Chapter 11 Austin #2
I almost groan in appreciation but manage to keep my composure as I haul her to her feet.
Grabbing the sides of her face, I growl, “Shut the fuck up,” then crush my mouth to hers.
My tongue plunges inside and wrestles for control.
Her nails bite into my ass cheeks as I press her back against the wall of mirrors again, though I’m careful not to put too much pressure where the barre hits her.
When I finally pull away, we’re both out of breath, our chests heaving with the effort of dragging precious air into our lungs.
I tilt her face up more as I loom over her like a god with his toy, my thumbs smearing her eye makeup across her temples.
Then I move to her mouth, the pad of my thumb pressing on the swollen pillow of her lower lip and dragging it to the side as though smearing imaginary lipstick.
I like her lips natural, though. I like to see them change from pale pink to cherry red from my bruising kisses.
She’s always gorgeous, but like this, she’s a work of art.
“My pet is such a beautiful disaster,” I muse.
“I’m not your anything,” she bites out.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I rip her tank in front enough to expose her tits with their luscious protruding nipples. My mouth is dying to suck and nibble on them, but it’s another thing I’m holding off on till later.
I spin her to face the mirror and shove the elastic waistband of her skirt down to pool around her heels.
“Keep your hands on the barre and your back arched,” I say as I push between her shoulder blades and pop her hips back a little to get a nice curve in her body and her pussy presented to me.
“Yeah, just like that with your legs together.”
The lips of her sex are soft and bare and glistening with arousal, peeking out from between her thighs and begging for my touch. I use my index finger to spread her juices, then probe her, rimming the entrance to her pussy and smirking when she clenches down on the tip of my digit.
“Oh God,” she gasps. “Please.”
A couple of weeks ago we finally had the birth control and clean test discussion.
Not having to worry about condoms is convenient when you’re role playing that you don’t give a shit about someone, but that’s not the best part.
Feeling Emi bare is a sensory ambrosia I can’t describe.
It’s like having every good sensation ever created squeezing my cock.
I’d never gone without condoms before her, and honestly, I’m glad.
It’s been a long damn time since I’ve had any kind of “first” when it comes to sex.
Sharing this one with Emi just feels right.
Unable to wait any longer, I grab my dick and rub the head along the seam of her pussy, lubing it up as I push inside.
Once I’m notched at her entrance, I hold onto her shoulder and drive all the way home.
She cries out and I roar, both of us swamped with the pleasure of finally being joined in the most carnal sense.
I don’t waste time letting her adjust or holding still until the pressure of my building orgasm wanes.
I pull back and sink back in, pistoning my hips faster and faster.
“Yes,” I hiss. “So fucking tight. Like a goddamn vise.”
The slap of flesh against flesh is music to my ears, as are her moans and unintelligible words spilling from her lips.
Our gazes lock in the mirror and I know that our game is now obsolete.
Neither of us cares anymore to keep up the pretense, we’re both too lost in the feel of my body invading hers.
I suddenly need to be face-to-face with her, need to feel her, skin to skin.
Pulling out, I yank my shirt over my head, not even bothering to unbutton the damn thing, and toss it somewhere behind me.
I spin her around and bring our chests together, loving how the stiff peaks of her nipples feel on my chest. Hoisting one of her legs onto my hip, I bend at the knees to line myself up with her entrance and then straighten, impaling her with my thick cock.
Her head drops back on a shout of “ohGodyes” as I fuck into her again and again.
The ends of her hair tickle my forearm where it’s banded around her waist for support, but I need her focus back on me.
I need to be able to see her eyes and know that she’s seeing me now and not some nameless assaulter.
“Look at me, Emi.” Slowly, she lifts her head and meets my gaze. She’s so fucking beautiful. Flushed cheeks, heavy lids over glazed eyes, puffy lips…and she’s all mine. “Good girl. Keep your eyes on me, just like that.”
“Feels s-so good,” she cries out between the force of my thrusts. “Gonna…come…”
“Right there with you, baby. I’m right fucking there. Come for me.”
Fall for me.
My heart squeezes in my chest as the thought slams through me at the same time our climaxes hit us like freight trains.
Waves of white-hot pleasure crash over me, and my muscles bunch with every jet of come I shoot deep into Emi’s body, marking her as mine with every drop.
I hold her close, supporting her through the aftershocks making her tremble in my arms.
