Chapter 9 #2
She rolled a condom onto him, inch-by-fucking-inch.
Her gaze met his.
He was on her so fast she didn’t have a chance in hell of resisting.
Like a mindless barbarian, he tossed her on her back, shoved her legs open, and speared her in one brutal move. As all that heat sheathed him, he froze, teetering on the edge.
He hadn’t lost control like that since he’d been a teenager.
Snugged up tight to his groin, his balls throbbed with the pressure of an imminent explosion.
Sweating, he fought himself back. If she moved—moved at all—he’d go off.
She didn’t move.
With a slow inhalation, he backed away from the precipice and opened his eyes.
Her rich brown hair tumbled gloriously over the pillow. Her face was flushed with heat. And her eyes were filled with approval as she smiled at him. “I’m impressed, guard dog.”
“You should be,” he growled. “I may never walk again.”
At her laugh, her cunt constricted around him, and he sucked in air. Not yet. Please. Jesus, when he started thrusting, he wasn’t going to last long at all. “I want you to come too. First. But—”
“Benjamin, if you didn’t get off quickly now, I’d consider myself a failure.” She grinned and picked up a remote-control box from beside the pillow. “You probably didn’t notice, but I’m going to help out here.”
A small buzzing started, and he felt the vibration on his pubic bone. He lifted up slightly. Carefully. She wore some triangle thing that covered her clit and vibrated. Fucking awesome…but when had she put it on?
“Do I get the remote?” he asked hopefully.
She actually laughed. “No.”
Damn, he liked a woman who knew her mind. And his.
As the vibrator worked its magic, he watched a flush creep up her chest, her neck, her face.
Propping himself up with one hand, he used the other to enjoy her breasts.
She filled his big hand just right—so firm and round.
Her nipples were as rigid as small bullets.
He plucked them, rolled them, making them lengthen, and enjoying the hell out of her soft sounds of enjoyment.
Her cunt tightened around him.
Almost. Almost.
“Can I get you to put your legs around my waist, Ma’am?” He totally wanted her elegant little heels thumping just above his ass when he started hammering into her.
She looked up at him in consideration. Still in control—the woman was superhuman.
Anne had to admit, it was getting difficult to think. She was damned close to coming with the butterfly vibrator on high and all that thickness of him inside her. The man was truly hung like a bull.
He’d asked her something—to move her legs. Right. She felt herself tightening, the pressure growing. She could give in to his request. To some extent. She cleared her throat. “If you hang onto the headboard with one hand, you may do anything you want with my legs.”
His answer was a growl of appreciation. He yanked her left leg up to his waist and grabbed the headboard with his right hand. After moving his knees apart for better balance, he put his left arm under her right knee, lifting and spreading her, surging even deeper.
Her fingernails dug into his skin at the glorious sensation.
As he slid his cock out slowly, his jaw went tight. “I can still feel every wrap on my dick,” he muttered, making her laugh.
His tanned face darkened with lust as he deliberately penetrated her, pulled back, thrust in faster. And ground his pelvis against the butterfly over her clit.
The last straw.
Oh God. The coiling pressure in her core clenched like a fist, encountered his heavy shaft, and exploded, battering across her senses with thunderous waves of pleasure.
Her hips bucked and even in the middle of her orgasm, she heard his, “Fucking hell.” And then her leg was lifted higher, and he started hammering into her. Deep. Hard. Powerful. The entire bed rocked as he kept his grip on the headboard, as his huge body rammed into her.
With an ear-ringing rush, she went over again, the pleasure consuming her. God, she’d never felt anything like it.
As her vision cleared slightly, she nuzzled his neck, kissing the white scars, and then ran her fingernails down his chest to find—and pinch—his nipples.
He roared…and slammed into her, rocking the bed with each thrust.
Something cracked—and the bed tilted diagonally.
Growling, Ben pressed deep, deep into her, and his cock pulsed with his climax, sending more sizzling pleasure through her.
She managed to fumble the remote to OFF and simply went limp.
Eventually, when her heart rate slowed to a less painful gait, she opened her eyes. Head bowed, Ben was immobile, his wide chest expanding and contracting with his breathing. His face was flushed, the cords on his neck still taut.
Magnificent.
She rubbed her hands over his back, appreciating the solid feel of his muscles.
Holding the headboard with one hand—good submissive—he carefully let her leg down.
Still buried deep, his cock was giving small twitches. She grinned inwardly. His tool would remember her tomorrow.
“Ma’am?” His voice sounded as if he’d swallowed half of her sandy beach. “Are you…”
So sweet. She ran her hand over his strong face. “I’m fine, Benjamin.” She paused. “But you broke my bed.”
