, looking at my body, his eyes so hungry and tender.
 

 
It undid me, such a harsh looking man with such tender eyes for me.
 
When I was certain he didn’t have any more to say, I leaned in and began to kiss him, a hungry, passionate kiss.
 
I wrapped my arms around
 
his neck, rubbing against him like a cat.
 
I assumed he couldn’t go for another round, but I just wanted that raw, naked contact with him.
 
I was more than delighted when I felt him growing hard again against me.
 
I shifted against him, instinctively trying to impale myself on the stiffening length.
 

 
He pulled back with a rough groan.
 
“I’m not fucking you again until I’ve at least fed you.
 
I’ll feel like a complete jerk if you pass out from hunger.”
 

 
“After,” I murmured, rubbing against him.
 

 
He let me, watching me as though mesmerized.
 

 
“Just pretend I’m a picture of me, and that my vagina is your hand.”
 

 
He spanked my ass hard for that one.
 
He even threw me over his shoulder, standing and striding from the room as he did so.
 
I loved that he was so big that it was no effort for him to carry me around like that.
 
“Fine, fine,” I said between giggles.
 
“My mouth can be your hand.”
 

 
He swatted me several more times as he carried me down the stairs.
 
He tossed me onto his soft, white leather sofa, and I saw that he was grinning.
 
That smile was all it took to flood me with the years of memories that had made me fall so helplessly for him.
 

 
Memories of this hard, mean-looking man who didn’t have a soft bone in his hard-muscled body, but who could always muster up the softest, sweetest smile, reserved just for me.
 
I had been a willful, spoiled, stubborn child, dogging his every step, insisting that he take me to the beach during his precious free time.
 

 
He had patiently taught me to surf, spending countless hours in the ocean with me as I learned.
 
It had been a slow process.
 
I hadn’t been a quick learner at all, but I had been determined.
 
And if anyone so much as looked wrong at the little white girl who couldn’t surf for shit, but still took up a precious spot at one of the best surf spots, Akira was more than happy to set them straight.
 
He had been scary when he got protective.
 
He was always ready for a fight.
 
But I had never been scared. I had adored that he was only a softy for
me
.
 
No one else could make his eyes go soft like I could, and I had been paying attention.
 

 
Even his long-time, on-again off-again girlfriend didn’t get the tender looks that he bestowed on me.
 
And when I would finally catch on, picking up whatever thing I got into my head
that
week for him to teach me, he would pat me on the head, give me that smile that I craved, and say softly, “Good job, Lana.
 
I’m so proud of you.”

 
My mind swung back to the present when he spoke, walking into his kitchen.

 
“It’s nice to have the old, infuriating Lana back.
 
I missed my little giggling vixen.
 
Don’t move.
 
We can eat right here.”
 

 
I scrambled up, disregarding his order completely.
 
“Um, eat on a white sofa?
 
Are you crazy?
 
And I’m filthy.
 
You really shouldn’t set me on anything clean right now.”
 
I followed him into the kitchen, pressing against his back as he dug through the fridge.
 
“I’m so full of your cum right now that it’s dripping down my leg,” I whispered in his ear, wanting to get a reaction.
 
I got one.

 
He had me on my back on his table between one breath and the next.
 
He was spreading my legs, studying me for evidence of what I’d said.
 
It was there.
 
“One more time,” he told me, his voice a sexy rasp.
 
“Then we eat, and shower.”
 

 
“Yes,” I gasped.
 
He put my ankles on his shoulders and plunged in with a groan, working in and out of me very slowly at first, testing my soreness with a few concerned questions.
 
He was rubbing my clit as he asked them, and I sent him a passion-infused glare.
 
“I’m fine,” I told him, and he thrust much harder.
 
“More than fine.
 
I’m getting my brains fucked out by the hottest man on the planet.”
 

 
He liked that assessment, his breath getting faster, his thrusts harder and heavier as he got closer to his climax.
 
He rubbed a finger on my clit almost frantically, trying to catch me up to him.
   

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