Hooked Up: Book 2 (4 page)

She was loving every second though.

“You like to get used, Pearl, or you just like using!” I said in a deep, angry voice, my mouth all over hers.

“I wanted to get to know you, Alexandre. I want to get to know you. All of you . . . every . . . beautiful . . . inch of you,” she said, flexing her hips at me. “All . . . oh God . . . oh wow . . . oh God . . . ” She could hardly speak as I thrust into her over and over, slamming her against that kitchen wall. She was clawing me, her mouth on mine, greedy for my lust.

“Is this what you want to get to know?” And I grabbed her ass in both hands so I could bring her closer, fuck her harder. “So. Tight. This. Tight. Pussy. Clenching. My. Hard. Cock.” I felt her contractions like a pair of skin-tight gloves pressuring my erection. The red panties were also grazing back and forth against it, adding to my arousal.

Her nails dug into my back—she didn’t want to let me go. “You’re so huge. Oh my . . . so enormous! I love you, Alexandre. I love you . . . fucking me.”

“You love me, Pearl Robinson? Is that what you’re saying?” I asked with irony. I was going to come any second. That
love
word went straight to my dick, even if it was a bold-faced lie. I burst inside her, my giant orgasm ripping through my center, and hers, with abandon, breaking my golden rule—not caring that I was coming first. I was moaning like a child, not a grown man. I felt weakened by my desire for her. She had me hooked—her smell, her pussy, like an exotic fruit. Her taste. Everything was driving me wild and had me spellbound.

The pulse of my orgasm faded to a tingle and I pulled out, but seconds later, literally seconds, I felt myself flex again. I had a flashback of our Skype sex phone call the week before—when I was in the limo on my way to Mumbai Airport—and I got her to fuck the sofa. Pearl and her sweet pussy pressed up against the arm of the couch as she rocked back and forth in her white, schoolgirl panties. I wanted more of that, and I was going to get more. You bet. But with me “live,” this time, not just us on screen.

I grabbed a cushion off a kitchen chair and pressed it onto the corner of the table. “Fuck the table,” I told her. I peeled her red panties down her thighs so I could see her wetness, hot between her legs, and pressed my erection against the soft flesh of her round butt. “Push that hot little pussy up against that cushion,” I ordered.

She did as she was told. A wave of desire shot through my whole torso. “Press harder,” I said, putting on a fresh condom in haste. “Massage your clit back and forth against that table.”

She obeyed me. Telling her what to do gave me a thrill and I gloated,
Eat your heart out you Russian cocksucker; this girl’s mine!
I pushed the tip of my cock against her entrance—I could see her glistening gate to heaven with my eyes. Every time she moved back, her wet slit bumped up against the crown of my cock. I was letting her tease me as it dipped in an out of her, a couple of centimeters on each movement. She was moaning on every thrust.

“Gotta love this pussy,” I growled like the horny lion I was. “It’s warm and wet and shiny pink—like a beautiful shell. No wonder the Spanish call it a
concha.
Little sexy
conchita.”

Her ass was high in the air as she was bent over, her torso flat on the table. I cupped her ass with one hand and with the other, took my cock in my closed fist and teased her, up and down, up and down her butt crack, then sometimes plunging all the way between the wet warmth of her pussy, then pulling almost all the way out. She was writhing before me, her arms steadying her torso, flat-out on the table.

“Please Alexandre. Oh God. This feels incredible. Oh God!”

Then I started thrusting. I reminded myself that this time I didn’t have to go easy on her. I had to remember that she was a selfish, career-getting operator out to
use
me. So I drove into her hard again, to remind her that two could play at the using game.

“Little. Career-getting. Pussy. Using. Me. And. Getting. Off. On. It.” On each word I thrust into her and held myself still for a second. Pulled most of the way out then drove back inside her. But this was no punishment for her I soon realized. No, she started coming, moaning like the little tigress she was, her tight velvet glove contracting around me, which tipped me over the edge. I could feel myself thicken and I slowed way down, letting my climax surge through me in a blissful, throbbing rush. I moved languidly inside her, both of us coming simultaneously, something we seemed to do with ease. I was like a switch with her. Her gratification aroused me instantly, so when she climaxed, I did, too. Hard.

