The Morning Ride (an erotic short story with exhibitionism, light BDSM) (3 page)

“My balls are soaked,” he said in a low rumble then pulled one hand away and smacked her breast.

She cried out. Already sensitive, the surprise sent her into a mini-orgasm.

He twisted her nipple, digging in a fingernail. “Stop. Not yet.”

She opened her mouth to say that was impossible, but just as quickly as it had overtaken her, her orgasm settled, leaving her there, riding the edge of a powerful explosion.

He was a sadist, a monster. She’d earned her orgasm. How could he be so cruel?

“Do you want to complain?”

She couldn’t. Not when he spoke to her in that silky tone.

He slapped her breast again, and then smoothed his hand down her belly. His fingers found her clitoris, and she gasped at his first rasping touch.

He tsked in her ear. “You aren’t nearly ready, Sophie.”

What did he mean? She was filled with his large cock, as wet as she’d ever been, and she felt as if a coil had formed around her womb, winding tighter and tighter. If he’d only let her, she would come.

He clamped her clit between his thumb and forefinger and began to roll it in twisting motions. She reached back to pull his hair, stiffening her body. “It’s too much,” she gasped.

But he didn’t stop, twisting and twisting, pausing only to drop spit onto his fingers before he squeezed her raw clit again.

“Nearly there, almost, love…”

She glanced down between her legs and realized her clit was engorged, elongating. He pressed now on the base, pumping it like a tiny cock. She hadn’t known, had never managed that on her own, and now that he was doing it, she knew what he meant. She hadn’t been ready. Not nearly, but she was there now.

Her fingernails dug into his thighs and raked him. Her entire body quivered and shuddered. Sweat coated her chest, her face, and still he stroked her. “Please,” she keened.

Daniel kissed her cheek. “Now,” he whispered.

Sophie screamed, the explosion radiating outward from her clit to every extremity. Her body bowed and arched, her vision narrowed to a tunnel, and still he pumped, not releasing her clit until she rested limply against his body.

Sophie knew with a certainty that her clit would be swollen for days. That every time she crossed her legs, she’d feel the ache. She turned her head and gave Daniel a shy smile. “Thank you.”

Daniel’s arms enclosed her. His hands gently cupped her breasts. “Am I a monster?”

“You, love,” she whispered, “are a master.” She breathed deeply and shook her head. “But what about you?” He was still hard and lodged deep inside her.

He smiled. “You’re done in, but tomorrow, when we ride the train, I’m going to ask something of you and you will give it to me.”

Sophie knew what he asked would be something she would never consider on her own, something shameful and shocking, but she nodded. “I’ll do anything, Daniel.” Anything to lure him to her bed again.

*

The train came
to a halt at 42nd. She held her breath, not raising her head until she saw those familiar loafers stop in front of her. Today, he wore an overcoat. Was it going to rain? She glanced up, and he held out his hand. Leading the way, he took her to the back of the car into a corner. They held onto the bar and stood so close the motion of the train made them sway together.

Daniel reached for her hand and cupped it against his cock. He was erect, his cock straight against his zipper. His belt already hung loose at his waist. Without being told what he wanted, she guessed, and opened his button, slowly slid down the zipper, then drew his cock from inside his pants.

She glanced sideways; no one could see between their bodies. They might guess what was happening, but they wouldn’t know. She lifted her hand and licked her palm, then gripped him firmly.

Daniel leaned toward her ear as she began to stroke him. “I dreamed of you all night.”

“I went to sleep with my fingers petting my sore clit.”

He chuckled, and she leaned her head against his shoulder as she stroked him again and again.

As they rode, she paused only when the train entered a station, her hand still but clasping firmly around him.

He kissed her cheek. “Your scarf,” he whispered. She slid it surreptitiously from her neck and gave it to him. He held it over his cockhead and she stroked again, listening as he groaned softly and spilled his seed on the pretty silk.

When he’d finished, he stuffed the scarf in his pocket. She zipped him up and raised her face.

His kiss was hot, possessive of her mouth. When she drew away to breathe, he followed. “Tonight,” he said, placing his forehead against hers. “I won’t play with your clit. I have another spot to torture.”

