29
Smooth, bare back with rippling muscleis laid out before me as I sit astride on his toned backside and slide my oily hands up and down his spine. We’re shut up in his bedroom in a frat house home to his male swim teammates. Muffled voices and slamming doors serenade us as I dig the base of my knuckles into the small of his back. He’s a magnificently built man, shaped in a triangle with tremendously broad shoulders, a thick, powerful chest, and silky skin.
He grunts with every stroke of my palm or a dig of a knuckle as his skin shines from the menthol-scented balm. His body moves underneath me, skin against skin, toned butt pressed hard against my vag and growing wetter by the second. Every time I wiggle, I receive an erotic sensation that travels up and down my thighs, and I have to bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from moaning.
“That’s so good, Rae,” he groans blissfully into the pillow as his dark eyelashes tremble and the muscle in his jaw pulsates.
“When was the last time you had a girlfriend?” I ask to take my mind off the river flowing between my legs.
“Too long. I don’t have time,” the swimmer rumbles slowly in that deep masculine voice. Gold medals require blood, sweat, tears, and everything in between.”
“Yeah, I understand,” I sigh, blocking out the memories of my days as a competitive swimmer, and I wasn’t even at Cormac’s level of training. To ruin the moment, Lyons”s face enters my mind, and I immediately brush it aside by focusing on my hands moving up and down Cormac’s body.
Sweat trickles down my neck as the temperature soars from the sun on this side of the house. “I’m just going to open the window,” I tell him and climb off his impressive behind, giving it a gentle slap before I step to the window. We’re on the third floor in a three-story modern complex with as much architectural character as a gnat, but we have a good view of the street below, lined with equally uninspiring-looking halls and frats.
I spot golden hair caught by the sun and recognize Lucy and Josh chatting closely. I wonder if she feels bad about her affair with Lyons. They kiss on the lips and part ways, and I pull away from the window to find Cormac has rolled over onto his back, and his navy briefs are strained by the mountain underneath.
“Your turn,” he suggests and gestures me to lie on the bed, “I’ll be gentle, and I won’t strangle you or anything.”
“Well, that makes me feel so much better,” I chuckle, trying to understand his dark humor.
“I mean, I won’t hug you,” he corrects. “I’m too fucking scared that you’ll have another panic attack.”
My heart sinks. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out, and I don’t want to be untouchable or frigid,” I say, stepping toward the bed and removing my T-shirt as those studious blue eyes examine my B-cup breasts neatly bound in a bra.
“Nice,” he hums, standing up and kissing my lips while his large hand finds my butt cheek in shorts and gives it a tight squeeze. “Not untouchable when I can do this and,” his other hand cups my breast, “this.”
“Don’t sit on me,” I tell him as I kneel on the bed and then lie down on my stomach, apprehensive about putting myself into this position that could easily hold me down or cage me.
“I won’t,” he promises, “but let me just say you’re welcome to sit anywhere on me.”
He kneels next to me on the bed and unhooks my bra, then starts covering his hands in menthol balm, suitable for muscle strain and pains. It”s probably not the best scent for a romantic massage, but he won’t get any complaints from me.
“You’ve got to get used to people touching you again,” he says quietly as he rubs his hands together so they’re nice and warm.
I moan in agreement as his strong hands start working my lower back, and it feels so good, but I’m aware that I’m tense and take deep breaths to relax a little more.
“What are these marks here?” he inquires as his hands slide along my sides up to my underarms. I snap my arms down so he doesn’t tickle me.
“Huh?” I’m half dozy and don’t register what he means.
“Along the sides of your ribs,” he outlines, running the back of his fist gently along. “They’re like scratch marks or something.”
“Oh, they’re nothing,” I try to convince him, but now that he’s noticed them, I become subconscious and have the urge to cover my secrets, while internally, I’m begging that he doesn’t make a big deal out of it.
I sense his curiosity as if questions to ask are on the tip of his tongue, but instead, he moves his hands away from that area and focuses on my lower back again. “You’ve got a damn nice ass, Rae,” he tells me, and I sigh in relief that he’s not going to pursue the marks along my sides where I’ve scratched myself raw, often when I’m lying in bed. Copious amounts of rosehip oil have helped to fade most of the scars, but sometimes, in certain lights, the streaks are visible.
