Mikalo's Grace (5 page)

I peeled off his shirt. His shoulders round
and chiseled, the deep valley in his chest bracketed by two dark
nipples, his torso tight, his abs sculpted and taut.

I inhaled deep, the smell of him
intoxicating. The scent of soap and sweat and the heated desire of
a young man eager to discover me, my body. My secrets.

My hands felt his flesh. Smooth. Impossibly
smooth. Tan. I raked my nails along this perfection, lightly.

He arched his back and moaned, his body
quickly on mine, his lips suddenly on mine, his need feverish, his
kiss hungry. His mouth inhaling me as he forced his tongue deep,
one hand having lifted me, the other slipping off my pants.

His fingers ventured below to discover my
warmth, easily parting the delicate folds and slipping deep into my
wetness.

I gasped again, grabbing him by the hair and
bringing him from my breast, where he was now sucking my other
nipple, and back to my mouth, the taste of him now obsessing
me.

We kissed deep, long, our tongues dueling,
our breath hot, our desire desperate and unapologetic.

Pulling away, his mouth ran over my neck, my
chest, skirting briefly to one nipple and then the other before
landing on my stomach.

He paused, inhaling deeply as his fingers
remained buried inside me, slowly, insistently moving, finding
their rhythm, my rhythm, my juices most surely dripping past his
palm and onto the couch beneath.

I didn't care.

I felt no shame.

I glanced down.

His eyes found mine.

And then, his eyes holding me, he moved
lower, his lips finding me, his tongue at once tasting me, licking
me, moving inside and immediately striking gold.

I arched my back, my lungs expanding as I
breathed before exhaling in a very loud moan.

Goddamn.

His hands grabbed mine, the fingers
intertwining, as he continued his oral assault, his tongue dancing
and licking, teasing and nudging, diving deep and then retracting
to taste and lick. His lips moving up and then down, the pressure
of that beautiful strong Greek nose of his grazing my flesh,
teasing my most sensitive spot, absolutely driving me crazy.

I writhed and bucked, heaved and sighed.
Panted and begged and moaned and cried. But he was relentless, his
hair damp with sweat, his hands still holding mine, his face
glistening with my desire.

And then it happened.

The thump-thump-thump.

The wave building. Only this was huge. This
was an ocean. This, this was almost too much.

I tried to move away, push him away. His
tongue, his lips, his breath, his teeth, the tip of that damn
perfect nose, all of it too much, too overwhelming. The intensity
of his need for me and mine for him suddenly frightening as the
storm, this hurricane of destined desire and release, rolled
forward.

But I was trapped. His hands on mine, my
position on the couch too low to rise, my body betraying me as it
shivered and shook, bucked and heaved, his mouth on me too
insistent, too demanding.

"Please, stop," I whispered.

He removed his mouth, his fingers taking its
place as they lightly rubbed and tickled and then eased in, moving
deep.

"Yes?" he asked. "It is no good?"

"No," I panted, my hips, now with a mind of
their own, rising to meet his fingers as they moved in and out,
"It's good. Very good."

"Then why stop?" he asked, the sincerity in
his voice catching me off-guard.

"It's, it's too good," I managed to say, his
fingers still driving my hips into the air.

"But too good is good," he answered.

And then his mouth was on me again, his wet
fingers now rising to my nipples as I leaned back, closed my eyes,
and surrendered.

Surrendered to his tongue, his lips. His dark
eyes and smooth skin. His gentle heart and insistent desire.
Surrendered my shame. Let the ghosts lie where they belong.
Relinquished control and let this man, this handsome, wonderful
man, have his way with me.

The thump-thump-thump grew as the wave built
and then crested before crashing in one jerking spasm after
another, my body releasing my desire onto Mikalos' face, his lips,
down his throat.

He groaned as he accepted my gift, his tongue
still licking and rubbing, nudging and loving me, my wetness
exciting him as another wave hit, my back arching as, his hand
still in mine, I gripped until my knuckles grew white, another
groan filling the room.

