Chapter 3
THREE
Daphne
Back inside the house, I close the front door and lean my forehead into the wall, releasing the breath I’ve been holding.
Did Dutch have to be just so…Dutch?
Dark and brooding, with blue tortured eyes that call to that part of me that feels the need to fix broken and suffering things. He’s got a bad boy vibe but I know in my heart beneath it all there’s a good man waiting.
He reminds me of some of the hard cases on my outreach route. Snarling, warning people stay the heck away all the while their tails are wagging, hoping you won’t listen.
The slick heat between my legs is another issue altogether. My panties are as wrecked as my filthy thoughts.
Trixie, my ninety-pound sack of former chained dog sweetness, comes sauntering in and sidles up to me, leaning against my thigh. She’s built like a tank, but a gentle giant, and I reach out to scratch behind her ears as I think of all the dogs we’ve managed to get surrendered over the years.
Turning hopeless, tortured lives into something bright and new.
Is that what I want to do for Dutch? Is that even something I have any right to think about? Because he’s not a chained pit bull. He’s a grown man.
And what a man.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I met Dutch, but when I saw him standing there next to my Dad it felt like the floor was quaking under my feet. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned enough to show off thick ink that seems to cover his chest and down his arms.
His almost-black hair could use a trim, as well as his beard, but what held me in place was the way his riveting blue eyes pinned me where I stood. Heat flooded my veins as my throat tightened and all the fantasies I’ve had over the last year paled in comparison to the man than stood in front of me.
I already want to run back and throw my arms around him. To everyone else, we are strangers, but we know better. I think of all the letters. How we shared so much. Yet, do we really know each other at all?
My body says we do. The dramatic physical response leaves me trembling as I wander to the back entryway and scoop some food into a bowl for Trixie, looking out into the backyard where the rest of the pack is playing in the snow. I strip off my jacket and head down the hallway to my bedroom, trying to re-group.
Before I get there, I look through the crack in the door to the laundry room.
“Shit,” I curse as I push it open, feeling my heart beat triple time. Sitting there in the basket are the towels, sheets, and the cell phone my mom said she would put inside the little house for Dutch.
I’m just about to pick it up when muffled but tense voices from the home office that James and my Dad share stop me cold. I stand still, listening.
It’s about work. It’s always about work. I know the shop has been struggling. It always has, to tell the truth, but Dad always seemed to make it work somehow. I know lately James has been pushing for changes and it’s put them at odds more than usual.
Dad raises his voice a little, angry now. Someone broke in a few weeks ago and made off with around twenty-thousand dollars of tools and parts. I take care of the books and pay most of the bills, and I knew we were behind on our insurance premiums when it happened, so the loss wasn’t covered and the tension about keeping things afloat has been pricklier than ever.
I jump back as they both come storming out of the door, brows knitted, and James shoots me a hard look. “We have to go to the shop. Did you show Dutch to the house?” He doesn’t wait for my answer before finishing, “We should be back by dinner.”
They grab their coats and storm out the back door, leaving me speechless. It’s not like James to be so gruff, let alone so rude.
The laundry basket taunts me. I peek around the corner into the kitchen to see my mother elbows-deep in mixing up a bowl of her biscuit dough, singing to her Neil Diamond playlist.
My thoughts drift back to Dutch. I did say if he needed anything to call, but he can’t call because he doesn’t have the phone.
I’ll make it quick, I tell myself.
I lean down, scooping up the basket, my heart hammering against my chest wall and my palms start to sweat. At the door, I don’t bother with my jacket. All I’m going to do is leave the basket outside the front door for him, knock and high-tail it back to the house.
Jesus, why am I so dizzy?
He’s like a testosterone sex drip that’s being fed directly into my vena cava. How am I going to be able to live here with him? No one has mentioned if there’s a cap on the time that he’s going to stay, only that they are going to have him work at the shop, where I work as well when I’m not doing my outreach runs.
Which means I’m going to be dizzy here at home, and at work, and probably even worse when he’s far away.
