Chapter 8 #2
"I will undress when I am ready," I tell her, my voice rough with authority. "Right now, I want to focus entirely on you. On mapping every inch of your body with my hands and mouth until I have memorized exactly what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes you fall apart beneath my touch."
I release her wrists and place both of my hands on her thighs, just above her knees, and begin a slow, deliberate path upward. The leggings she wears are soft and worn, and I can feel the heat of her skin radiating through the thin fabric as my palms glide higher, pushing the fabric up as I go.
"Faugh," she breathes, her hands coming to rest on my shoulders again, gripping tight enough that I can feel the slight bite of her nails even through my shirt.
"Say my name again," I command, my hands reaching her hips and hooking into the waistband of both her leggings and the simple underwear beneath. "I want to hear it while I strip you bare."
"Faugh," she repeats, and this time the word emerges not as a measured plea but as a needy, trembling whimper that reverberates through the kitchen air.
The desperate, almost fractured quality of her voice, so at odds with the confident artist I know her to be, sends a surge of possessive heat straight through my core, pooling at the base of my spine and hardening my already straining arousal into something almost unbearable.
I can feel myself thickening further against the confines of my slacks, the pressure building with each ragged breath she takes, each helpless sound that spills from her lips.
I drag the fabric down her legs in one smooth motion, lifting her just enough to pull everything free and toss it aside without care for where it lands.
She is completely naked now, sitting on the kitchen counter with her thighs spread around my hips, and her like this steals what little rational thought I have remaining.
"Beautiful," I rumble, my hands spanning the delicate expanse of her thighs and pushing them wider still, opening her completely to my hungry, possessive gaze. She’s laid bare before me, flushed and glistening with her own arousal, sends another surge of primal satisfaction through my chest. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Mine."
"Yours," she agrees again, breathless and urgent, and the simple word seems to unlock something deeply feral and primal inside me, something that has been straining against the careful bonds of my control since the moment she first crossed this apartment's threshold.
The beast inside me roars its approval, demanding that I claim her, mark her, ensure she knows exactly who she belongs to.
I lower myself to my knees in front of her without ceremony, the motion deliberate and controlled despite the raging inferno beneath my skin.
The shift in position brings my face level with her core, and she can clearly see the raw hunger burning in my eyes as I take in her.
Her breath catches sharply in her throat, and her thighs quiver slightly at my proximity.
"What are you—" she stammers, her voice fracturing on a note of anticipation and uncertainty, one small hand reaching down as if to touch my face, then hesitating, uncertain of her boldness.
Her words dissolve into a broken moan as I lean forward and drag my tongue through her slick folds in one long, deliberate stroke.
She tastes like salt and musk and something uniquely her, and the flavor floods my senses until I am growling against her wet heat, the vibration making her thighs tremble on either side of my head.
"Faugh, I can't—it's too much—" she stammers, her voice climbing to that breathless pitch that makes something primal inside me surge with satisfaction.
But even as the words tumble from her lips in protest, her hands are already tangling desperately in my hair, her fingers threading through the strands and pulling me closer with an urgency that belies her stammered objection.
She is not pushing me away. She is drawing me in, her body speaking a language far more honest than the fractured protests spilling from her mouth.
I wrap my arms around her thighs, holding her firmly in place, and proceed to devour her with single-minded focus.
I map her with my tongue, learning what pressure makes her gasp and what rhythm makes her hips buck helplessly against my mouth.
When I find the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of her folds and suck gently, she cries out sharply, her grip on my hair tightening to the point of pain.
"Yes," I growl against her, the sound muffled against her heated flesh but no less commanding in its raw intensity. "Let me hear you. Let everyone in this entire building know exactly who is making you feel this devastatingly good, who has you trembling and falling apart on their mouth like this."
She whimpers, her head falling back as I redouble my efforts, alternating between broad strokes of my tongue and focused attention on the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes her whole body shake.
I slide one thick finger carefully into her tight heat, and the way she clenches around the intrusion makes me groan.
"So tight," I rumble, working my finger slowly in and out while maintaining the rhythm of my tongue. "You are going to struggle to take my cock, are you not? Going to need careful preparation before I can fit inside you properly."
"I can take it," she gasps, her voice wavering with breathless determination even as her thighs tremble around my shoulders.
The raw conviction threading through those words, the sheer stubborn will of her despite being completely undone on my mouth, makes something primal and possessive shift deep in me.
I smile against her slick flesh, the curve of my lips pressing into the soft, heated skin of her inner thigh, and I cannot help but rumble my approval at her courage.
"We will see," I tell her, adding a second finger and feeling her stretch around the increased girth.
She hisses slightly at the burn but her hips rock forward, seeking more, and I reward her bravery by curling my fingers upward and stroking firmly against the sensitive spot inside her that makes her vision go white.
Her thighs clamp around my head and she screams, her entire body going rigid as her orgasm crashes through her. I work her through it relentlessly, my fingers and tongue maintaining their rhythm until she is sobbing and pushing weakly at my shoulders, overstimulated and shaking.
I rise to my feet, my fingers sliding free from her still-clenching heat, and bring them to my mouth to suck them clean while maintaining eye contact. Her eyes go wide as she watches, and I can see fresh arousal already beginning to build despite her recent climax.
"Delicious," I inform her. "But I am far from finished with you yet, Chantel. Not even remotely close."
