Chapter 11 #2
She did as he urged, trailing her fingers up his length and glossing the fluid over his head, which she slicked back down his shaft. He hissed in a breath.
“Be bold, sparrow.” He spoke in a strangled voice. “Take me in your hand.”
She wrapped her fingers around his thickness. Her fingers didn’t meet. A quick pulse of comingled fear and excitement throbbed through her, each heightening the other.
“There’s a good girl,” Des growled. “Pump me. Nice and hard.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“The only way you could hurt me is if you stopped.”
“I don’t want to do that,” she said.
“Then stroke me.” His voice was bestial, low.
She’d grown strong from her solitary life, cooking her own food, fetching her own water, carrying heavy loads throughout the house.
And with this strength, she did what he asked, pumping her hand up and down his shaft.
She learned his feel, the softness of his flesh over rigid iron, and how, when she stroked hard over the head and then down with unrelenting pressure, he would curse and praise in a ragged growl, his eyes narrowed but still brilliant blue, the muscles in his neck tense and strained, and the profound pleasure on his face turning him into a martyred saint.
There was strength here. He was in her hand, in every way. He was hers to command, this powerful man, so much larger than her, and yet now, at this moment, he belonged to her.
Heady, this sensation. She’d never known anything like it. Whatever it took to chase this feeling, she would gladly do it.
Suddenly, his hand covered hers, stilling her.
“If you don’t stop now,” he said, hoarse, “I’ll spend all over your tits.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” she confessed.
He groaned. “Another time. Now, though, I need in you.”
“That’s where I want you, too. You can spend inside me.”
His nostrils flared and the tendons in his neck went even more taut. “You want me to fill you with my come?”
“I…” Fear and shame stifled her. Those words from her secret books thrummed through her, all the things she’d desperately ached to say, and to have a lover hear her without judgment.
“Tell me what you desire,” he rumbled. “You can trust me.”
She let the words fall from her in a rush. “I want you to spill out of me and coat my thighs and drip onto the floor.”
“Hell.” He tipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. “Keep talking like that, and I’m going to fuck you until neither of us can speak.”
“I hope so.”
With an oath, he grabbed his cock and lined it up to her entrance. She pressed forward, gripping his biceps, urging him on. He swore again, then sank into her in one heavy plunge.
She cried out, straining against his thickness, but when he moved to pull out, she hooked her ankles around his upper thighs, keeping him in place.
“Jesus, God,” he rasped. “You feel…Christ…”
Words were impossible. All she knew was the feel of him inside of her, filling her entirely, stretching her to her limit.
He was still for several moments, and the humid air thickened as they panted together.
Then, his hands gripping her legs, he began to move.
His thrusts were long and deep, and the bench beneath her rattled from the force.
She held on tightly, pushing herself forward to meet his drives, grinding her clitoris against the hard plane of his lower belly.
Sensation overwhelmed her, and she hungered for more, wild with need.
“You’re meant for this,” he grunted between strokes. “Meant to take cock. To fuck like a beast.”
“Fuck me, Des,” she pleaded, as his words stoked her into a frenzy. “Don’t be gentle.”
“Rough, then.”
“Yes, please,” she begged.
His open mouth found hers and he kissed her fiercely. At the same time, he gripped her arse to hold her in place, his thrusts growing more intense, more formidable. Her whole body shook with the power of it. He held nothing back, merciless in pleasuring her.
She thrashed in search of…something. One of his hands snaked between them, until he found her clitoris. He stroked it in time with his driving hips.
Her climax leveled her, annihilating and remaking her in waves. There was no stopping her long wail of release as she gripped him, within and without, holding fast to the one thing anchoring her to this world.
“Fuck, Clara, I’m going to—” He threw his head back and growled, his body going taut. It seemed to go on forever, his orgasm, and it triggered her smaller, softer climax. She shuddered around him as he did as he promised, his seed filling her copiously.
When he finally pulled from her, his cock still hard, she was indeed coated with his spend.
Her thighs were slick with it, and it ran down her legs to stain her stockings.
He braced himself on stiff arms, his steaming body close to hers, and his lips on her hair.
The atmosphere was rich with the scent of her sex and his seed, and the sweat that coated their bodies.
She inhaled it deeply, reveling in the beautiful baseness of the fragrance. There was nothing refined or dignified about the scent. They had fucked, hard, and she wanted to do it again. And again.
His fingers curved around her jaw and he tipped her head back, then kissed her. It was almost reverent, his kiss, yet touched with lasciviousness.
I see you, his lips seemed to say through touch. I know you.
At last, he straightened and tucked himself back into his breeches. She sprawled on the bench, unable to support herself upright.
He looked down at her, his hot gaze trailing down to her sex.
“I like seeing you like this,” he rumbled. “Covered in my come. Limp after I’ve fucked you hard.”
“I like being like this.” It was precisely like what she’d read about. No. It was far, far better. It was base and beautiful, and it was real.
His hand covered her damp mound. She gaped as he brought his fingers, wet with his seed and her slickness, to his mouth and licked them clean.
Then he kissed her, tasting of their shared salt and musk, and she knew that nothing in the rest of her life would ever equal this moment, or who she had become.
She might not be that person forever, but for now, she would hold on as long as she could.
Until there came the inevitable time when everything was lost.