I stomp down the shoveled path, the fog of my hot breath leading the way, horrified at the thought there could be another drift of steam trailing out from between my legs, because it feels like a churning steam engine down there right now.
I’m mumbling affirmations of control when I get to the front door and see it’s open a few inches.
Stick to the plan. Sit the basket down and leave.
The voice in my head sounds like my mother’s. So sensible. And so, as usual, I ignore it. And peek inside the little house.
I don’t see him anywhere.
Maybe he left.
Maybe he really didn’t want to be here.
Maybe I wasn’t what he imagined.
Maybe he just needed a ride then a chance to get away.
Maybe he has a hundred other pen pals, like you hear about sometimes in the news.
Wonderful. So now I’ll be one of those women. I saw a special on them on 20/20 once.
Lifers and the Women Who Love Them.
Women fall for criminals while they are still behind bars all the time. They even marry them. Murderers, serial killers, rapists, they all get their share of admirers. It’s not a stretch to imagine Dutch with a sackful of love letters from women all over the country.
Fuck. Did I read him all wrong?
Is this some kind of long-con and I just got played? Or, not just me, but my whole family?
I pull the basket against my center, trying to keep my belly from doing cartwheels as I stand frozen to the ground, shivering, an internal battle raging as I decide what to do.
Heavy footsteps answer my thoughts. From the gap in the door, I see a flash of indigo-covered torso toward the back of the small house where the kitchen leads to the bedroom and bathroom. A warm burst of wetness spills out of me.
I desperately try to be practical. If he’s going to shower, he needs these towels. Because just imagine—he gets out of jail, gets welcomed into our home. Only to be left standing dripping wet and naked in a house with no towels.
I’ll do it like an Uber Eats delivery. Drop, knock, and run.
I start to lower the basket onto the worn welcome mat outside the door and knock when the boom of rock music thrums to life inside.
It makes me think of a particularly sad part of one of his letters. Something he missed the most about being out in the world was being able to listen to music.
He wrote in that letter, something I don’t think people know, when you’re in prison, there’s no music.
Can you imagine? Going months—years—without music?
“Dutch?” I ease the door open another inch with my shoulder.
Then another and another, until I’m standing inside, still holding the basket, the music muffling my voice.
“Dutch?” I call out, but it’s half-hearted. I don’t want him to know I’m here.
I’m not fooling myself. I shove the door closed with my rear end and cross the small living room toward the hall on tiptoes.
I ease the basket to the floor as I come to the corner of the short hallway and take a shaking breath.
No risk, no reward.
Stepping forward, I see the bathroom door open, but inside it’s empty. There’s no steam coming from the shower. My legs feel boneless as I urge myself to move forward, the loud music pulsing around me as I approach the bedroom.
The burning in my lungs reminds me to breathe as I press my body against the wall just to the right of the open bedroom door. Bands of tension snap around my chest and throat, my mouth dry as I ease one eye over the door frame and choke back the yelp of surprise at the sight before me.
I press my fingers onto my lips until they burn from the pressure.
There’s Dutch.
It’s not just his torso that’s bare now. It’s all of him.
Every.
Magnificent.
Inch.
Inches, I mean. So many inches…
I’ve imagined him naked a thousand times. But this, oh praise baby Jesus, this is so much better.
He’s laying on the bed, surrounded by envelopes and colorful open pages covered in what I recognize as my writing. He’s holding one of my letters in front of his face with one hand as the other rasps up and down on the length of hard steel standing up nearly to his belly button.
I watch in mesmerized silence as he reads, his lips moving silently as he does while he strokes himself, making these pained, tortured sounds. His body is lean but muscular. His legs are bent slightly, knees raised, giving me a view of not only his Guinness World Record dick but balls nearly the size of my fists resting on the bedding below.
His legs are free from tattoos, but his torso, arms and abs are covered in words and images.
I want to explore them all with my tongue, ask him the meaning of each and hope I can soothe the pain that put them there.
I squeeze my legs closed, pressing the flesh of my inner thighs tight, pulsing my core muscles in time with the movement of his hand as my belly flutters and I choke back the moans that bank in my throat.
I’ve never seen a man. Not like this. Not for real.