“Thanks. So do you,” I answer, as his hands slide further down my body to my butt cheeks as he tugs on my shorts, followed by a pinching. I look back at him to find he’s biting my butt over my shorts and leaving a wet patch on the fabric.
“Take these off,” he orders me, yanking on my shorts.
I lift my hips from the mattress, unbutton and unzip my shorts, and he whisks them down my legs along with my panties, leaving me naked and vulnerable.
“You’re already wet,” he points out, rubbing his thumb over the crotch of my panties before tossing them on the floor. His big warm hand grabs my bare butt cheeks and squeezes as he leans forward and possesses fleshy mounds with his mouth and sucks.
Sharp pain from his teeth quickly levels out to a dull ache that I find strangely tantalizing. A sigh draws from my lips, spurring him on some more. This wasn’t what I had in mind for a massage, but I like it, and his slow, gentle hands relax me into a giddy high.
After leaving a mark on my left butt cheek, he bites my right cheek and sucks hard and this time I hit my heights and moan, “Cooormac.”
A devilish chuckle muffled by my butt flesh trembles along my spine as a hand slides between my legs, drawing another longing moan from my lips.
“You’re soaked, Rae,” he growls from the back of his throat, and I can’t take the foreplay anymore.
“I want you inside me,” I demand, wriggling against his fingers that are finding my wet core and worming their way in. As soon as the menthol hits my G-spot, I cry out, panting from the penetrating sensation that’s both hot and cold at the same time, pushing me to the edge of an orgasm.
“Shush,” he snaps, smacking my butt cheek. “Be patient.”
“I can’t,” I whine, hungry for him to fill me up and ram me so hard that my troubles fall to the back of my mind where they belong.
He forces my legs open with his free hand and kneels in between, then pauses his movements, doing and saying nothing as the menthol sensation starts to fade. I twist behind me to see what he’s doing, and there’s a wry expression on his face. “How much do you want this, Rae?”
“A lot,” I answer as his fingers are stalled inside me, and I push my butt against him to stir them to move.
“Beg me,” he whispers, taunting me.
“No,” I hit back, shooting daggers from my eyeballs. “I beg to no one. I’m not a fucking dog.”
“Huh, stubborn,” he says, pulling his fingers out as I watch him closely grabbing the tub of menthol balm and scooping out a dollop with his fingers.
“Aren’t you going to finish me off?” I hiss angrily.
“Meh,” he shrugs, deliberately nonchalant to annoy me. That sardonic humor that I have come to enjoy is now pissing me off.
“Fine,” I blurt, “I’ll just fuck the living shit out of Blake.” Two can play this game.
Yet, frustratingly, his reaction is not jealousy or concern; he shrugs it off again as if it doesn’t bother him. Or maybe he’s good at hiding his jealousy, and if that is the case, there’s only one way to find out.
“You’re dumped,” I snap at him as his menthol-laced hands find the small of my back again, and this time, he starts massaging deeply, which feels fabulous as he hits a sore spot in my lower back.
“Dumped?” he asks, bemused, pretending not to understand what the word ‘dumped’ means.
“Yes,” I seethe, “I don’t want a man who plays games with me. I’m not into that.”
“Like Thorn?” he questions.
“No, like someone else. Maybe I’ll finally accept an invitation to a frat party and meet a guy there,” I tell him, and his hands stop dead on my back. Good, I’ve found his sensitive button.
“No other men,” he states in a dry tone, not sounding like himself, so I have to twist around to look at him. His eyes are narrowed, and his dark eyebrows are lowered, which is nothing unusual, but something behind his eyes makes me shiver. “Do you understand?”
“You don’t dictate to me, Cormac,” I shout, annoyed, even though inside, I’m fascinated by his possessive behavior. “You don’t seem to mind Blake touching me.”
“Thorn is practically family,” he explains flatly as if it should be obvious. I’m not the most worldly person on the planet, but I’ve never met guys who don’t mind sharing a girl, excluding porn and college party orgies.
My thoughts go to his father, and I wonder how he’d feel if I fucked Gabe, which is a fantasy I’ve indulged in a hundred million times. “So, Blake gets a pass?”
