Brazen (6 page)
I catch his
eyes in the mirror. “I want you.”
“I know.”
“Enjoy
yourself
,” I say. “You’re never getting this again.”
I feel his
head at my entrance, teasing.
“You’re so
wet,” he murmurs, and it sounds suddenly like worship.
“Take me.”
“I only get
this once, you said. I’ll do it how I want.” I feel him easing in, slow as an
hour hand.
“Come on.”
He groans,
giving me a little more. There’s pressure. He’s thick, and I’m tight with the
craving. I want him to split me clean open.
“Don’t be
gentle.”
“Fuck
gentle,” he says, laughing. “This is torture, sweetheart.”
I push my
hips back and force him deeper.
He gasps,
against his better judgment, I suspect. “You bloody cheater.”
“So punish
me.”
I think this
battle of wills is still raging, but I’m wrong. Sean’s hands grasp me hard at
the hips, and he slams his cock all the way in, until he fills me like I never
knew a man could. One or both of us grunts, but I couldn’t tell you who.
“Yeah,” he
manages to say. He holds me tight against him for several long breaths. I can
feel his pelvis pressed against my ass, feel every inch of him pulsing inside
me. “Remember me,” he says, and the words rend the air between us like a razor.
It’s time. He
slides out, slow, then back in.
Over and over.
And over.
It’s a lesson, one I’m meant never to forget.
“Mine,” he
says, and his hips pump faster. His long, tight body in the mirror is the
single hottest sight I have ever seen. Now that I know how old he is, I can’t
find the younger men attractive anymore.
The
boys
.
He’s going to ruin me.
“Harder,” I
say. I want him to be rough and distract me from the pressure mounting in my
tear ducts.
Sean fucks me
like an animal—like he’s in heat—and I watch his face turn flushed and strained
and ferocious. His hands knead my backside, and I gasp when he slaps me.
“Say my
name,” he orders.
I do.
“Tell me how
I feel.”
“Power-
ful
.”
My voice jerks from the impact.
“Hard—and
thick—and long.”
“And you’re
deep,” he tells me. “I can give it all to you.” He hammers me hard and I wish I
could see his ass working.
“You want to
come?” he asks.
“If
you’ll let me.”
“I’ll make
you,” he promises. He pulls out and flips me over and turns us in profile to the
mirror. His knees spread wide and he pulls my thighs over his, sliding his wet
cock all the way home.
“Sean—”
“I love when
you say it.” He pounds into me, ruthless, hands braced on my legs, torso long
and proud and undulating with his gifted hips. He slips a thumb into his mouth
and puts it to my clit. He traces a tight, cruel circle. I do the same to my
nipples, wanting to feel this heat across every square inch of my skin. I turn
my head, and in the mirror I watch the beautiful little knitted muscles below
his ribs, the dent at his hip,
the
rounded swell of
his pumping ass. I watch him fucking me, and it hurts as much as it thrills.
“Tell me
you’ll miss me,” he says, reading my troubling thoughts.
My voice
doesn’t tell him this, but my body’s no good at keeping secrets. His thumb
teases me faster.
“I hope
you’ll think about me,” he says.
I moan from
the pressure mounting between my quaking thighs.
“I hope when
you pass me on the street sometime, you remember this moment.”
“Sean—”
“I hope you
come to the symphony some evening with your fancy Beacon Hill friends. And when
you watch me play, I hope all you can think about is the way I fucked you
tonight.”
He stops
lecturing me and
lets
himself come undone. His lids
grow heavy, his mouth slackens and I can feel him chasing me in my race toward
release. Sensations rush down my belly, pooling in my cunt. I watch wide-eyed
where his cock surges in and out, fast and steady, obscured only by his
skillful hand. His balls slap me each time he thrusts deep and his voice is
reduced to harsh grunts. His shoulders hunch forward, and the first droplets of
sweat drip from his chest to mine. His teeth are bared, eyes clenched shut.
When I come,
I watch his face. His blue eyes open as my pussy grips him, and it’s like
falling into a warm, chaotic sea. The pleasure tugs at me, pulls me, draws me
into him even as he’s sunk deep inside my body.
It’s
slow motion, each twitch of his muscles, each bead of perspiration that slips
down his skin. Heat breaches my core and radiates out through my veins and
nerves, humming, until reality intrudes and I find myself shaking beneath him
on the carpet. I hear my voice, small and quavering.
“Beautiful,”
he says. His ribs tell me how hard his lungs are working, how fast his heart
must be pounding.
“Now you,” I
say.
He nods. My
nerves are sensitized almost to the point of pain, but I need to see
this—surely it’s the only thing I was put on the Earth for. He begins pumping
me again, slow and deep. His body lowers and he braces himself on his forearms.
His belly grazes mine as he thrusts. I let him kiss me for as long as his
composure allows then his mouth finds a home against my neck as his hands slide
beneath me, cupping my shoulders.
“Caroline.”
I suck in my
breath.
“Caroline.”
He says it again, and again. His body turns greedy and demanding, losing
control. I grab his ass and urge him on.
“Come for
me,” I say in his ear.
“Where?”
he asks.
I think about
it a moment.
“My mouth.”
“Yeah,” he
grunts. “You want to taste me.”
He thrusts a
few more beats then pulls back. He crawls, legs flanking my ribs, until he’s
straddling my chest. He’s stroking himself rough and fast but my eyes are on
his face.
“Give it to
me,” I say.
He leans down
and slides his palm beneath my neck. He cradles my head gently, lovingly, as if
I were ill and he were about to spoon-feed me. His cock is at my lips, and I
run my tongue over his slit, tasting the little droplet of pre-come, tasting
myself. His fist pumps harder, and I memorize it for when I fantasize about
what he’ll look like, fucking himself, missing me.
“Caroline—”
“Come, Sean.”
He groans so
deep in his chest, I know he’s done. I open my mouth wide, and he pushes past
my parted lips, shooting his hot cream across my tongue. Five long, full
spurts, five marrow-deep moans that shake me to the core. He tastes exactly how
I knew he would, how I imagined.
Savory.
Familiar.
* * * * *
I don’t know
who managed to disentangle us from our limp, sweaty heap on the rug and made it
to standing first. I only vaguely remember stumbling to the bed, pulling back
the covers and feeling a man envelop me for the first time in a long, long
while.
When I woke,
he was gone. Now I’m lying here, alone, staring up at the ceiling.
It’s
dawn, and the sparrows are
chorusing outside, and the sun is breaching the half-open blinds.
Sean is gone
with the night and the rain. There is no note. There is no sign of him. Only
the mirror out of place and my clothes piled in an imitation of tidiness on my
vanity tell me he was real. And the sore ache between my legs. When it fades,
I’ll miss it.
When the
clouds roll in, my hopes will rise.
The next time
it rains, I’ll tell the other boys, “Not tonight.”
Cara McKenna
writes smart erotica: a little dark, a little funny, definitely sexy and always
emotional. She lives north of Boston with her extremely good-natured and
permissive husband. When she’s not trapped inside her own head, Cara can
usually be found in the kitchen, the coffee shop or the nearest duck-filled
pond.
Cara welcomes
comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her
author bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.
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