Chapter 17
Kaylee
Something about this man made me forget about good girl things, not that I usually worried about good girl things, about more than wanting and needing.
Oh, God, the needing. I waited for him to walk in, to step across the threshold.
Maybe he’d forgotten some things, too, like walking, forward motion, or that for us to fuck, he was going to have to practice both of the aforementioned acts.
When he opted to do neither, I pulled him inside by his tie then dropped it as he made it through the door. “I wasn’t kidding.”
He chuckled and wrapped his arms around my waist. “You have two beds.”
I nodded and reached down to slip off my heels, letting his arms steady me and using my body to rub against him.
No way was he getting out of that promise.
“Two beds, fourteen vibrators, a few pairs of handcuffs—one is pink fur, if you’re interested.
” I didn’t want him to be interested. “A virgin riding crop,”—it was the virgin not me— “a wax melter, a paddle.” He hadn’t asked for my inventory, but I was happy to give it.
Wanted him to know I didn’t have a lot of hard limits.
“Anal beads, ball gag and a mask, too.” Though those were all still in boxes, untouched and unused so far. For now.
He kissed me slowly, sensually, with his entire body and his hands.
Fuck, his hands were like a separate being.
And they were everywhere. In my hair. On my ass.
Under the skirt and on my thigh. And somehow, hot.
Not like sexy hot, though he was that in all ways.
But his temperature ran hotter than any guy I’d ever been with. A dragon thing?
From somewhere low in his chest, he growled, and it rumbled straight to my pussy. “Oh, God.” He dragged his lips down my throat, teeth grazing, palm cupping my breast. Only a thin layer of fabric separated us, and I ached for the skin-to-skin contact. Burned.
We hadn’t removed a single stitch of clothing, and I was already perilously close to the edge. Desperate for more. For as much as I could get.
I couldn’t wait for him to undress either of us. I pushed him back, so he was against the wall, his back the one pressed into the space between the door and the window.
In my life, I’d had a lot of orgasms. More than my fair share, probably, but none I wanted more than this one. I closed my eyes and moved by instinct, let the primal need and raw passion take over where desire and desperation left off.
He was beautiful and real. Corded muscle. Sinew and smooth skin that I wanted to lick every inch of. After I dispensed with his tie—over my shoulder—I yanked his shirt open. Buttons sprayed around us, clinking against the hardwood.
“I owe you a shirt.”
“This old thing?” He grinned. “If you don’t want your dress to meet a similar fate, take it off now.”
The zipper was in the back. “Unzip me.”
“Bossy.”
“Horny.” While he reached behind me, I stared my fill.
Broad chest dusted with hair, muscles like Michelangelo had sculpted them.
A waistline I wanted to nibble and a bulge in his pants that made my mouth water.
I wanted a taste, a touch, a few hours of full-body appreciation.
If I was a painter, I would’ve painted him.
A poet and I would’ve written sonnets. But I was a porn maker. And thank God for it.
And tonight, he was mine. To do with as I pleased. And, oh, yes, I pleased.
He laid his hand inside the dress against my spine. Warm and massaging, his fingers curled in and out, kneading and rubbing, caressing from my shoulder blade to the curve of my ass. Then he palmed the cheek and pulled my hips against his, that glorious erection pressed into me.
Fuck. He ground once, then again, until I hiked my leg over his hip so I could get closer, feel him where I ached, where I needed him most.
He groaned and brought his mouth back to mine as he slipped the top of my dress down my shoulders and arms, so it puddled at my waist.
“Oopsy. I think I forgot a bra today.” In truth, the low cut of the dress didn’t allow for it. But he grinned.
He looked for a full five seconds then turned us, so I was the one against the wall. He cupped his wrist around the thigh I had holding his hip and ran his hand the length, from knee to where it met my torso, then a little to the left so his fingertips brushed my clit through my panties.
I inhaled sharp and thick. God. I wished I hadn’t worn those either. I would have been two full steps closer to orgasm.
His fingers and his mouth continued working my body, and I wanted to touch him, see him, taste him. To have him buried inside of me. Anticipation shivered through me.
He was gorgeous. Sensual. A fucking god.
And he yanked the side of my panties, so the satin and lace ripped, and I grinned as he held up the fabric and tossed it behind him.
When he brought his hand back, I was wet, and he slid a finger inside me.
