Chapter Eight #2
She sits on the coffee table, setting her bare ass on the cool glass.
Jarod pushes her legs apart and dips his face to her pussy, licking her in almost identical strokes as the razor just moments earlier.
She looks down at him and runs her fingers through his thick hair.
He’s beautiful, that’s for sure. She can’t wait to see his cock.
He presses his tongue against her clit, and she groans, arching her back.
She puts one foot up on the table, opening herself to him more fully.
If he puts his finger in me now, I’ll come, she thinks—but of course he doesn’t have that insight.
That’s the trouble with sleeping with random men—they rarely know the right buttons to push.
Women have better intuition about what to do with her.
She thinks of her Lola Lola, imagining her tongue inside her. But no, not tonight. Jarod Marks is lapping at her pussy, and she’s not going to waste it.
She cups her hand under his jaw, tilting his face up.
He stands, and she runs her hand over the erection straining against his jeans.
She likes what she feels. At her urging, Jarod unzips and she tugs his pants down over his hips.
She slips her hand inside the flap of his plain white boxers, her fingers circling around his thick cock.
He pulls the boxers down and smiles at her.
Now it’s her turn to kneel and she does, closing her eyes and tonguing his cock from the base to the tip before taking the whole thing in her mouth.
He’s big, and she recalls hearing about that from somewhere.
Nice to know you can believe some of the things you read in the tabloids.
“Let’s go back downstairs,” she says.
“You sure do like to move around a lot,” he says, but helps her to her feet. He kisses her mouth, more artfully this time—then her neck, his hands on her breasts then sliding down to squeeze her ass and pull her pelvis against his. The feel of him hard against her stomach makes her pussy throb.
“The stairs,” she says huskily, and she doesn’t have to ask twice.
They stop halfway down, and Violet again turns to look out at the winking lights of the city. In her state of arousal, the Empire State Building seems to be such an obvious phallus, a brightly lit cock beckoning in the center of Manhattan.
But the best part of the view is the reflection of Jarod Marks, pressed up against her, his cock rubbing against her ass. He slides his hands around to stroke her nipples, and he licks the small of her back, which sends a chill up her spine.
“Fuck me,” she says, leaning on the railing, watching herself in the window. She locks eyes with her own reflection, anticipating what Jarod will do, how he will enter her and what his cock would feel like.
She’s surprised when he takes a minute to eat her pussy from behind before grasping her hips and pushing deep inside, long hard thrusts that make her gasp.
Between his thickness buried deep inside her and the sight of herself with a movie star, she knows her orgasmic dry spell is about to be broken.
She’s almost giddy with anticipation of her climax when his movements begin to slow.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes.
“I want to fuck you in the ass,” he says.
Of course you do, you latent queen, she thinks. All you guys do.
“Hmm, is that so?” she says.
“Yeah. That tattoo of yours is very … suggestive.”
“And what does it suggest?” Above her pussy it reads, in a cursive font, Merci. Then, above her ass, it reads No Merci.
So really, it can be taken either way.
It’s been a while since she took the submissive position of accepting anal. She loves getting fucked in the ass—when it’s done right. But so few guys are any good at it. But with Jarod Marks, even if it’s bad she has a story. So why not?
“Okay,” she says.
“Cool.” He withdraws slowly from her pussy. “Be right back.”
While she waits she fingers herself, admiring her reflection. Thank god she’s beautiful. At least there’s one thing she can count on. Everything else is such a crapshoot.
Jarod returns, resuming his position behind her.
But this time he spreads her ass, easing one finger inside her.
She grips the railing, resting her head on the back of her hands as he slowly presses his lubed-up cock into her ass.
She experiences the familiar sting of pain and near-pleasure, the intense sensation that confuses every synapse in her body.
Jarod barks out a noise, his hands grasping her hips tightly.
Violet finally accepts the fact that she’s not going to come.
Not from Jarod Marks. All the fame in the world isn’t enough for her dark eroticism.
She closes her eyes and thinks of a woman she met after a show a few weeks ago.
She wasn’t that pretty, but she had the softest, pinkest pussy Violet had ever seen.
She ate her out for an hour and lost count of how many times the woman came. And Violet came from it, too.
Violet reaches down and touches herself, thinking of that pink pussy.
Tension builds in her cunt, and she keeps rubbing as Jarod moves his cock in and out with cautious strokes, his breathing heavy.
And then she feels it, that blinding, bodywide shudder of an orgasm.
The mental image of the woman in her mind’s eye changes like the click of a camera shutter, and Violet moans as she imagines her Lola Lola.
She imagines Moxie.
What is it about Mallory Dale that has her so intrigued?
She’s not entirely sure. It’s some combination of finding her completely basic but also wildly sexually attractive.
Mallory Dale, with her safe little day job and her safe little relationship with that boyfriend of hers.
Her pussy probably smells like roses and cotton candy.
Violet just wants to tie her up and defile her.
And what Violet wants, Violet gets.