All I’ve seen are Porn Hub clips that my friends have shown me on their phones. I was always too scared to look on my own, like somehow my father would find out and be horrified.
Besides, I mean, outside of it being sort of educational, I found the porn more comical than titillating. Those women moaning and screaming for an hour? There were no real orgasms happening, and everything was so forced and staged. How it turns someone on, I don’t get it, but to each his and her own.
But, God, the desire coursing through me now is like lust-lava. Just watching Dutch is about to put me over the edge.
His eyes close as I peek around the door, he pushes his head back into the pillow and fists the base of his erection, making the head bulge, turning purple as it swells, droplets of creamy liquid seeping from the tip.
He releases a throaty groan, then puts the letter he was holding down carefully, almost reverently. Then he opens his eyes toward the pile of paper next to him, picks up another, and resumes reading as he jacks his dick up and down until I’m squirming against the wall, practically dry humping the flat surface, desperate for relief, barely able to stand.
There’s a flutter in my chest and a sudden clutch down deep, like my ovaries are popping out eggs like firecrackers on the Fourth of July. I try to hold back, but I can’t, and a little shuddering breath breaks from my throat, and even through the music I know he’s heard me.
His hand stops and it feels like time does as well.
He releases the letter, those sea-blue eyes that I want to drown in snap toward the doorway.
Shit. I move one foot backward in retreat, but I know it’s too late.
“Daphne.” He says my name like he’s intoning a sacred chant, and the wetness between my legs soaks through my jeans. “Don’t hide. Not from me.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” I whisper, then clear my throat, waving an apologetic hand in the open doorway as I press the back of my skull into the wall. “I’m sorry…”
I squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten, considering making a break for the front door, when the crushing drumbeat of the Disturbed song that was playing turns to the twanging guitar intro to one of my favorite songs and I realize he’s playing one of my playlists.
The first few lines, I stay still, eyes shut, then I hear the movement of his bare feet on the floorboards. A creak, just on the other side of the open door, then Dutch’s low voice joins the chorus as his fingertips brush my cheek, and I feel like my heart will burst from my chest.
Fuck, he’s singing to me.
Lord, come on, now. I’m only human. How am I supposed to stay strong?
You’re as smooth, as Tennessee Whiskey.
You’re as sweet as strawberry wine…
“You’ve already seen me,” he whispers, his hand running down my arm until his thick, rough fingers entwine with mine. “Did you like watching?”
What the hell do I say to that?
Well, anatomically you are a perfect male specimen, and my interest is purely scientific…but, damn, yeaaaaah buddy, I liked watching.
“Yes,” I blurt out. Feeling like that single word is telling him a thousand stories of the fantasies I’ve had for the last year.
He pulls me around the door frame into the small bedroom, the music making me want to sway as a thick, hot, churning lust builds, making me feel like I’ve downed a few shots of Fireball.
“You and your letters have made me hard like this for a long time. But today? When I walked in the house and saw you?” He shakes his head slowly, almost angrily, as I battle to keep my eyes from pinning on his erection. “God damn. I know there’s no relief without you ever again, little girl.”
He pulls me against him, his hardness driving against my hip. One thick, tattooed arm slips around my back. His other hand meets mine, our bodies moving, swaying, and to anyone else I’m sure it would look ridiculous.
Me, dressed in my jeans and thermal top, black snow boots, hair in a messy bun and him…oh, God, him dressed in only his ink and the scent of a man tasting freedom for the first time in years.
“I can feel your heartbeat,” I whisper as he tugs me against him, pressing his thick hardness into my belly.
“I know that’s not all you feel. Feel what you do to me. I can already taste you, Daphne. My first meal as a free man…I want it to be you.”
I rest my face into the muscular cords of his neck, trying to work out if this is real or one of my dreams.
His entire body is hard, coiled, like he’s a spring wound too tight. I hold my breath as I pull back, looking up into his bluest eyes, seeing a desperation that makes me want to be the balm for whatever he needs.
