31. Mara
31
MARA
M y chest grows tight and hot while waiting for Ark to expand on his reply, to explain how his baby sister is actually his niece. If I were holding my breath, I would have been asphyxiated by now. He isn’t exactly skirting, more not ready to be totally upfront with me.
I understand why. We were strangers only weeks ago.
It feels weird admitting that, particularly because I can still taste his cum on my tongue.
The reminder of how delicious he tastes has me squirming on his lap. Fortunately for me, my grumbling stomach frees me from looking like a heartless sex fiend.
“Hungry?” Ark asks, deliberately ignoring the elephant he left sitting in the corner of the room.
I want to push him some more, to reopen the lines of communication he’s endeavoring to shut down, but I also need a minute to wrap my head around the fact I shared the source of Tillie’s conception without hyperventilating.
Tillie wasn’t planned, but she is very much wanted. She gave me the will to live when I wanted to die and the strength to fight only yesterday when I thought my life had rewound a decade, where I was in Dr. Babkin’s office, striving not to die.
I am terrified about Tillie learning the method of her conception. It has nothing to do with who she is. She is much more than a byproduct of rape. She is my world, and I won’t allow anyone to make her believe differently.
But since I need time to work out how I can ensure that remains the case, instead of pushing, I say, “More like starved.”
I accept a soapy bowl from Ark before rinsing and drying it and placing it and two wine glasses into the kitchen cabinet. We’ve worked side by side for the past two hours cooking, eating, and talking.
It’s early. I don’t know the exact time since I haven’t been able to take my eyes off Ark for a single second. My guess is sometime in the a.m.
Despite the hour, I’d give anything for our exchange to continue. Our conversations rarely veered beyond meal prep and our mutual hunger, but a lack of conversational skills isn’t to blame. Another mutual craving has kept our word count at a minimum. It is very much sexually based.
You’d swear there’s a timer above our heads, ticking down too fast for us to keep up with, so we’re rushing through the stages most couples take months to achieve in hours.
The haste of our gathering would be scary if it didn’t feel so right.
It’s rushed but undeniably beautiful.
I shouldn’t be surprised. The shock of still being wanted after showing so much of my ugly side is addictive. I crave it as much as the sneaky glances Ark has hit my thighs with in the past two hours. His hooded watch has my hunger at a pinnacle, and I’m once again lost on how to ignore the elephant in the room.
I close my eyes and breathe in deep, inhaling the scent of Ark’s heated skin.
God, he smells good.
His cologne is pricy, and his choice of shampoo makes me feel safe, but I pay the most attention to our combined scents. I can smell my arousal on his skin and see the crinkles our heated exchange caused to his once pristine dress shirt.
I moan, incapable of denying the tension for a second longer before I pop open my eyes.
Ark is facing the same torturous battle. The front of his pants is extended, and he’s opening and closing his hands like he’s fighting the urge to delve them back into my hair.
“Ark…”
He saves me from making a fool of myself. In three quick strides, he takes my mouth hard and fast, the urgency of his touch sending sparks straight to my clit.
He kisses me desperately, tasting the spices that flavored our shared meal and distributing a taste that is uniquely him.
I respond to the urgency of his embrace with just as much rigor. I match the strokes of his tongue and moan into his mouth when his kiss makes my thighs shake.
The effortless strokes of his tongue and the playful nips of his teeth make me so legless that I stumble backward, needing something to brace against.
The moment my backside lands against the kitchen cabinet with a thud, Ark lifts me to sit on it and then yanks up my skirt. His tug when he shreds off my panties chafes my skin, but I’m lost in a sensation too perfect to convey panic.
I gasp into his mouth, loving how greedy he is to please me again when he wedges himself between my splayed thighs before he plays with the wetness between my legs.
“Mara… Christ. You’re drenched for me.”
I should be ashamed by how wet I am, embarrassed I’ve barely sat still over the past several hours, but I’m not.
Being desired is a drug I don’t see myself quitting anytime soon.
Ark groans when I rock against him, desperate for friction. I’m frantic for him to touch me, to make me scream his name, but since I can’t remove his cock and guide it between the folds of my pussy without touching him, I must wait.
Patience is not my strong point when it comes to this man.
“I need to get you ready for me. I don’t want to tear you?—”
“I’m ready,” I interrupt, squirming. “I’m wet. You s-said so yourself.”
I may have gotten away with my lie if I hadn’t stammered. Since I did, Ark curls my toes by running his thumb down the opening of my pussy before slowly pushing it inside me.
“Christ,” he murmurs again, talking through the lust curled around his throat.
“See. I told you I was ready.”
Every sentence I speak without a stutter takes a mammoth effort, but the dividends it pays are phenomenal.
In less than a nanosecond, Ark pulls his massive cock out of his trousers and lines it up with my pussy.
“Ready?”
Air hisses between my teeth when one nod sees him lurching forward and ramming into me.
He’s so profoundly seated that my cervix spasms violently and my thighs shudder.
“ Yesss. ”
My hands seek something to grip as my body fights not to protest the sudden intrusion. It burns taking so much of him so fast, but it also feels good.
My nails find something to clutch when Ark pulls my hands behind my back before he pins them to the kitchen cabinet. They stab into the opposite hand, and the burn their scratching causes adds to the tingles racing through my core.
With my arms used as an A-frame brace, Ark tugs me forward until my backside is suspended off the edge of the counter and my hips are free to swing.
Desire shivers through me when he says, “Open wider for me, baby. If you want me to take you hard and fast, you need to open up for me.”
My immediate compliance sees his cock sinking into me, stretching me, and making me gasp.
With one hand clamping my arms behind my back and the other supporting my hips, he thrusts into me again and again and again.
I grow slicker and hotter with every grind, and our combined moans make the humidity in my poky kitchen unbearable.
But I can’t get enough.
I grunt and groan, dying for that feeling I doubt I’ll ever experience without him. It feels too surreal to imagine it with anyone else. Too good. I can’t picture anything rating as high as the euphoria I feel when Ark makes me come.
“Oh god.” I pant through the coils retightening in my lower stomach. “You’re so deep.”
“Because I want you to take all of me.” As he slams his hips upward, his face hard with lust, the veins in his neck work overtime. “To feel all of me.”
My head falls back when I take the last inch of him. He’s fully seated now, owning and commanding every inch of my pussy.
“Mm,” I moan, the urgency of our exchange relieving.
I was worried pushing him out of his comfort zone would alter things between us.
I had no reason to fret.
The more we share, the closer we become.
I’ve never trusted a man as much as I do Ark right now, and it is proven without fault when he adjusts my position, and it removes the only exit from my view.
Panic should be slicking my skin.
Fear should be present.
They’re not.
I’m seconds from climax, and I am not the only one aware of that.
Ark takes me harder and faster. He fucks like a machine, and within minutes, I’m overwhelmed for the umpteenth time this evening.
This time, Ark falls into orgasmic bliss with me.
The squeezes of my vagina as it fights through a brutal orgasm set him off, and the heat of his cum when he releases inside me prolongs the length of my climax.
We shiver and shake as we ride the tidal wave threatening to swallow us whole until it subsides enough for me to realize not all of Ark’s tremors are from his release.
Some are from my fingertips brushing the scars on his back.