And, again, a third wave, this one too hard,
too much. I gasped, my legs now shaking uncontrollably as my body
twisted and bucked.

"Mikalo," I said, my voice now a whimper.

Moving his mouth away, he rubbed me and then,
somehow knowing my secret desires, my longing for that special
sting, he slapped the folds. Once. Twice.

Oh, this boy was good. Too good.

And then, his mouth on me again, he pushed
his tongue deeper, his fingers now teasing me further as they
stroked my inner thighs, my calves, my thighs again.

I almost sobbed, my body no longer my own as
my flesh burned, every inch of me now sensitive, so sensitive. My
wetness ruling me with the beating of its own heart and its own
mind, Mikalo and it bonded and wed forever, their secrets whispered
and now shared.

My body shook again, another wave cresting
and then crashing, my emotions raw and my heart now on the verge of
tears. The release, this release, it was too much. Too intense. Too
loving and tender and harsh and honest. It's blessed brutality
ripping the veil from my heart and soul, exposing their wounds.

The tongue stopped, the lips now gently
kissing me, a cool breath quieting my fever, the whispers of thanks
grazing lightly over my inner thighs, my waist, my stomach. My
juices wiping clean from his face as he inched his way up my body
toward my lips.

We kissed. Deeply. My taste on his tongue, my
wetness, my scent, branding him.

Then he stood, shirtless and gleaming, his
obvious desire aching, the length of him stretching the denim from
his crotch to mid-thigh.

I reached for it, feeling the hardness, the
thickness, the heat.

His fingers snapped open the top button on
his jeans.

"You'd like more, yes?" he asked, a grin
teasing his moist lips.

Oh god yes.

Chapter Eleven

He was on top of me, his face close, but not
close enough to kiss. His dark eyes looking into mine.

Moving, he inched deeper inside me.

I gasped, my eyes closing.

"Open," he whispered, his lips grazing my
cheek. "Open."

I opened my eyes.

He watched me.

His hands held my wrists above my head as,
teasing, he slowly withdrew, paused, and then slowly slid back
in.

"Oh god," I breathed.

His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare,
soaking in my lust, my hunger, my growing desperation and need.

Again he withdrew, slowly, very slowly, only
to, again, pause, teasing me, making me wait for it, taunting me,
before slowly, so very slowly, sliding back in.

I moaned, my wrists fighting against his.

"I want to touch you," I said.

He shook his head, his eyes still on
mine.

In a sudden movement, he plunged deep.

"Fuck!"

My eyes closed.

"Open," came the order, his breath hot on my
lips.

I opened my eyes.

My god he was gorgeous.

Even in the dark of my bedroom, the shades
drawn, my comfort found in the safety of shadow, the day having
been spent veering between sex and sleep, there was no masking the
man's beauty. Or the intense longing he felt as he watched me
exquisitely suffer.

Or how excited that made him.

He shifted position, moving closer.

I grunted as the weight of him pushed him
even deeper.

Pausing, he leaned forward, his lips barely
touching mine, his eyes still on mine as he started to gyrate. In
and then out, to the side and back again, deeper and deeper still,
withdrawing only to slip back in, the dance continuing,
unstoppable.

It was driving me crazy.

I panted, my breath coming in gasps and quiet
groans, my body trembling.

And he watched me, his eyes narrow with lust,
sweat rolling down his temples and onto his cheeks, his lips moist
as his breathed, slowly, steadily, controlling his passion.

My legs started to shake.

"Oh my god," I said, my wrists fighting
his.

"Wait," he whispered as he slowed his pace.
"Wait."

I bit my lip and whimpered. I wouldn't cum.
Not yet.

I focused on my breath. Ignored the blessed
chaos he was causing. Ignored the juices rolling from me like a
fountain. Or the intoxicating scent of our sex filling the air.

He was moving slowly now. Almost not moving
at all, in fact, his hardness throbbing deep within me, hot and wet
and thick.

I caught my breath and relaxed. Tried to
ignore my heart racing or my body still trembling. Or the tears
that threatened to spill from my eyes.