“I—I…” I start, not even sure what I want to say, when his hands sweep upward to my cheeks and he kisses me with a moan. I have that feverish sort of feeling you get when reality and dreams blend together, when you’re just waking or just falling asleep. The ache between my legs throbs, my core buckles, and I nearly sink to my knees.
I’ve never come close to what’s happening right now. Standing with a man I honestly met just minutes before, naked. He doesn’t know it, but I’ve never seen a real, live man naked before Dutch. I’ve never been so close to such power. His hands slide up and down my back, our lips crushing together as his tongue moves, warm against mine.
My nipples tingle, being zapped with what feels like an electrical current. Suddenly, all I want is to be rid of all my clothes. I slide my hands all over his chest, his shoulders, down his biceps, wanting to touch him everywhere as I listen to the way his moans change pitch as my hands glide over his flesh.
“You keep doing that, I’m not going to last,” he whispers, hard to hear over the music and the pounding of my heart in my ears.
Boldness overtakes me, and I slip my hand down between us, his mouth back on mine, feeling his abs tighten as I go lower, then slip my fingers around the tip of his massive cock. The wetness spurts out into my palm as he lets out a painful grunt, breaking our kiss, pressing his forehead to the part in my hair.
“Daph. Fuck, how many times I’ve dreamed of you. Of this, of you touching me. I want to be inside you. I can’t lie. It’s all I can think about.”
This is so intense.
So fucking hot.
I’ve had flickers of something I guess you’d call lust or desire before, but nothing like this. This is a grinding need, clawing inside me, desperate for release. I slide my hand down lower, my fingers barely able to encircle his girth as wet heat engulfs me between my legs.
His fingertips dig into the sides of my face like he’s losing control. I love the sense of power I have. The warmth coming from his body seems to surge and this whole moment suddenly feels surreal.
Even, shit…comical.
Me, fully clothed, my prison pen pal naked as we dance, my hand gripping his dripping cock like we are acting out some over-the-top porn scene.
A giggle bursts from my lips and he pulls back, and I see the confusion in his eyes.
“This is funny?”
“No. I mean…yes,” I sputter. “I have a bad habit of laughing at the wrong times. When I feel nervous. It’s like a defense mechanism, I guess. I’m sorry, it’s just…” Somehow I stop my babbling. I smile on a snort, fighting off another burst of inappropriate laughter when his eyes darken, his tongue tracing along his top teeth as he nods.
“We better give that mouth something else to do then.” His hands tangle in my hair as he stares at me, licking his lips.
He presses me downward and I bend my knees, sliding my hands down his hips, then take a detour and let them sweep over his tight ass before settling at the altar of dick in front of me.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I pretend. I follow my instincts. I do what seems right. I look up, fluttering my lashes as I stick out my tongue and flick it where the slit on the tip is seeping creamy liquid.
I moan, trading my tongue for my lips, giving that part of him a little kiss then a gentle suck, the masculine flavor better than I could have imagined. I want more.
And suddenly, my awkward laughter, my discomfort is just gone. I suck harder, swallowing the pre-cum he’s offering, looking up to see his head fall back, and for a second he looks like he might be losing consciousness.
“Fuck, baby. I love how your eyes look with my dick in your mouth. That cock tastes like it was made just for you, doesn’t it?”
I slide the head over my tongue, feeling the smooth skin, the thick vein that throbs, all the while answering him with a little nod as my pussy pulses and clenches, waiting for its turn to swap places with my mouth. I never imagined sucking a cock could turn me on so much, but I’m ready to spin into my own oblivion after 3.5 seconds.
I moan as I take another inch, then another, back and forth through my lips until the tip teases at the back of my throat. I flick my gaze up to see him staring down, brow tight, and I wonder if I’m doing it wrong.
He thrusts his hips, going deeper. “You have some talent there. That little mouth can barely open wide enough, can it?” The words feel hard and my stomach flips over as I slip him in and out faster. “Please fucking tell me you practiced on a banana or a carrot or some goddamn thing.”
Understanding floods through me and I withdraw in a gasp for air.
I look up at him. “Sorry, no fruits or vegetables were used or harmed in the making of this blow job.”
