Sugar on the Edge (23 page)

“Fuck, Sweet… where did you learn to do that?” He moans and pumps in and out of my mouth a bit faster.

Frustration hits me out of left field, because all of a sudden, I have an insane desire to touch Gavin. I absolutely need to put my hands on him, to touch his exposed cock as it moves out of my mouth, to roll his balls with my fingers. I pull hard at the bonds on my wrist and feel utterly helpless while he moves in and out of my mouth, once going a little too deep, causing me to gag.

“Sorry, baby,” he mutters, dialing it down a notch.

I kneel there, helpless before him, knowing that he could do whatever he wanted if given the urge. My eyes slide to the left and widen when I see the full-length mahogany mirror that sits in the corner his room. As is typical, Gavin has a T-shirt draped over the top of it, too lazy to throw it in the hamper, but there’s enough mirror exposed that I can see Gavin move his hips back and forth, his thick cock tunneling in and out of my mouth. My breasts are thrust forward, my fingers flexing helplessly behind my arched back, and Gavin stares down at me while he works himself in and out of me.

He must notice my eyes are averted because slowly his head turns. He looks at me in the mirror, watching as I helplessly blow him with my hands tied behind my back.

When our eyes meet in the reflection, his hands grip my head tighter and he moans, “Fuck, Savannah… that’s sexy as shit. Watching you, watch us in the mirror. Hot, right?”

I nod my head as best as I can, because words are prohibited by the glorious length of Gavin that is in my mouth.

I’m surprised when Gavin rears back, tearing himself free of my mouth. The emptiness causes my jaw to sag, and I immediately notice it’s sore from the pounding he just gave it.

My gaze moves from the mirror and up toward Gavin, whose chest is rising and falling in rapid motions, a light sheet of sweat on his forehead.

“Why did you stop?” I ask uncertainly.

“Because I was getting ready to come,” he says, almost in agony as he pants hard, and his hand goes around the base of his cock. He squeezes hard… almost as if to quash his impending orgasm. “Wasn’t ready to come just yet.”

“Oh,” is all I manage to say before Gavin is lifting me from the floor and onto the bed. He puts me on my knees and then with his hand at the back of my head, pushes me down to the mattress until my cheek is resting there.

His hand releases me but slides backward down the middle of my back, straight down to where he drags his finger down the middle of my ass cheeks. I moan at the forbidden touch he gives me. “I’d love to fuck your ass one day, Sweet. Think you’d let me do that?”

A strangled sound comes out of my throat, and I involuntarily start to rise from the bed. Would I let him do that? I have no clue, but his hand comes back up to the middle of my back and he pushes me back down.

“Don’t move,” he says, and then I can feel him step away from the bed. I have no clue what he’s doing, but then I hear him across the room. “This mirror will come in handy.”

Gavin comes back into my line of view and sets the full-length mirror up on its stand so it’s right beside the bed. I blush warmly when I see my naked body, on my knees, breasts flatted on the mattress, my face flushed and my lips swollen from the workout he just gave my mouth. Gavin comes up to stand behind me, his hands caressing my butt.

We stare at each other in the mirror again, and he says, “You see how beautiful you are? Bound, helpless, bent to my will. You’d take anything I gave you, wouldn’t you, Sweet?”

I don’t even bother nodding my head in agreement, because he knows the answer.

I would, indeed, take anything he asked me to.

Caressing one hand down my ass, he slides it down between my legs and pushes a finger in. It slides silky smooth through my wetness, and I start panting as he pumps it in and out a few times.

My eyes watch him, and then slide from the action of his hands to his rigid erection, which seems to be straining upward, just behind me. I want him inside of me so bad that I ache all over.

“What are you looking at, love?”

My eyes slowly slide from his cock to his gaze as he watches me in the mirror. “I’m looking at you.”

His fingers move inside me, tortuously slow, and he smiles at me lewdly. “You were looking at my cock. Your eyes were all over my cock, thinking of me sliding it inside of you, right?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Is that what you want?”

I nod, but he just keeps working his finger inside of me. He waits, going back full circle when he first intimately touched me on the couch that day last week. He’s waiting for me to say the exact words to tell him what I want.

Taking in a deep breath, I make sure my eyes are directly connected to his. “Gavin… I want you to fuck me with your cock. Is that clear enough for you?”

“Crystal,” he says with a smile, white teeth flashing against his dark, stubbled face.

He moves behind me, taking his erection with one hand to guide it inside. I’m so slick with pent-up lust and desire, he slides in easily even as I feel the slight burn from the way he stretches me.

We both groan loudly. It melds together, sounding like one harmonious and erotic vibration throughout the room.

“I wish I were a poet,” Gavin murmurs as he starts moving in and out of me. “I wish I were a poet because then… and only then, would I have the words that would be salient enough to describe the way you feel to me. I’d fucking be a best seller every time if I could just describe how I feel… at this very moment, when I’m lodged deep inside of you.”