I collapsed on top of her, my body blanketing her smooth back, her glorious ass. “Pearl, baby, what am I going to do? I just can’t keep away from you. I have to keep fucking you. Over and over. I just have to, I can’t stop.”

The problem was that however much I tried to stay furious with her, I couldn’t. When I spun her around to face me, she had tears in her eyes. A look of love. A look that said,
We are meant to be together, you and I. Please don’t hurt me.

And I melted.

The Russian flashed through my mind again. I couldn’t risk it. I knew his playboy reputation, his bulldozer mentality. I had to get Pearl out of New York City for a few days. Just in case he came sniffing about.

Make her irrevocably mine.

If any other man even thought of coming near her, I’d fucking flatten him.

I
OPENED MY KITCHEN BACK DOOR, still wondering why the superintendent was bothering me by knocking so frantically instead of simply calling me on the landline.

My mouth hung open when, what I saw standing before me, was none other than HIM. As if my fantasies had materialized with a magic wand. Was I dreaming? He looked sexier than ever, beads of faint sweat on his brow, his dark hair ruffled.

“I came up the stairs,” Alexandre panted.

“So I see.” I could hear the landline ringing away but ignored it.

“That’ll be the doorman calling now to warn you that a rapist is trying to enter your apartment from the back door.” He was not smiling. Just standing there, legs astride in
that
suit. No, it was a different suit, a shade darker, smart, elegant. I could feel my knees wanting to buckle beneath me, but I took a deep breath and thrust my shoulders back. Daisy’s words were echoing in my ear:
‘Stay cool, calm and collected.’

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” His foot was now planted firmly against the door so I couldn’t close it on him. His tongue licked his upper lip for a split second. He ran his eyes up and down my body with a look of lust on his face. I could feel the familiar tingle in my groin.

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck it. I’ll invite myself in,” he said. Still no smile. He heaved himself forward, his body close to mine as I stepped backwards into the kitchen. His lips were centimeters from my face and he was breathing heavily. “I have to fuck you, Pearl.”

Before I had time to answer, he grabbed me and pinned me against the wall. Kissed me hard, his hands in my hair. Gone was the sensitive man with the kingfisher feather. He was all animal and seemed tremendously tall, like some sort of dark-haired Viking, but dressed in this chic, tailored suit. His tongue was licking my lips. He was hungry for me but seemed full of anger. He cupped my breasts and pulled my shirt off over my head. Forcing me. Forcing me to raise my arms, his fingers all over me, needy, stroking my navel, nibbling my nipples between his teeth. Then he sucked my breasts greedily and, shoving his hands up my skirt, pulled my thighs apart, palming me, pressing hard, then letting his middle finger slip inside me. I could hear myself moan, my decorum out the window.

“You want to get fucked, Pearl? The way you fucked
me
over? Using me like some commodity to advance your career?” He had his thumb inside me now and was circling it. “Oh yes, Pearl, I can see you want to get fucked—really asking for it, aren’t you? So wet. So tender.”

Sex Machine
was thumping loud. Alexandre had unzipped my skirt, and I was standing in nothing but heels and panties that happened to be red. I hadn’t put on a bra that morning; it was too hot. He grasped my hair and held back my head, licking me on the tongue like a wolf preying on a bitch in heat. I wanted to push him off, but I was wet between my hot thighs, my libido beckoning, demanding only one thing. I flung back my head and groaned, flexed my pelvis forward. He parted my panties to one side. He hadn’t even bothered to take them off. Then he went down on his knees, peeling my panties aside with his teeth, licking me, shoving his tongue up inside my opening.

“You wanna fuck, Pearl? That’s what you do in this country, isn’t it? Fuck each other over, like the ambitious career whores you are.”

He was still furious with me and the entire USA, and something about his rage, coupled with his accent, wanted to make me laugh and tell him to leave—take my control back. But the sweetness of his tongue, his soft hair brushing against my clit, his mouth making me wetter by the second, had me moaning in response.

He unbuttoned the opening to his pants and his huge erection sprang free like a beast. It was smooth, irresistible. I was like a bitch in heat, a veritable she-wolf, and I grabbed it with both hands. He was fumbling now—rolling on a condom.

“I shouldn’t be using this,” he growled. “I should just fuck you hard until my seed catapults its way inside you and makes you pregnant.”

