32. Pippa
PIPPA
When I wake, the sky is pale blue, in-between night and day.
For a moment I worry last night was all a dream, but the thought vanishes as quickly as the rise and fall of Shemaiah’s chest beneath my head, the stickiness between my legs.
He must have slid out of me sometime after he fell asleep.
We’ve adjusted positions so I’m pressed against his side rather than on top of him.
Still half asleep, I trail my fingers over the hard ridges of his body.
He makes a humming noise in his throat, but doesn’t seem to be awake.
Letting my curiosity get the better of me, my fingers graze his upper thigh, barely brushing against his cock. He’s hard, the length resting against his stomach.
“Touch me, Pippa,” he whispers, startling me.
His eyes are still closed, but a half-smile tugs at one corner of his lips.
None of his stoic distance is present in this moment, only open invitation.
A side of Shemaiah I haven’t seen yet. The desire to meet his invitation with one of my own has me sliding down his body until I’m positioned between his legs.
Puckering my lips, I blow a slow breath on his cock.
He grabs hold of my braid. “Pippa, you—”
He gasps when I lick the underside of his length, balls to tip.
“Don’t toy with me, wife,” he warns.
“I don’t intend to.” I wrap my lips around him.
The sound he makes in response is inexplicably masculine.
Deep and rich. His taste coats my tongue, heady and tarter than—oh!
He’s still covered in me. I should be disgusted.
But I’m not. I’m so turned on I straddle his leg and rub myself against him while I suck.
The angle’s odd, and his shin is too hard to really feel good, but I need the friction too bad to care.
When he moans again, I whimper around his length.
He wraps my braid around his fist and tugs hard enough to pull my head off his cock. “As good as your mouth feels, I don’t want to waste my cum down your throat. So get up here and ride my cock, Pippa. I want that cunt squeezing every drop out of me.”
This is another new side of Shemaiah, and it has me feeling fully awake.
Every cell is alive in a way I’ve never experienced before.
Right now, I’m as far from the fragile invalid I’ve been as I possibly can be, far from the na?ve innocence of my previous encounters with men, too.
His words make me feel desired in a way I never have before. Powerful.
I sit up, straddling his hips, and immediately take his cock all the way to the hilt. I’m so wet and ready for him. Moaning, I rock my hips, drawing him against the place inside that makes my body burn.
His fingers curl around my ribs, the tips of his claws pinching the skin of my back. “That’s it, wife. That’s it, love. You’re perfect. Don’t stop.”
He sucks in a quick breath as I move, as I savor the feel of his cock. His touch moves up over my shoulder, tracing my collarbone, sliding down between my breasts. My skin is extra sensitive, everything still relaxed and pliant from sleep.
“I won’t stop. I won’t ever stop.” With my hands on the headboard, I rise onto my knees and slide back down. We both groan.
“Is that so, Mrs. Roan?” He takes hold of my hips and guides my movement.
“Are you going to stay in this bed with my cock inside you all day? All night? Fuck, I’d love that.
This pussy feels like it’s mine. It was made for me.
I’m meant to be right here and nowhere else.
With no one else. Just you, Mrs. Roan. Only you. Stay with me.”
Every time he calls me Mrs. Roan, a thrill races up my spine and makes my head spin. I’m no elegant lady, no wife for a man like Shemaiah Roan, but every part of me wishes I could be. “I’m not going anywhere, husband.”
I know what we’re babbling is ridiculous, impossible. This can’t last. It won’t. But right now, I just want to imagine it can, and I’m grateful he’s willing to play into that fantasy.
With strength and speed only a Mavarri possesses, Shemaiah flips us. It happens so quickly I don’t have time to think about it. His arms hook under my knees, drawing me up and onto him as he kneels and thrusts, hitting a spot so deep inside my eyes roll to the back of my head.
“Maiah!” I cling to the sheets, head swinging side to side, frantic for the pinnacle I’m already chasing. “Don’t stop. That’s… so… good.”
He grunts his agreement. Sweat mists his brow, muscles tense as he fucks me, lifting my ass off the bed.
I’ve never been fucked like this. My small breasts bounce with the force of his movements.
The headboard rattles against the wall, and the thought that someone might hear us has me flushed all over.
“Touch yourself,” he says, his hands occupied with lifting my thighs as he drives into me.
I stare at him wide-eyed, shocked at his suggestion. I’ve never done that in front of anyone before.
