The Intersection Of Love And Lust
When I grab hold of him, Killy's entire body goes as rigid as his cock, every muscle tensing, jaw clenching and releasing; he's barely breathing, and his eyes are wide and unblinking and fraught.
I want so much—too much, I sometimes think. With Jocko—I savagely shove that line of thinking away. I'm not with him—I'm with Killy. Everything is different; I’m different.
I know there are things he and I need to discuss, but my libido has taken charge. It's been a long, long time since I've been with anyone, and I'm a very, very sexual woman.
I want Killy. I've wanted him for years and years, and now, suddenly, in this crazy, dangerous, scary situation, we've found each other. I know there's a real and intense emotional connection between us, and I’m nearly as eager to explore that as I am our physical one.
Just…not right now.
All I want right now is to touch Killian. To kiss him. To make him feel good. To let him make me feel good—and "let him" is the wrong phrase entirely. "Make him" is more accurate.
Beg.
Plead.
Bargain and barter.
But I know I won’t need to do any of that.
I'll just have to let him.
But first…
I drag my eyes away from his and turn my gaze down to my hand, wrapped around his cock. I can’t help another shocked laugh at the sight that greets me—Killian Harris is hung.
And by that, I mean he's been endowed with the most impressive penis I've ever seen—and I'm a nurse; I see a lot of penises.
It's from the point of view of a medical professional, and thus clinical and detached.
But you do sort of categorize, okay? Automatically.
For me, at least. But as I said, I'm a sexual woman.
I've dated and hooked up with a few men in my life, and I can say without question that the organ currently clutched in my hand is the most magnificent specimen I’ve ever encountered.
It's not just about size.
There is such a thing as too big, and don't let anyone say otherwise, it’s just relative.
I've been with too big; it hurts. I actually had to—with a lot of profuse apologizing—disengage from the guy and go home because I just couldn't enjoy it through the pain. I did help him out with my hands before I left, because I’m not cruel.
And it was a very nice penis, just way too big for me.
Some lucky size queen will have a great time with that guy—just not me.
Killian is going to be perfect for me.
I gnaw on my lower lip as I regard it—long and thick and straight, the skin a dark, dusky brown, darker at the base than the head.
His pubic hair is black and curly and thick around the base, and it looks like it's grown out from having been either cropped close or shaved.
It's slightly thicker at the base than at the tip, and the veins along his shaft stand out prominently, begging for my tongue.
Dear lord, I'm horny.
How long has it been since the last time Jocko and I were together?
I was truthful when I told Killy that Jocko was my last. Six months?
Eight? Longer? It's hard to remember, mainly because my entire being recoils from trying to think of that man when I'm with this one—the man I've wanted for so long.
I return my eyes to his, and I give him the first full caress, sliding my hand down his hot, hard length, and I whimper quietly at the feel of him in my hand. "Killy, dear lord."
"What?" he asks, his voice pitched low in a soft, shaky growl.
"Your cock." I slide my hand back up to his tip and pulse my fist around the head a few times—Killy's knees dip, and his stomach hardens until his abs pop in high relief. "Freaking gorgeous."
"You don’t curse, do you?"
I laugh, shake my head. "No, not usually. Neither Mom or Dad curse much, so it's something I've just never really found necessary." I stroke his length again, pausing with my grip around the root. "But in this case, I think an F-bomb may be called for."
"Oh?" He's trying like hell to act calm and casual, but he can’t fool me.
I smirk. "Yeah." I lift on my toes and lean in to him, and I kiss him, hard. "I'm gonna be fucking obsessed with this big, beautiful cock of yours, Killy."
He's panting after the kiss, and my words seem to leave him stunned. "Jesus, Story. Gonna give a guy a complex."
"Your cock is perfect, Killian," I tell him, stroking his length again, slowly, from root to tip to root, and then I pulse my grip around his root again.
"I've imagined what your cock would look like a million times.
I've flicked my bean thinking about this cock almost every night. And yet…” Another slow stroke, and this time I pause with my fingers around his plump, round head, the pre-cum smearing on my fingers.
"Nothing I imagined could have prepared me for the reality.”
I watch his face as I let my hand drift gently down his length; he's tensed, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed. He’s breathing hard, dragging in great, deep, slow breaths as if tightly controlling himself.
"Hey, you need to relax," I whisper. "You're so tense."