Sophie smiled, happy she’d pleased him and sure he would see her again. He’d have to return the scarf.

“Tomorrow night, my place,” he ringed her wrist, as though testing it for size. “I have several somethings to show you.”

Delilah Devlin is a
New York Times
and
USA TODAY
bestselling author of erotica and erotic romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published over a hundred forty erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.

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True love bites!

Emmy Harris knows she’s not perfect. She has a little extra padding and isn’t the brightest bulb, but you’d think she was a sexy rock star the way everyone at a certain night club treats her from the moment she walks through the door. In fact, the two sexiest men there can’t seem to keep their hands off her, until one of them sweeps her away to his private domain. A girl like her isn’t going to waste a chance like that! So he’s a little rough and likes to take a nibble or two while he pleasures her. For a girl who didn’t know she’d never experienced a full-blown orgasm before, Dylan’s eccentricities are delicious!

Dylan O’Hara only wants a night of passion to slake his lusts, but finds Emmy is a full-bodied, red-blooded siren whose innocence and humor draw this Master vampire like a moth to a red-hot flame. When Emmy attracts the attention of a serial-killing vampire, Dylan vows to protect her, but he fears he’ll lose Emmy once she discovers he’s not quite human…

Be warned. Emmy Harris doesn’t think like most romance heroines. You’ll get a glimpse of her funny little mind here…

A
t his urging,
Emmy couldn’t hold back another second. She dug her fingers harder into his hair and pulled. “Come with me,” she said, her voice tight. And then she whimpered. The experience was too much. He was too much—Mr. Stamina. Too hard and lean and beautiful. His lovemaking was astounding and—something she never thought she’d admit—
too strenuous
. She panted like she’d run laps, something she’d never ever do.

He shook his head and continued the deep thrusts that pounded against the gate of her womb. Buried to the hilt, he ground his pubic hair against her clitoris until she was so sensitive to the scrape, she thought she might come out of her skin. And she was right effing there, could feel the tension wind tighter in her core.

But she wanted him with her. This one last time, she needed the whole enchilada. “Baby…bite me.”

He stopped. His arms grew rigid and his nostrils flared. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice holding a note of desperation.

“I want you, Dylan. All of you.”

“Dammit! Emmy, do you even know what you’re asking?”

“For you to trust me to be strong?” She lifted her hands to his cheeks. “Do you think I haven’t seen your other face?”

His entire body shuddered, and he closed his eyes. “Then watch,” he whispered.

Breathless with curiosity and a tinge of fear, she held still beneath him. His eyes opened—not the dark orbs she knew were green—but glowing circles that reflected the waning moonlight, like an animal’s.
The better to see me.

His cheekbones lifted, popping and cracking as his face reassembled into the monster mask, his skin stretched tight around it. His lips curved above teeth that slid over his human set, long and razor sharp, the longest at the four corners of his smile.
The better to eat me.

The most miraculous part of the transformation was the muscle that grew rigid and strained beneath his skin, stretching him outward, turning the arms that held her knees to stone. And his cock was one of those things hardening and enlarging, pushing deeper without a flex of his hips.
The better to fuck me.

A low growl rattled in his throat, and for a moment, Emmy had doubts she was really ready for this. Something was wild and primal about that growl. But then his tongue, longer, rougher, swiped along her throat. Her skin grew numb. She relaxed. He’d considered her comfort—part of the man was still inside the monster. Angling her head to the side, she held her breath.

His teeth sank slowly into her neck, burning at first, then he drew, sucking her blood, and pure sensual heat spread from her neck, moving downward and tightening her breasts and belly.

His enlarged cock pushed inside her, pulled out, and pushed again. His thrusts were so powerful her buttocks left the bed with each stroke. Still, he kept a steady rhythm that soon had her wishing he’d move faster, harder, rougher. And she told him so.

He growled in response—the Big Bad Wolf buried between her legs, and she reveled in the power to make him lose control and be the beast for her.

That she could inspire the beast in any man was a revelation.