“Touch yourself,” he growls through gritted teeth. His muscles strain, veins popping in his arms and neck. Beautiful, masculine veins. “Now, wife!”
At the first brush of my fingers, I quiver and clench, my orgasm hitting me with such force I clamp down around Shemaiah’s cock.
He curses and slams so deep it’s like he’s trying to leave a part of himself in me.
The thought makes me shiver, extending my release.
His forehead drops to mine as we both shake with pleasure. He kisses me. Once. Twice.
Then he pulls out, and I want to cry at the loss of him. “No,” I gasp, wetness gushing from between my legs. I draw my knees up, wanting to keep every drop of his release inside me.
“Oh, don’t worry, wife.” Shemaiah lifts me in one smooth motion and flips me over like he’s turning down the sheets. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He tugs my hips up and drives his hard cock back inside me.
“B-but you already came.” I gasp when he changes the angle and makes his thrusts shallow enough to never leave the place where I want him for long.
He chuckles. “And you think that’s going to stop me from fucking you until you can’t keep your eyes open? Fucking you right back to sleep so I can wake you up between your thighs the way you just woke me up? I’m Mavarri. I can go all night.”
“Yes,” I groan. “Do that.”
He squeezes my ass and pounds hard. “Grab the headboard.”
He helps me by banding an arm just under my breasts and lifting my body.
The way he’s manhandling me, flipping, pulling, lifting, makes me hotter, needier.
My hands curl around the tufted headboard and squeeze.
His pumps grow increasingly forceful until my cheek is smashed against the green upholstery, my ass flush against his groin.
Skin slaps skin. The bed creaks. I make noises I’ve never made before, wild and desperate noises.
I sound like an animal, and Shemaiah’s my wicked beast.
“I’m going to bite you,” he warns on a gasped breath.
I barely get out a ‘yes’ before his teeth sink into my shoulder. Ribbons of light dance behind my eyes. My body blazes like an inferno. Veins wrung clean as Shemaiah sucks and sucks and sucks. My gentle, stoic man, completely lost in pleasure, replaced by a beautiful monster I could easily love.
Tears stream down my face as pleasure rips through my body, rending me apart, heart and soul. I want forever with him, not just a few days or months or, at most, a year. I want to build a life with him, a family. Goddess above, I want more children, little ones that are part him and part me.
With a savage thrust, his hands slam against the wall on either side of my head, and he roars my name. When the thrumming twitches of his cock still inside me, he licks my wound, dragging his tongue up my neck to my salty cheeks.
“You’re crying.” He startles and pulls back. “Did I hurt you?”
“No!” I reach back, grab his ass, and pull him close before he can get away. “No, Maiah, it was perfect. I just… I don’t want it to end.”
The sudden awareness that it will end nearly crushes me. It’s all well and good to play pretend while we’re fucking, but now that we’ve stopped, reality crashes back in like a sledgehammer.
Shemaiah’s quiet as he wraps his arms around me, settling me on his lap with my back to his chest. His head nestles into the crook of my neck, and I allow myself this moment of bliss wrapped in grief and loss.
Needing his comfort, I twist, ignoring the gush between my legs and wrapping my arms and legs around him.
He ducks his head, pressing his lips to my shoulder, and for the first time in my entire life, I don’t feel alone.
A truth that makes me feel like I’m flying and falling at the same time, bracing for an impact that could destroy both of us.
I’m not sure how long we’re wrapped around one another before my heartbeat calms. The sun has finally kissed the horizon, brightening the room with white light.
“Let me wash you,” Shemaiah says.
“You don’t—”
“I want to.”
Another thing I’ve never done with a man before. Martin and I usually took our pleasure in quick, secret meetings, back hallways and empty guest rooms. I was always left to clean myself up.
When I nod, he picks me up and carries me into the small bathroom. Rather than a bathtub like those at the Roan estate, there’s a glass enclosure with a door. After setting me down in front of him, Shemaiah opens the door and turns a knob. Water gushes from a nozzle near the ceiling.
“Oh,” I say and grin. I’ve never seen anything like it.
He tests it with his hand and adjusts the knobs. When it’s how he wants it, he gives a satisfied hum. “Get in.”
He gently pushes me forward, and follows, closing us inside. The warm water flows over my aching muscles. Shemaiah’s hands drift across my skin, and mine do the same to him, exploring. It’s like neither of us wants to stop touching the other.