I allow my gaze to rake deliberately across her flushed, trembling form—still sprawled across the countertop with her thighs parted and glistening, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath.
Her undone state, so thoroughly wrecked by my mouth and hands, sends another surge of that primal, possessive heat coursing through my veins.
My cock throbs with renewed intensity at the visual alone.
I reach out slowly, deliberately, letting my massive hand trail up the inside of her thigh, watching as goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. She whimpers softly, still sensitive, still vulnerable. Perfect.
"We are only just beginning," I murmur.
She reaches for my belt with trembling hands, and this time I allow it, watching with dark satisfaction as she works the leather free and begins on the button and zipper of my slacks.
The fabric is straining obscenely across my erection, and when she finally manages to work everything open and my cock springs free, her sharp inhale of shock makes me grin.
"That is not going to fit," she says bluntly, staring at my length with wide eyes, and I have to admit she has a valid concern given the significant size difference between us.
I am proportional to the rest of my frame, which means I am substantially larger than a human male, thick enough that her small hand cannot close fully around my girth when she reaches out tentatively to touch.
The head is flushed dark green and already leaking, and when her thumb swipes through the moisture gathering at the tip, I have to brace myself against the counter on either side of her to keep from buckling.
"It will fit," I assure her roughly, my hips jerking forward involuntarily as she begins to stroke with unpracticed enthusiasm. "But we will take it slowly. I will not hurt you, Chantel. I will make sure you are ready, that you are wet and open and desperate before I even attempt to push inside."
"I'm already desperate," she argues breathlessly, squeezing experimentally and watching my face contort with pleasure. "I want you inside me. Want to feel the stretch, want to be so full I can’t breathe."
Her filthy words, delivered in that breathy, uncertain voice, nearly undo me completely. I capture both her wrists again, pinning them to me, and lean down to capture her mouth in a bruising kiss.
"Wrap your legs around my waist," I command against her lips, and she complies immediately, her thighs bracketing my hips and her ankles locking at the small of my back.
I lift her effortlessly off the counter, one arm banding around her lower back while my other hand grips my cock, positioning myself at her entrance.
She is slick and hot against my tip, and it takes every ounce of control I possess not to simply thrust forward and bury myself to the hilt in her welcoming heat.
"Breathe," I instruct her in that low, measured tone that settles something restless in her chest, pressing forward with deliberate slowness and feeling the initial resistance of her body as it confronts the unprecedented stretch.
"Relax and breathe. Let your body adjust to me.
There is no rush, Chantel. We have all the time you need. "
I hold myself perfectly still once I have advanced another fraction of an inch, my jaw clenched so tightly I fear my teeth might crack, every muscle in my massive frame locked down with the herculean effort of restraint.
The sensation of her wrapped around me, hot and tight and impossibly perfect, is nearly my undoing, but I force myself to remain motionless, to be the steady anchor she needs while her body learns to accommodate mine.
My free hand splays across her lower back, a grounding weight, and I feel her gradually release the tension she has been holding, her breathing evening out into something more measured.
She whimpers, her face buried against my neck, and I feel her deliberately relaxing her muscles. I push forward another inch, feeling her stretch impossibly wide around me, and the tight, wet heat threatens to rob me of what little control remains.
"More," she gasps, her nails digging crescents into my shoulders. "Please, Faugh, I need more."
I oblige, working myself deeper in small, careful increments, giving her body time to accommodate my size. By the time I am fully seated inside her, we are both shaking, and I can feel her pulse fluttering frantically around my cock.
"Move," she demands, her voice breaking on the word. "Please move, I need—"
I pull out slowly, feeling every inch of her grip on my shaft, and then thrust back in with more force. She cries out, her head falling back, and I take the opportunity to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to her exposed throat while establishing a deep, demanding rhythm.
The sounds filling the kitchen are obscene—the wet slap of our bodies coming together, her breathless gasps and moans, my rough growls of pleasure. I angle my hips to hit that spot inside her that makes her vision blur, and her cries increase in volume and desperation.
"That is right," I rumble against her skin. "Take my cock. Take everything I give you and beg for more."
"More," she sobs obediently. "Harder, Faugh, please, I can take it—"
I shift my grip, one hand supporting her weight while the other slides between our bodies to find the sensitive bundle of nerves where we are joined. The moment I make contact, her entire body goes rigid, and she comes with a sharp scream that echoes off the kitchen walls.
The rhythmic clenching of her inner muscles around my cock triggers my own release, and I bury myself as deep as physically possible as I empty myself inside her with a roar that rattles the dishes in the cabinets.
The orgasm seems to go on forever, wave after wave of intense pleasure that whites out my vision and makes my knees threaten to buckle.
We stay locked together, both of us gasping for breath, her body still wrapped tightly around mine as aftershocks ripple through us both. I carry her carefully to the counter and set her down gently, my softening cock slipping free, as evidence of our joining begins to leak down her thighs.
"Mine," I rumble again, unable to stop myself from pressing the claim even as rational thought begins to return.
"Yours," she agrees, her voice wrecked and satisfied, and she reaches up to cup my face between her small hands, pulling me down for a surprisingly tender kiss.
The apartment lights flicker suddenly, once, twice, and then die completely, plunging us into darkness. A massive clap of thunder shakes the building hard enough that the dishes rattle violently in the cabinets, and somewhere in the distance, I hear the sharp crack of a transformer exploding.