“Yeah,” he says as his fingers start up again, rubbing over my bare back, “but you don’t.”
“Hang on,” I have many more questions about this strange setup. ”Then I demand that you and Blake not date other girls.”
“We’re not. As I’ve said before, I don’t have time, and Blake has an unusual pastime, so he has to be careful about who he brings into his life. Besides, he’s too hot on you to even notice another girl, and I’m the same.” His hands move up my shoulder blades, and I close my eyes, relaxing into the mattress as every ounce of orgasm that I had diminished with every minty stroke of his hands.
“Yep,” a grunt is all I manage to say as I float away on a cloud of ecstasy.
“So, we expect the same from you,” he adds in a warning tone.
My eyes snapped open at the tone of his voice rather than what he said, as if they’d had a conversation about this and made a decision without me having a say. But I also know Blake has secrets associated with his job working under Smiler, but at least he’s honest with me. Whereas Cormac has a dangerous side that I’ve seen only fragments of in his eyes, and I’m unable to comprehend what is behind them.
It’s as if I’ve entered into a covert contract that I had no awareness of, but I can’t say that it concerns me that much, probably because I like the two men with whom I’ve made this unconscious pact.
I sigh, trying to understand the conversation. “I have no interest in any other man anyway. Like you, I’m too busy.” I lie because I am interested in his father, but I’m eighty percent convinced that my wish will never come to fruition.
“I can tell,” he says, moving those fabulous hands down my spine to the small of my back again.
“I was just shit stirring to see how you’d react,” I confess as my backside receives another light smack.
“Right,” he snarls, “it’s punishment time,” and just as I twist back to see what he means by ‘punishment,’ his head has lowered between my legs and lifts me slightly off the bed.
As soon as his tongue strikes my clit, I cry out, gripping the pillow with my hands until my knuckles turn white. He pulls away, and my body is roughly flipped over onto my back, legs spread eagle and intense hunger in those blue eyes. He licks my juice off his lips, then goes down for more, licking a line from my clit down to my core, then slides his warm, soft tongue inside, and starts fucking my hole.
My body gyrates against his tongue as my juice floods, and those hands move over my breasts and play with the nipples.
I tip my head and arch my back as the newborn orgasm storms through my body, and I lurch as every muscle contracts, followed by the shuddering orgasm, and I’m shattered into a thousand pieces.
Gripping hold of the sheets, my body continues to gyrate until every last ounce of my orgasm is gone, and I’m left panting, exhausted, like a thirsty bitch.
He wipes my juice off his lips with the back of his hand, but those narrowed eyes that rake over my naked body indicate that he’s not done. As I lie depleted, the swimmer gets off the bed and stands over me, gazing with greedy eyes and tight fists held by his side. I reach for the bulge in his briefs, but he knocks my hand away, preferring to stare at my body without a word spoken.
Several moments pass before he moves, his hand finding that bulge and flipping his erect cock out as I gasp at the size of it. My natural reaction is to touch his penis, to hold it in my hand, and to taste it, but he rejects my hand again in favor of his own.
Quick strokes along his thick rod as those eyes run up and down my body, completely vulnerable; nothing is hidden. I reach for my clit to play along with him, but my clit is sensitive to touch, and a sharp “No,” from Cormac tells me that he does not want that.
Cormac’s pace increases faster and faster, slapping and rubbing, as his already giant cock seems to grow even more. He steps a little closer to the side of the bed as his pupils dilate into black pools of desire. He grunts and tips his head back briefly to glance up at the ceiling before spurting warm cum all over my body. From my pussy to the breasts, he empties, still rubbing until there is nothing left.
Still locked under his intense gaze, I place a hand over the cum on my breasts and start rubbing it all over me. A hint of pleasure and gratification washes across his face as I brush his cum over my pussy and push it inside of me.
His lips part, and nostrils flare as that massive chest moves up and down with every hitched breath. “You drive me crazy, woman,” he exhales, shaking his head. “Dangerous for my ambitions.”
I cock my head about to ask him what he means, but he turns his back, pulls up his briefs, and starts putting on his sweatpants. I’m left cold and unsure why, but I follow his lead, roll off the bed, find my clothes, and start dressing under a canopy of awkward silence.