He shakes his head. "If I relax, I'm gonna come.
And I don't want to. Not yet." He closes his eyes for a second as I twist my hand around his cock-head, rolling my palm over the tip.
"I've dreamed of you touching me like this a billion goddamn times, and I want this to last longer than ten fucking seconds.
" His head tips back and he groans again, his hips punching forward to thrust himself helplessly into my fist. "I want to last for you. I don't want to…fuck!"
I laugh at his helpless, barked curse, rising on my tiptoes and covering his mouth with my smile. "Ssshhhh, Killy," I whisper. "Can I tell you a secret?" I pull back less than an inch from his mouth, gazing up at him as I drop to my heels.
He growls wordlessly, a quiet rumble in his chest as I caress his length slowly.
"Anything. Always." His head ducks, chin to his chest, and his eyes squeeze shut, and his jaw goes hard.
"Fuck, Story. The way you're touching me.
Jesus. It's…fuck. It feels so good. So fucking good.
Better than than literally anything I've ever felt in my life.
I don't want it to stop, not ever." His eyes fly open, burning with his arousal and now with curiosity as well. "What secret?"
“I don't want you to last, Killy," I whisper. "I want you to come fast and hard."
"It's fuckin' embarrassing," he growls.
My whole being sings at the ravaging arousal written in every line of his body, lacing his voice, and burning in his eyes. "I want it, Killy," I breathe. "If you can't hold back, you know what that says to me?"
"That I'm pathetic?"
I reach up, cup the back of his head, force him to look down at me while I stroke his hot length with slow, twisting caresses; with each one Killian growls in his chest and his hips start to drive and his knees to dip.
"It says that I'm doing something right," I say, fluttering soft, shallow pumps around the head of his massive cock, making him lift on his toes and clench his buttocks helplessly.
"It means I'm making you feel so good you can't help yourself. And Killy, honey, that is literally the only thing in the whole world I want right now is to give you so much fucking pleasure you forget everything else.”
"Well, that's exactly what you're doing," he murmurs, settling to his heels as I slow my touch, backing him away from the edge for a moment.
"Good," I answer. "So stop holding back and give me everything you've got."
"I…" he shakes his head, jaw muscles ticking and pulsing, brow beetled with concentration. "Fucking hell, Story." His eyes fly open and find mine. "I want to taste you. I want…I need to taste your pussy."
"And Killy-baby, the second you come for me, I’ll be begging you to eat me out like there's no tomorrow."
I twist us so his back is to the door and I press up against him and lift on my toes and I kiss him, deeply and slowly, all tongue and teeth and hot breath, moaning as he responds eagerly and hungrily, his hands lifting to cup my face with delicate tenderness, tilting his head to one side and deepening the kiss until I forget my own name, forget everything but his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, his breath, his hands scraping my hair away and digging his fingertips into my scalp, his thighs hard and bunched against mine—I clutch his hard cock and stroke his thick, smooth length faster and faster as our kiss becomes an entity of itself, takes on a life of its own, endless and wild.
I whimper and he groans; I gasp and he growls.
He thrusts into my fist and I stroke him faster, cup his balls in my other hand and caress them, scratch his pubic hair with my fingers and slide them down his tender sac and over his taint, cupping and kneading the weight of his balls in my palm, and he groans shakily into our kiss.
"Story," he whispers. "Fuck."
“Yeah?” I answer, my voice barely a whisper. "You like that?"
"I'm gonna…" he trails off, panting, head hanging, hips bucking. "Oh god, oh god, Story—oh fucking god, that feels so fucking good. Please don't stop."
"Never, Killy. Not ever. Not until you've given me every last drop of your cum."
"Fucking hell, the shit you say."
"Told you I can be a little bossy in the bedroom."
"I fucking love it."
“You do?"
'Yeah. Didn't know I would, but I do."
My heart explodes with joy—he couldn’t know how badly I need to hear those exact words. From him, more than anything. To know that what I need is what he wants? I’d say it’s better than sex, but…
"It's like you were made for me," I say, the words emerging unbidden, truth flooding out of me.
He's thrusting raggedly into my hand now, and I meet his upward thrusts with downward strokes, and I claim his mouth again, lose myself in another scorching kiss that has him letting out a long sighing groan.
"Story?" he whispers, sounding almost panicked. "I can't stop it. I have to come."