He looks like he wants to die. I’m sure my awkwardness frustrates him. But he needs to really understand what I’m saying here.
“I’ve never used or practiced on anything. Animal, vegetable, or mineral. Or human.”
The relief on his face makes me smile.
“No practice on anything ever,” he repeats, and I confirm what I was trying to say. “Anything or anyone?”
I shake my head, letting the tip of his dick brush against my lips. I squeeze the base as it jerks in my hand. “Never seen or been seen. Never touched or been touched.”
“Fuck, baby,” he moans as my cheeks burn and my clit throbs. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t know how.”
He groans again. “You’re fucking perfect. Now, suck that dick like there’s a prize inside. Because after that, I’m going to make that pussy mine.”
I relax my throat this time and plunge my open mouth onto his length, taking the head all the way to my tonsils as I bring my hand up and cup the incredible weight of his balls.
He grits out a string of curse words, his body tensing, then floods my throat with a burst of savory flavor. I want to feel him lose control. I need it.
I want to be the one that makes him come undone with my mouth, right here. Right now.
But he has other ideas.
He pushes me back with his heavy hand. “You’re going to end this too soon, baby.” He pulls himself from my mouth with a pop. “Up.”
He offers his hands, helping me stand as saliva runs down my chin.
I gasp as he hauls me upward and tosses me on the bed. I bounce on the mattress and before I come to rest he’s tugging my boots off, tossing them across the room with a new darkness in his eyes.
I look at him, then me, and then at him again. “I think I’m overdressed.”
“Way fucking overdressed.”
My heart is racing as he growls. His eyes are lusty, demanding. Even if I told him to stop right now, I’m not sure if he could.
Not that I’d want him to.
He practically rips my jeans from my hips, barely taking a second to undo the button and zipper as I arch my back. I put my hands up as he grabs the bottom of my shirt and suddenly wish I had worn a better bra today. And my underwear? Oh boy.
He looks down at the tattered, semi off-white cotton fabric covering my tits, and his lips curl like I’m wearing the sexiest Victoria’s Secret lingerie.
I’m still distracted by his cock as he climbs onto the mattress, lifting me under my arms onto the pillows, my body bouncing as he manhandles me, his weight shifting the bed as he moves.
He’s treating me like an object, moving me into a position that pleases him, then he strips me of my bra.
I steady myself for him to do the same with my panties, but instead he crouches back, shoves my knees wide and just stares, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.
My insides clench in anticipation, my body charged with lust, unsure what he’s staring at.
The silence between us seems to quiet the whole room. My heartbeat and the first chords of the next song on my playlist fade into the background as the muscles of Dutch’s torso and shoulders ripple under the deep, connected artistry of ink, his insanely big cock standing tall like a missile ready to launch.
“Something wrong?” I finally manage after another endless few seconds of him staring between my legs. The muscles of my inner thighs quiver as embarrassment starts to take over, thinking he’s changed his mind. My horribly lackluster underwear is killing the vibe.
“Yeah,” he answers, my heart already feeling like it’s cracking open.
“What?” I mouth, barely able to choke the word from my dry throat as I tug my knees together.
“You’re soaking wet.”
I swallow hard, tensing as my thighs touch, hoping to hide the evidence that somehow feels humiliating. “Sorry. I can’t help—”
He swats my legs wide. “Keep those legs open and don’t be sorry. As long as you are wet for me. It’s just…I think I could stare at that wet spot forever. But, then I wouldn’t be doing what I really want to do. Taste you. Devour you.”
I swallow hard, the embarrassment washing away.
“Well…how about this…” I reach down, tug the panties down my legs and feet and bring them to my mouth, holding them there for a teasing moment. “We can both taste me at the same time.”
I suck the drenched fabric between my lips, surprised at how filthy I feel as Dutch collapses onto locked arms, caging me as his forehead touches mine.
“Landing strip. Just like I thought.” He says, breath warm on my lips.
“What?” I ask, unsure for a second what he means.
“I like a little fuzz.” He answers then finishes, “Messy little girl needs some cleaning up, doesn’t she?”