Oh, Gavin. His words… they
are
poetry, and it’s not just in the humble consonants and vowels that pour out of his mouth. It’s in his tone… with utter worship in his emotion. It speaks deeply to me, and while Gavin has made every part of my body tremble with pleasure, for the first time, my heart gives a bit of a squeeze as I realize that we both have feelings that are starting to get deep.

He moves with tenderness and care within my body. Yes, he’s taking me from behind with my hands bound behind my back. My shoulders ache and my thighs tremble, and I know this should feel impersonal, but it doesn’t. I’m giving something to Gavin that he very much enjoys, and I’m finding that I, myself, enjoy this different bit of sex as well.

But nothing about our positioning—with him at my back so our lips never meet and my pose completely subservient—speaks of an impersonal nature. No, on the contrary, as Gavin and I stare at each other in the mirror, our breath quickening even though he’s moving oh so slowly within me… I can feel a connection to him at this very moment that buries deep into my soul and sinks its claws permanently into me.

Savannah has been my personal assistant for a week and, unfortunately, she’s doing too damned good of a job. With her taking off my plate every little annoyance and administrative task I always had to handle on my own, I’m freed up to do nothing but write. My productivity skyrocketed, even with me taking breaks during the day to come downstairs and molest my Sweet. Those tend to be the best parts of my day.

At night… we spend hours exploring each other’s body, and after having known each other for just under two weeks, I’m finding it neither odd nor weird that I’m liking her available to me at all hours of the day and night.

I had asked her just yesterday, “Does Casey think it’s weird that you’re sleeping over here every night?”

Savannah laughed at me, full throated and husky. “No. She said she was just glad that I was finally
getting some
.”

I laughed in return, kissed her hard, and then made love to her on my bathroom vanity, knocking one place I had promised she’d be fucked off my list.

Yes, Savannah is the most efficient personal assistant ever. Hell, even her research is quick and spot-on, further speeding up the process of finishing my manuscript. At this rate, I will definitely be done within a week. I had vainly hoped to stretch it longer just to give myself some more time with her. At least I’m taking her to Chicago with me on Wednesday, and we’ll be gone a few days. Maybe I can extend my trip there, lengthening the time frame within which I can complete the manuscript, and thus prolonging my time with her.

Lindie called me again yesterday, reminding me that I had a deadline, and I told her to fuck off… that I’d take another month to write the damn thing if I felt that is what was needed. She responded with her ever-present question, “Are you drinking, Gavin?”

Deeply… from between Savannah’s thighs,
I thought to myself.
And oh, the intoxicating rush of it all.

I assured her I was fine, but that you could not rush creativity. That must be a standard response from her other authors because she got quiet and didn’t push at me anymore. I then gave her the power punch and reminded her that the book wasn’t set to be published until the following year, so we had plenty of time. I had the sneaking suspicion that my editor had set a deadline on me with plenty of cushion in case I couldn’t meet the original schedule.

My manuscript was changing in flavor, and those changes would often spill from laptop to real flesh. It happened on more than one occasion this week. I’d be writing an intensely erotic scene between Honey and Max—Max, by the way, having given up his philandering ways—and I would be so immersed in the scene that I’d get a massive erection.

I didn’t need Freud to point out to me that the sex scenes between Honey and Max were nothing more than my own subconscious desires for the depraved things I wanted to do to Savannah being played out across my laptop screen.

I’d come out of my writing haze, read back over the intense eroticism I had just written, and would be struck with a massive yearning and a raging hard-on for Savannah. I’d merely push back from my desk, stalk around my house until I found her, and then I’d play out that scene for real.

Once I took her out on the back deck, with the frigid, late January wind blowing around us, and the beach thankfully deserted. Pulled her pants off, left the rest of our clothes on, and set her ass on the deck rail. I did nothing more than free my cock from my zipper and fucked her fast and furiously. I immediately carried her inside afterward, her nipples erect from the cold, and put us in a hot shower, where I went down on her with the warm water pelting my body.

Another time, I found her sitting at my kitchen table, her nose practically plastered to her own laptop while she did research for me on Jack the Ripper. I had a sub-plot where one of the demons in my fantasy universe was actually a reincarnation of Jack, who liked to shred his victims from the inside out. I merely walked up to her, grabbed her by the ponytail she had ensnared her beautiful hair in, and tilted her head back to look at me.

“I want you,” I told her simply, and her eyes burned like the setting sun.

I pulled her up from the chair, sat myself on the warmed seat, and ordered her to strip. She didn’t hesitate. When she was completely naked, I told her to ride me. My cock was already hard, but I let her do the rest of the work. Her hands were slightly shaking and her breath was already shallow by the time she freed me from my jeans and climbed onto my lap. Just before she lowered herself to me, I told her to wait, and I brought my hand between her legs. She was already damp—I’m sure she started to glisten the moment I pulled on her ponytail—but I worked her with my fingers for a while until she came close to climax. Then I dropped my hands and let her finish us both off while she rode me with abandon.