Chapter 18
Corvus
Two weeks later
Half an hour ago, I told Dalton no, but now I’m naked, bent over the kitchen island, and his tongue is up my asshole.
My muscles turn liquid with each stroke, and as he squeezes my buttocks hard, before pulling them wider apart, I start sliding off the counter.
A moan stutters out of my lips when the smooth wood pulls on my hard nipples, and I straighten my arms, grabbing the faucet of the sink on the other side of the island.
I’m still embarrassed of him kissing me so intimately. I worry my body might work against me, that I might not smell or taste right, but the steady, delicious glide of Dalton’s tongue takes away all my fears and worries. He’s so hungry for me, for every bit of my body, and I let him feast.
I did hook up with people in the past, but even my first time pales in comparison to the things Dalton has done to me in the past two weeks.
Has it really been that long?
We spend lots of time together, sleep in the same bed, but I’m still not sick of the stranger invading my home.
Maybe it’s the novelty of having steady access to someone who can satisfy me sexually, but the idea of sequestering him in separate quarters has long since died, and I find myself missing his company whenever I leave for work.
I no longer worry he’s going to flee.
I jog with him each morning and spend my evenings on the sofa, showing him movies he didn’t know existed.
I even agreed to watch the newest superhero blockbuster when he got all excited to see it.
It was… okay. But Dalton made us popcorn and managed not to burn down the kitchen in the process, so it was nice to turn my brain off and lean against him.
I actually sleep through the night now, as if the steady weight of another body next to me has quieted the demons warning me each noise is evidence of a break-in.
I used to always check each creak I heard.
Now, I assume Dalton has walked into something, which might not have improved my personal safety, but it does make me way more peaceful.
“No…” I whine when he pulls his face from in between my ass cheeks. All the nerve endings of my pucker are throbbing with the need to be licked again. He’s so damn good at it.
But I can’t complain when he forces my legs wider apart and sucks in half my dick in one go. My toes curl, my balls tighten, and the hairs on the backs of my thighs bristle when he slides his massive hands up them.
I’m in my personal heaven. I never imagined I could let a man do the things to me that Dalton does, but his easy going nature means one minute I’m laughing at some stupid joke about fucking a hot Pop-Tart, the next he’s an insatiable sex machine bending me over and pulling down my pants.
When lubed fingers push past my rim, I shiver, still sore from letting him have me twice yesterday.
I already knew it might be a bit too much, but then he rolled me over, play-wrestling me on the floor while The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari played on my TV, and suddenly I was full of cock and regretted nothing.
Is it normal that I can’t remember the number of times we had sex? It’s only been two weeks, but maybe it doesn’t matter. The burden of secrecy weighed heavily on my shoulders, and now I’m finally free.
He’s so good at making me feel normal about all this too.
For years, I was self-conscious about my fantasies, and the needs they created, but even when he drives me crazy, when I lose control and say or do embarrassing things while he tops me as though he hopes we can make a baby, he’s simply enjoying himself.
He’s nothing like some of the dominant, smug assholes I’ve experimented with in the past.
I rock my hips to meet three fingers lodged inside me, and everything about this moment is fucking perfect until my phone starts to buzz.
It’s on the counter, so very close to my face, but when I spot my mother’s name, I shut my eyes and ignore it, because I won’t be taking a break from pleasure to answer another question about menu preferences for the wedding I’ve cornered myself into.
Fortunately, the ringing soon stops, and I rise to my toes, trying to get Dalton’s thick fingers to touch my prostate, because—
“Fuck, yes,” I growl when electric sensations dance down my legs. “I-m… fuck, I’m ready…”
The sex hasn't gone downhill from that first mind-blowing time either.
If anything, it's gotten even better, because he listens, notices my reactions to things, and adjusts how he fucks me.
So now he knows how much to stretch me, that I enjoy a bit of pain and having my limits pushed, that I like his weight on top of me, and that if he pushes the right buttons, he can fuck me silly midway up the stairs. Which he did last week.
Dalton slowly pulls his mouth off my cock, and gives my balls an embarrassingly tender few kisses, but I’m past caring about decorum. "I love your hole…" he whispers, still languidly pumping his fingers into me.
What he leaves unsaid is ‘stretched and slick’ for his dick but I appreciate the sentiment, nevertheless.