My head fell back against the wall, and I moaned as he moved in, so we were even closer.
So many sensations slid through me, one after another, pleasure, and arousal—old favorites of mine.
Then awe and shock—I was touching the thick cock of a man who was too big for one hand.
He smiled, groaned, and said, “I believe you mentioned toys.”
He was all the toy I needed, but if it turned him on, I wasn’t opposed. “Yeah.” I moved against his hand once more as he tried to withdraw then sashayed—there really was no other description—across to the table by the work bed.
When I opened the top drawer—the toys I used most often—his eyes went wide. I didn’t have time for a thorough investigation. I pulled out a pair of handcuffs. His eyes danced. His smile widened.
“Nice.”
They were generic, silver, metal. I frowned until I turned. He had a look—a smolder—and as much as I didn’t want to look away, the motion of his hand brought my gaze down. It lay over his cock, stroking through his pants. My mouth went dry and everything wet before was drenched now.
I walked back to him. I had to see it. Touch it. And oh, God, taste it. My mouth watered and I stared, like I could melt the pants or make them somehow magically disappear so I could do all the things I wanted.
One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile when I knelt in front of him. I tugged down his zipper, hooked my fingers in the waistband of his boxer-briefs and pulled so his glorious cock could spring free.
It was bigger than it had felt in my hand, bigger and thicker, hotter. I couldn’t wait. I licked the head, tasted him, and it was better than I imagined. So much better. He threaded his fingers through my hair and tugged, held me as he used his hips to set the rhythm.
Normally, I liked being in control. Loved it. But when he gave a tug and his hand twisted in my hair, a moan vibrated in my throat and he blew out a sharp exhale.
“Oh, God, Kaylee.”
He hadn’t seen anything yet. I swirled my tongue, took him deep into my throat and moaned again.
Guttural and deep, he growled and pulled his cock away, drew me up and walked me toward my sleeping bed, our mouths mashed together, one hand at the small of my back, the other still tangled in my hair.
I hadn’t wanted anyone the way I wanted him in so long.
Want didn’t have much place in my profession, but tonight, I yearned. I longed. I needed.
“Porter.” I gasped his name when he lowered me onto the bed and then crawled in beside me.
His cock throbbed against my leg, but I let him have a moment to gaze at me from the top of my hair to the apex of my thighs.
Everywhere his gaze touched burned, and when he closed his mouth over my nipple again, I whimpered.
His tongue flicked one while he pinched, tugged, twisted the other, mimicking the moves his mouth made. Heat rolled up my body and my pussy clenched when he moved his hand from my breast to my core.
“So slick.” He used my wetness to coat my clit, to tease me. Then he circled his fingertip, almost but not quite touching the spot I wanted him to pay attention to. Desire coiled in my belly, pooled, and he continued, so close.
“Please.” I whined the word, begged because I needed more. When he didn’t answer, didn’t touch me, I moved my hand down, but he pushed it away.
When I tried again, he laid a kiss on me, deep and sensual, and sucked my tongue into his mouth. Every pull went straight to my pussy and I groaned. This guy was…fucking killing me.
When he tore his mouth away, he inched down my body, left a trail of open-mouthed kisses on my throat, my collarbone, my breasts, and my belly. He pushed my thighs apart and settled between them.
His tongue flicked out, and my body spasmed. I needed more of that. His fingers bent into my thigh, squeezed while his mouth ravaged my pussy. My back arched and I cried out. Then he sucked the nub into his mouth and pushed two fingers into my wet folds.
“Oh, God.” No way was I going to last more than a couple seconds.
I watched him, watched his eyelids flutter against his cheeks and his shoulders contract and expand while he fingered me, his hips shift as he used his free hand to stroke his dick.
When he opened his eyes to look at me, I threw my head back and raked my fingers into his hair. I pulled and he moaned.
He moved up and I reached into the drawer beside the bed for a condom. Instead of handing it to him. I waited until he pulled up to kneel, still between my legs, and tore the plastic open.
I rolled it down his cock, stroked, massaged, and caressed from the base to the tip.
“Lie back now.”
Didn’t have to tell me twice. I put my head on the pillow and stared up at him. My God, he was beautiful. A fantasy come to life in my bed and I wanted more. I wanted all of him. His weight on my body as he thrust his cock into me.
“You’re beautiful.”
I’d heard it before, but when he said it, I believed he thought so.