A thrill rips through me as Dutch lowers his face between my tits, his tongue tracing a trail downward.
I just can’t with what’s happening right now.
I’ve never thought if I’d like a man with a beard before now, but if it feels this good just tickling down my belly, I’m pretty sure where it’s going next is going to make me #teambeard for the rest of my life.
I yelp when his hands take control of my knees, shoving them up and back, pushing me so wide I’m sure he’s got a view of my cervix.
Then, he just stays there.
Breathing.
Hard.
Labored. And I wonder if he’s okay.
Embarrassment again; hot and unbearable. Is my pussy a horror show? Is he having some sort of panic attack, wondering what to do now that it can’t be unseen?
Or, is it so magnificent that it’s life changing?
Fuck. This is brutal. It’s been like, five seconds, but it feels like a hundred years.
I never thought of what this would be like. How I would feel with a man so close. Let alone this man. Him. My Dutch.
My core ripples as he drops his head, getting a closer view, and I think I’m going to explode or burst into laughter again, thinking of me laying here with my horrible cotton briefs held in my mouth. The lusty flavor spreading on my tongue.
Finally, he breaks the silence. “I’ve waited so long for you. Even before I went to prison, I was waiting for you. I just didn’t know it was you I was waiting for.”
The doubts and niggling embarrassment wash away as I tremble, loving how he’s looking at me as if I’m a mirage that’s appeared before him in the desert, as if he can’t be sure it’s real.
The room is bright, the cloudless winter sky leaving nothing to the imagination, and I dare look down and see the fire and need in Dutch’s eyes glinting in the light like sapphires.
I feel his hot breath on the insides of my thighs as he growls. Goosebumps rise over my skin and I bite into my lip.
When his mouth connects, I nearly buck him off the bed with a scream, my hips driving upward, my body twisting, convulsing, but he’s strong. He holds on like a champion bronco rider as his tongue slides down through my folds, my hands tearing my panties from my mouth then gripping at the sheets as I try to keep myself from breaking apart into a million pieces.
“I won’t ever wait again. Your taste is mine. You are mine.”
I look down to see him lick his lips, his face and beard already shiny and wet with me. And, God, the look in his eyes. It’s like he’s just found paradise.
So fucking hot.
Without warning, he goes at me again, eating me until I’m a boneless mess, my chest heaving as he greedily tongue-fucks, stars flickering in my vision.
I have no point of reference. But this is magic.
His focus and creativity make what’s happening far more than I could have ever imagined. How can lips and tongue and mouth combine into something that feels this good? It seems impossible. But, thank God, it’s not.
The sounds coming from down low are sloppy and decadent in the most glorious way.
“Perfect pussy on a perfect doll.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck yeah. I’ll never be able to live without you now.”
He reaches up and grabs my breasts in his strong, possessive hands, then dives back between my legs with a vengeance. I see stars and galaxies as his tongue slips inside my body, then through my folds before centering on my clit and sending me into orbit.
I reach down and hang on tight to his forearms, holding on for dear life as his upper arms spread me wide. I’m completely bare, completely vulnerable, but I have no shyness with this man. His mouth is pure magic and I’m losing control.
I glance down to see him watching me as I roll my hips onto his mouth, greedy for more, and he seems to feel the same.
“My fucking dirty girl. Fill my mouth with your cum. Soak this beard. Feed me.”
His tongue dives deeper, tasting my inner walls, and just when I think it can’t get any better, somehow it does. He’s so fucking good. So intent on my pleasure.
It’s like I’m the center of his entire world.
He slows his speed but increases the intensity. His tongue works my clit as his lips do things I didn’t think were possible. I feel the ball of tension in my center swirl with a new heat.
“Du-uuu-ut-tch—” I stutter, a desperation wrapping around my throat. “God, don’t stop, please…”
He answers by sucking harder, and I feel the pressure of a finger pressing inside me, curling it and toying with a spot that has curse words ripping from my lungs, my body arching until I think my spine will snap.
I’m in bliss. Beyond bliss and into whatever comes next. I’m on the other side of something so mind-blowing, body twisting, heart wrenching, I know already I’m addicted to this.