I slide my foot back, then raise it, rubbing it against his knee, because I want more.
As pleasurable as his mouth is on my cock, there’s a greediness in me, a thirst demanding that I’m reduced to begging while he pins me to a surface.
It’s almost a slight when he takes his time this way, and I itch to make him lose control, be so aroused by me he can’t hold in his passion anymore.
“Now.” I try to make it sound like an order, not begging, but I’m not sure if I succeeded.
“Love it when you whine for me,” he says and stands up behind me.
Did I whine? Oh, fuck. Maybe? It’s for his ears only.
Dalton’s dressed in a slightly tight T-shirt and a pair of black jeans, but his cock is most definitely out and standing proud. He puts a rubber on in seconds, as if he’s practiced the move for a competition, and slides his stiff dick between my ass cheeks.
“I didn’t get that,” he teases. “You want my cock in?”
I want to strangle and kiss him all at the same time, and fuck, why is that angry emotion so delicious?
“You bastard…” I mumble, rubbing my ass against him, but the moment his powerful hands climb my torso, all the annoyance is gone, replaced by a sweet sluggishness. Everything about me is sweet now, and I wish for him to consume me.
He positions his cockhead against my hole and I bite my lips in anticipation. It’s so fucked up that I love the moment of discomfort when his thick dick pushes in, when I’m forced to yield, and he fills me with a part of his body. My own cock is already dripping with pre-cum, revealing my arousal.
“Am I though?” Dalton chuckles. “I just licked your pretty pucker like I’ve never seen a sweeter one.
I’m a good guy.” He punctuates his last words with a merciless thrust of hips, and half his thick cock is inside me in an instant.
His aroused groan is what wet dreams are made of, and when the initial burn transforms into a heat quickly spreading all the way to the tips of my toes, those dreams of mine become reality.
My muscles twitch, still adjusting to his size, but I want it. I want it so damn much.
“Deeper,” I mumble, rubbing my face against his knuckles when he squeezes my arm. Like a cat, I’ll never tell him how much all this means to me, but I’ll still crave him.
I spot his reflection in the glass of one of the cupboards to my side, and he’s grinning like an incubus about to feast. “I love to split you in half like this…” He mutters, and pushes the next few inches of his meat into me, grabbing my hips hard.
He lowers his body over me until he can kiss my nape, and I immediately lean into it.
“Love your legs spread for me, hole hot and tight, and to be inside you… fuck…” He’s babbling as he starts rocking his hips and testing me, and my whole existence shrinks to the heat inside me, that push and pull motion, and the way his hands squeeze my flesh.
The varnished surface of the counter fogs up where I breathe on it, and I cling to that image, desperate not to lose it completely right away.
It’s so fucking hard to focus when I’m under him.
I turn from the calm and collected man who doesn’t blink at cutting off fingers into moaning goo existing only to pleasure his cock.
“Always is…”
When I hear a ringtone, at first I’m too out of it to register its presence, too busy drooling over the counter while Dalton drills into me to the loud sound of slapping. But I wake up from this lucid dream when he puts his hand over my mouth and… answers the phone while buried deep inside me!
He doesn’t even stop fucking me, just slows down. Which is both excruciatingly hot and an act deserving a death sentence.
“Hey, Daphne. Yes, we’ll be there in half an hour, don’t worry.”
My mother? And since when is he on a first-name basis with her?
But just as that thought passes through my mind, his cock rubs my prostate hard, then sinks all the way in, making me quiver against the counter. I gag myself by squeezing my teeth on the flesh of his palm, but that’s not enough, not when he’s thrusting into me so very thoroughly.
It’s almost like he wants me to cry out loudly enough for my mother to ask what’s going on.
My knees tremble, I’m covered by hot sweat, and he saws into me over and over, as if he wants to unwind me, break me, change the core of what I am.
“Yeah, just doing some cardio. Wanna look my best for the wedding,” Dalton says with a rasp in his voice.
I can’t believe this is happening to me, and yet I’m not pushing him away. It’s humiliating that he’s answered the phone while inside me, but I love that he can pull that off.
“Oh he’ll be there, I’ll make sure,” Dalton says as I struggle to stifle a whimper, but he just presses his hand harder against my mouth. He punctuates the last three words with harder thrusts that melt my insides. “Don’t worry, I can handle him.”
Isn’t that the truth?