His words were Latin passion nonsense, but they still turned me on, even though I know they couldn’t be true.
Yes, this man could make me pregnant—I’d welcome his baby.
Pearl, shut up!

I was still standing in my heels and could feel him slide into me and ram me hard, pressing my butt back against the wall. I cried out. This was hot. I shouldn’t have admitted it, but it was. He was pumping hard to the rhythm of
Sex Machine,
and with every thrust I felt the muscles of my core clinging to him, not wanting to let him go.

“I. Love. Fucking. You.” His voice was raspy. He was like a rock. It almost hurt, but I couldn’t resist. His tongue was on my neck, his hands clasping around each of my buttocks, pulling me close to him, sealing me against his groin. He was slamming me deep, his fingers clawed into the flesh of my ass.

“You like being used, Pearl? Or you just like using.” The second statement was not a question.

“I’m sorry. I was just interested in
you,
not your company. I wanted to get to know you for
you
.”

“Is this what you wanted to get to know?” he said, slamming into me so hard it bruised me inside.

“Yes,” I whimpered.
He sees me as a manipulative bitch and all I can do is moan with pleasure. I am being used by him, and I love it.

“So tight!” he cried. “This. Tight. Velvet. Glove. Clenching. My. Hard. Cock! Your tight little pussy doesn’t want to let me go. Don’t tell me you don’t want this.” He was pounding hard, really cramming me full with his size, slamming into me with no mercy.

“I don’t want it,” I gasped. “Please release me, you’re too big for me, it hurts.” But my body was telling a different story. I drive my hips forward, meeting him with every thrust and cried out with gratification. “I love you . . . fucking me,” I panted. “I love you . . . inside me.”

“You love me Pearl? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

I didn’t reply but moaned even more. I tightened my fingers, like talons around his ass, and pulled him closer. I could feel him thicken and harden even more, filling me up with his expansion and then burst inside me. He growled . . . literally—his release was like an animal in the wild. Still fully dressed, jacket unfastened, only the opening in his pants from where his huge erection met me, parting my panties to one side, his thick cock forcing my lips wide open like the wake of a vast barge on a river.

I dreaded the minutes ahead. He’d gotten what he wanted and now he’d pull out and leave. Like a punishment. To teach me a lesson. This would be the last time I’d see him.

I should have told him to go. Kept my dignity. I should have resisted but I dissolved, as I always do with him, like melting vanilla ice cream.

All his. Wanton and lusty, letting sex rule my brain. Sensibility not sense. Why did he have this hold over me?

He did pull out, but to my surprise he wasn’t done yet. He was still stiff as if he hadn’t had an orgasm at all. He spun me around, his hands forceful on my hips, and shoved my ass against the corner of the kitchen table. He pushed me down, bent me over till my crotch was pinned against the corner.

“I’m not finished with you yet,” he snarled, his body pressed flush behind me, holding me sandwiched between his crotch and the table. I couldn’t move. I could hear no smile in his voice. No charm. He was pissed as hell.

I hadn’t climaxed myself, so I was still hot and ready for another round even though I was sore.

From my peripheral vision, I observed him knot up the sperm-filled condom and put on another. Fast. I didn’t even need to suck or fondle him, he was ready all right, his huge member proud as the Washington Monument. I could feel it against my buttocks. He grabbed a cushion from one of the kitchen chairs and wedged it between my groin and the table corner.

“Fuck the table,” he commanded.

I felt uneasy. Self-conscious. This was what he asked me to do with the arm of the sofa when we had phone sex. Furniture had a whole new meaning now.

He ripped down my soaked red panties with one hand and grabbed my butt. I sensed the soft hardness of his erection pressed up against my behind. I started gyrating in anticipation. I was wet, and I wanted him inside me.

“Good girl. Push harder against that cushion. That’s right, just like that. Seeing that peachy ass moving, and pressing that hot little pussy against furniture gets my cock so fucking hard.”

I was moving my ass back and forth and sensed the glorious head of his erection ease itself inside me. He taunted me with just the tip. I was grinding back and forth, his tip teasing my opening and the cushion rubbing on my clit, which made me even wetter and hotter. Molten hot. My nipples were erect. My skin tingling all over.