To him.
I need more.
His hands release my breasts and settle on my hips, pulling my convulsing, twitching body onto his still-working mouth as I slap my thighs against the sides of his face, the rough texture of his beard scratching against my sensitive skin.
The pleasure knots my toes and shoots up the backs of my legs, then turns into a spinning explosion deep in my core that tears through me until I feel the gush of wetness. From way out in orbit, I hear Dutch moaning.
He licks and kisses me through the orgasm, the movements softening as I come down. My body is filled with a warmth that covers me inside and out.
Dutch stays between my legs, kissing me gently as I return to earth.
I’m panting, my hands fisting the comforter I’ve pulled around me like a cocoon. My ears are ringing as I look down to see Dutch swipe the back of his hand over his soaking beard on a crooked grin.
Pushing up on my elbows, he shifts back onto his knees, and all I can do is stare at his cock. I want it inside me even more now than I did before he turned me into an orgasmic heap of jiggling Jello with his godlike mouth.
“I want that,” I mutter staring at his cock, like a child in the candy aisle at the store, ready to unleash an epic tantrum at the first sign of refusal.
“It wants you too Doll.” He reaches down and gives the swollen length a slow stroke as the ball of erotic tension starts to curl inside me again. I take in not only the length and girth of his sex but the way his balls hang low between his thighs, swaying slightly like they are trying to hypnotize me.
I watch in awe as his hand works every thick inch, sticky pre-cum dripping down the engorged head, the veins that snake around looking ready to pop.
“These balls are full. I’m going to unload inside of you. Raw, baby…something I never thought of doing before, but with you? Fuck, no choice, it’s gonna be hard, hot and bareback.”
His tone makes me shiver, ready. Ready for more. I want him. Need him. Right now. With nothing between us.
There’s no rational thought.
I will not ask about safety. I will not ask about condoms. I don’t care. I want him. As he is. Inside me. Now.
A flash of light from the living room breaks my thoughts. Sunlight flashing on something shiny. An instant later, both our heads snap around when we hear the knock on the front door.
“Dutch?” James’s voice splinters the moment, and Dutch puts his finger to his lips, looking at me.
“Hey,” he answers, charging off the bed, closing the door so just his head is visible as I shrink back into a ball. “I was just going to hop in the shower.”
“Okay, cool. Dad sent me back here to grab you, we have some work to do at the shop, wanted you to come up before dinner, maybe show you around. Felt like we sort of abandoned you here.”
“Nah, man. I’m fine.” Dutch’s voice is thick with desire, even though I can tell he’s trying to hide it. “Sounds good. Give me ten, I’ll come up to the house.”
“Okay, brother. Maybe we can go out later, I’m sure you might like to see if there’s some female companionship you can find.” I hear James chuckle, followed by the sound of his footsteps, then the door closing as my pulse rages.
I pop up from the bed and tug on my jeans, nearly falling over sideways in my rush, a dark thought clouding the moment as I consider that I was just the first opportunity at female companionship for Dutch after a long four-year drought.
Of course he was desperate for some sort of release, right? And there I was.
So available. Stupid.
“Hey.” He comes over as I push my head through my thermal, not even bothering with my bra, the scent of my orgasm heavy in the air. “There’s only one female that’s going to give me the companionship I need, baby. That’s you.”
Gah, really? He’s got good lines, I’ll give him that.
“I should go.” I turn around, trying to avoid eye contact. “They’re going to figure out I’m here. I’ll go out the back and walk around with the dogs. Even if they see me, they will just think I was out feeding them.”
He grabs my arm, crushing his lips to mine, and I taste the heady scent of my pleasure on his mouth and beard, my knees almost buckling.
Goddammit. I am powerless when it comes to his mouth.
He finishes our kiss and I can’t help taking one long last look at his painfully-swollen cock.
“You’re gonna need to do something about that,” I smirk.
“You’re going to do something about that.” He takes my hand and rubs it over the slick tip. “We’re going to finish this. I’m taking what’s mine, my sweet little doll. Midnight. I’ll be waiting.”