He didn’t even look embarrassed. Instead, his eyes glinted as he smiled slowly. “Guess we’ll have to move to the floor for the next round.”
A couple of hours later, Anne came out of the shower to the sound of someone pounding on her back door.
While she’d finished washing her hair, Ben had taken Bronx for a walk. Now the dog lay in the corner…and Ben was repairing the damage to her bed. “Bed’s almost fixed.”
He nodded toward the door. “Problems?” His long hair was disheveled, his five-o’clock shadow visible. He looked like a tousled, annoyed male, and she wanted to push him onto the pile of bed linens and muss him up some more.
“Probably not,” she said. “But, unfortunately, since my car’s here, my family knows I’m home. Whoever it is won’t stop until I answer the door.”
“I got firearms in my ride.”
She grinned. “So do I, but shooting relatives is considered bad manners.”
“True.” He rose and ran his fingers over her face. “I can’t get over how beautiful you are, no matter what you wear, what time of day.”
Everything within her melted into a puddle. She gave him an exasperated look to cover that up, opened the window, and shouted, “I’ll be down in a couple of minutes. Bestow yourself with patience.”
She closed the window on Travis’s X-rated answer. “Men,” she said in a low voice and picked out clean underwear.
“Anne.” Ben had squatted back beside the bed.
She braced, expecting a complaint about how she was neglecting him. Joey had been a good enough slave to be silent, but he’d certainly have pouted.
“I’ll be done with this in a minute. Want me to stay up here or let myself out quietly?” he asked.
The tactfulness of the question staggered her. And reminded her not to judge this man by anyone else.
And…she realized she didn’t want him sneaking away. “No, come on down and I’ll fix you supper. My brother knows I have a personal life. He might tease me, but not you.”
His face darkened. “He’d better not give you any grief.”
Even though his protectiveness was oddly warming, her spine still stiffened. “Down, Benjamin. I can handle my own family.”
After a second, he gave a jerk of his head. “Yes, Ma’am, I guess you could, at that.”
The way he could be protective, yet trust her to look after herself, both warmed and delighted her—and she indulged herself in a long, decadent kiss.
On the way out, she stopped to pet Bronx. “You’re such a good dog.” His tail thumped the carpet.
Downstairs, she unlocked the back door that opened onto her high deck.
Travis sauntered in. “’Bout time. You’re getting slow, sis.” He tugged on her hair.
Jeans, ratty gray T-shirt, boots. His hair was the same rich brown as hers, although kept almost as short as in his military days. Dark blue eyes, classically handsome features, tall and muscular and tan. Like their mother, he was far more fun loving and sociable than she was.
If she’d had a favorite brother, he might have made the cut.
“I saw the extra vehicle outside.” He headed straight to the kitchen. “Got a new man?”
“You are such a snoopy pants.” Despite the late afternoon time, she selected a caramel-flavored coffee pod and put it into the Keurig. “What are you doing over here?”
“No food in my fridge. Any chance you have lasagna left?” He gave her the appealing grin which worked so well on his women.
Sex appeal didn’t work on a sister, poor lad.
“Maybe. And maybe I’d feed you if you mow my lawn.” She took her cup from the machine and inserted a dark roast coffee pod for him, along with a clean mug.
“Deal. Can I get garlic bread too?”
“Fine.” She pulled out the remains of a loaf of French bread and started to cut slices. A few minutes later, Ben and Bronx came down the stairs.
Travis’s jaw dropped as he stared at Ben. “Jesus fuck, where’d she find you?”
The guard dog’s shoulders stiffened.
Anne smacked the back of her brother’s head. “Were you raised in a barn?” How could she explain to Ben that Travis hadn’t meant his words as an insult?
“Ah, sorry, man. Didn’t mean it that way,” Travis said.
When Ben’s gaze hit hers, comprehension showed on his face as he undoubtedly recalled her typically younger, more slender slaves.
“Ben, this is my brother, Travis. Travis, Ben.”
“Good to meet you.” Travis bent to let Bronx sniff his hand and then ruffled his fur. “Great-looking dog.”
“Thanks.”
Anne walked over to put an arm around Ben, to finish easing the awkwardness her brother had created.
“Ben, Travis is here to mooch leftovers since I made lasagna a couple of days ago. If you hate Italian food, I have sandwich fixings.” She pushed the basket holding the coffee pods toward him.
“Pick a coffee if it’s not too late for you.
Or there’s wine and beer in the fridge.”
“If you have enough, lasagna sounds fantastic.”