Moving closer, he rubbed his nose against
mine. Briefly. Our lips still not touching as he continued to watch
me.

He plunged deep.

"Yes!" I almost screamed, my head back and my
eyes closed.

Grabbing my hair, he jerked my head forward
to face him.

"Open," he said, his voice almost sharp.

He quickly moved, gathering my wrists in one
hand, his large fist easily gripping me, my arms now above my head,
as with his other hand, he held my hair, his eyes on mine.

"Do not close."

I nodded.

"Please," I begged. "Please."

A small smile graced his lips.

He picked up the pace. My legs trembled. He
stopped. I writhed beneath him. He smiled. He gyrated slowly. My
breath grew ragged. He stopped again. I begged. Again.

And all the while he watched me, our eyes
locked.

"Now, yes?" he then whispered.

I nodded.

Oh god yes, please.

He moved in me. No longer teasing or calm or
gentle, these movements were impatient, quick, desperate. His need
to fill me now stronger than his desire to torture.

"Wait," he said, the word thick with desire
as my legs shook.

I bit my lip. Again. Counted backwards from
one hundred as I watched the ceiling. Anything I could think of to
not cum. To wait.

And then he groaned, his eyes on mine,
helpless and needy and powerless as he buried himself deep,
spilling inside me. His hardness now impossibly hard and thick and
hot. His body tensing as his muscles jerked and twitched, his own
wave rolling through him once, twice, three, four times, the pants
and gasps and sighs hot against my skin as they filled the dark
room.

I pushed my hips against him, now desperate
for my own release, the thump-thump-thump reaching from my toes all
the way to the top of my head.

"Wait," he said again as he rested, catching
his breath.

"Mikalo," I whispered. "Please, let me
--"

My hips moved against him again.

He quickly moved from me, withdrawing
completely and, flipping onto his back, brought me to lie on top of
him, this gorgeous god now beneath me.

Drawing me close, he looked deep into my
eyes.

"Now I am yours," he said. "Do what you
will."

Chapter Twelve

I rocked slowly, his length filling me as I
sat, my hands resting on his chest.

His fingers gently toyed with my nipples, the
large, soft palms occasionally skirting down my torso to my hips to
grip and guide before returning to tease the sensitive flesh.

"Behind your head," I whispered.

Reluctantly he put his hands behind his head,
his biceps large and sculpted and shining with sweat in the dark of
the room, the round nipples dark, the muscles of his chest
firm.

He started to speak.

"Quiet," I said.

He bit his lip, his brows knitting in
frustration.

I continued to move, shifting position and
changing pace, my body gently overwhelmed with the coming of the
storm. A storm still on the horizon, if I chose. And I did. I was
in no rush.

I wanted this to last forever.

He was desperate to cum.

Again.

He moved his hips.

My nails quickly moved down his chest,
lightly scratching him.

He gasped.

"Be still," I said.

I stopped.

Mental note to thank Deni for the
manicure.

And the Brazilian.

"I am bigger than you," he then said.

Putting a finger to his lips, I shushed
him.

"That you are," I said, picking up the pace
again.

"Do you want to cum?" I then asked, my eyes
on his.

He nodded.

"Yes."

"Is that what you want?" I asked again, my
movements growing quick.

He nodded again, his hands moving from behind
his head to guide me.

I moved off him.

He groaned, his hardness slapping against his
stomach, thick and hot and dripping wet. Even in the dark, I could
see him throbbing.

"Hands."

Slowly, he puts his hands behind his
head.

I stood, moving to the end of the bed.

He waited before me, lying quietly, his legs
spread, his arms behind his head. All tanned skin and rippling
muscle and eager, desperate desire.

My hand ventured below, the fingers finding
the familiar folds as I rubbed the wetness and then, his eyes on
me, dipped my fingers inside.

A shiver ran through me.

His breathing grew heavy.

He moved a hand from behind his head.

"No," I said.

I know he wanted to touch himself. To grip
and stroke and tease.

But no.

He would watch.

And then he would fuck me.

Hard.