When she finally droops against me with a depleting exhale, I force myself to pull out, severing our physical connection. I cup the side of her face and place a gentle kiss on her lips.
“You okay?” Sometimes I wonder if she ever gets sick of me asking her this, but I don’t care.
Her well-being, both physically and emotionally, is the most important thing to me.
That would be true if we were in a strictly vanilla relationship, so it goes without saying that it’s even more on my mind whenever we have a play session.
A lazy smile spreads across her face, reminding me of someone on really good pain meds. “That was so hot.”
“I completely agree,” I say, kissing her one last time. “Let’s go get cleaned up. Can you stand on your own?”
She nods once with confidence. “Totally.” I start to let her go but catch her to me again when her knees buckle. “Whoa,” she giggles. “Then again, maybe not.”
“Not a problem, princess, I got you.”
I sweep her up into my arms, and she sighs, tucking her head into my neck. “My hero.”
Another pang in my chest in the vicinity of my heart. I want to be her hero more than anything, along with her occasional villain. But telling her any of that now runs the risk of chasing her off, so I’m still holding my cards close to the vest.
Carrying her down the hall, I bring her into the women’s locker room and set her down where she can brace herself on a sink while I start one of the showers. Once I’m sure the water is a good temperature, I get rid of what little clothes we have left and get us under the gloriously warm spray.
I take my time soaping her up with my hands while admonishing my cock for wanting more of her so soon. She tries reaching for it at one point, but I lightly knock her hand away. “Behave. Just let me take care of you right now.”
She pouts and makes some kind of harrumph noise but settles into the pampering easily enough.
I’ve never done this with or for a woman before, and as I begin lathering her hair with shampoo and massaging her scalp, a deep sense of pride and contentment spreads through me.
It makes me feel good to take care of her, to show her how cherished she is.
Emi’s come to mean a hell of a lot to me, and I try to let her know with my actions where I’m unable to use my words.
“I’ve been wondering something,” she says as I’m rinsing the soap from her long hair.
“Shoot.”
“I know you said before that there’s no secret trauma in your past or anything, but have you ever tried to figure out why the forced fantasies are your thing?”
“Definitely. For a long time, it bothered the hell out of me and I psychoanalyzed myself to death over it. But I think it’s not as complex as I was first making it out to be.”
“Why do you think it is?”
“From the time I was little, my main identifier has always been ‘good.’ I told you that my mom moved back to Texas to be with family, but they shunned her when she showed up with child and without a husband. It was just me and Mama against the world.”
“Seriously? Austin, that’s awful.”
“Not for me—I’d only ever had my mom, so I never felt that loss—but I saw how sad it made her.
Always knowing of the reasons to celebrate or mourn but never being allowed to do any of it with the rest of her family.
I decided at a really young age to do everything I could to make up for that loss by being the best son I could be.
“I always helped my mom out, whether it was around the house, at her dance studio, or just doing well in school.
She even called me her Mini Hero, and I guess that kind of shaped who I was at my core.
As a teen and even during college, I played the role of the good guy, especially with girls.
I was either charming them or listening to their problems and offering advice or support.
“Then I became a firefighter, which means I’m automatically perceived as heroic, whether I’m seen pulling someone from a fire or just walking in a store with one of my CFD shirts on.”
“That must be a lot of pressure.”
“Most of the time, it’s fine. I like being the good guy, I like helping people.
But yeah, it can be a lot of pressure to keep that up constantly.
Playing the villain for a little while is like giving myself a rest. There’s freedom in being the bad guy who only cares about myself and what I want.
Sometimes I think that I do as many good things as I can to atone for the part of me that likes doing the bad things. ”
Emi turns around and slides her hands up my chest to lock them around the back of my neck. “Lucky for us, I happen to really enjoy those bad things.”
“Princess, that’s the understatement of the year, right there.
” I take her mouth for a sensual kiss that quickly turns into a scorcher.
“How about we finish cleaning up here and head back to my place for round two? No games this time, though. I have too many things I want to do to you that my darker self can’t have. ”
“I’m definitely up for round two. And if you’re incredibly lucky, I might wake you up in the morning with round three.”
I groan just thinking of all the ways she might make good on that promise. “Then let’s go. The faster we get to sleep, the faster you can make that happen.”
We laugh and have fun teasing each other, finishing our shower as we build anticipation for the moment when we’re behind the closed door of my apartment and I can make her dirty all over again. Wash, rinse, and repeat.