With a small groan his lips take mine again. His hands work over my shoulders, pushing my jacket down my arms. I hear the soft thud as it hits the floor. He runs his hands over my waist and down to my thighs, and lifts me, until my legs part around his hips easily. I cup his face and kiss him fiercely as he walks me through his small flat. He bends at the waist, lowering me until I feel the brush of cotton sheets against my bare arms. His bed. It smells of him, and I could breathe in that scent all day.
He leans over me, his weight hovering above me. My thighs part easily around his big body and my hips roll against him of their own violation. God, I’m desperate for him.
“Molly.” His breath touches my lips. “I want to take my time with you.” He sounds husky, his voice strained.
I nod, because honestly, I can’t talk.
His touch is gentle as he rolls me onto my front. I lean up on my elbows. He straddles me, placing a knee on either side of my hips. He’s careful, yet his sheer size makes him dominating. I’m not into the submissive thing at all, but I love a man who can naturally call the shots.
He gathers my hair, and lays it over my left shoulder. I feel his hot breath on my neck just before his lips brush across the sensitive skin there. My body breaks out in goose bumps. I hear the sound of him slowly lowering the zip of my dress. His fingers caress the bare skin of my back, before pushing the material off my shoulders and down my arms. I push up onto my palms, allowing the material to slide all the way down, until I can remove it completely. The dress is now pooled at my waist, in a wave of black lace. I glance at him over my right shoulder, a small smile pulling at my lips.
He leans forwards and skims his lips across my bare shoulder, grazing the skin intermittently with his teeth. I gasp, and tremble under his touch. He grips my chin, wrenching my head around to him, and slamming his lips over mine. I moan into his mouth, and wrap my hand around his restraining forearm, dragging my nails over his skin. My back is now bowed up off the bed, and I can feel his hard cock pressed against my arse. I push back against him, and he groans against my lips.
He wrenches my lips away. “Are you sure you want this Molly?” Uh, hell yes. I nod as best I can, with his fingers gripping my jaw.
He widens his stance and rolls me over, without releasing my face. Holy shit, that’s a good view. Alex is looming over me, the muscles in his chest and shoulders all tense. He pulls away from me and stands up, still hovering over me. He grabs the material of my dress which is bunched around my hips, and drags it down my legs, brushing every inch of over sensitised skin. His eyes darken when he takes in my stockings and garter belt. If there’s one thing I love, it’s sexy underwear, for this exact reason. There’s nothing quite like that look of appreciation in a mans eye, when he undresses you and realises what’s underneath. It’s like unwrapping the best kind of present.
He bites down on his bottom lip and closes his eyes. “You’re beautiful.” He says in a hoarse voice.
I feel a slight blush creep onto my face at his words. “Come here.” I crook a finger at him, and he leans forward to crawl over me. “No.” I stop him. “Take off your clothes first.”
He flashes me a sexy smile and slides his thumbs into the waist band of his trackies. Here it comes, the big reveal. The material lowers, and I try not to stare at his crotch like a total pervert. His erection springs free, and holy shit. Let’s just say that his cock matches the rest of him. He’s big and thick, and erect. His cock stands proud, like some kind of weapon of mass destruction.
A low chuckle rumbles up his throat. God, I must be gawking at him like a rabbit in headlights.
He drops to his knees on the bed, and leans forward to press feather light kisses on my stomach. His fingers expertly manage to unfasten my garter straps, a difficult feat for most men. Must be those surgeons fingers. His fingers flutter across the lace of my knickers, brushing against my clit through the fabric. I bite my lip to stop the moan that threatens to break past my lips. I’m over-heating and squirming on the bed before he’s even got in my knickers. I can’t work out whether I’m really sex deprived, or he’s just that good.
Finally, he pushes the material at my crotch aside, and slowly pushes one finger inside me. I’m waiting for him to make a comment about how inappropriately wet I am, but he doesn’t. He just works those magic fingers inside of me, until I’m practically screaming at him to fuck me. I press the back of my hand against my mouth, trying to stem the stream of moans. He pulls my hand away and replaces it with his lips, plunging two fingers into me hard, and rubbing his thumb over my clit. I moan, long and low into his mouth. Holy shit! He smiles against my lips and nips at my bottom lip.
Just when I think I can take no more, he yanks my knickers down my legs, leaving them hanging from one ankle.
He leans across and grabs something from the bedside table. I hear the rip of foil, before he rolls the condom over his cock. Shit, I didn’t even think about that. Embarrassing.
He positions himself between my thighs, and I take a deep breath. Okay, he’s a monster, and this is going to hurt.
“Molly, look at me.” He whispers.
I pull my eyes to his, and lose myself in the golden caramel of his irises. He nudges against my entrance gently, as he presses a small kiss on the tip of my nose.
He pushes inside me and I gasp. He withdraws and then pushes forward again. His eyes never leave mine as he repeats his advance and retreat. He’s stretching me beyond what I thought was possible. He clenches his jaw hard, as a frown line appears between his eyebrows. “God, you’re so tight.” He bites out.
I angle my body, rolling my hips up as he slides in the last inch, and hits home. “Shit.” I hiss as my body hits the very limit of its capabilities. It’s painful, but its good. I’m so full of him, so consumed by him. His enormous body dominates every inch of my smaller one. I feel utterly possessed by him.
I look up at him. His jaw is clenched so hard, a muscle is ticking in his cheek. The muscles in his neck stand out in thick roped cords. My chest suddenly feels very small as I fight to catch my breath. He touches his forehead to mine, still not moving.
“Okay?” He asks, his voice strained.
“Yeah.” I barely recognise my own voice.
He pulls back and pushes forward again. I’m on the edge, every nerve ending begging for release. The strain on his face doesn’t leave. Hell, it almost looks painful. After a few thrusts, my body starts to release it’s vice hold on him. He breathes deeply, but keeps his movements slow and measured.
I run my hands down his back, until I’m gripping his arse in both hands. I squeeze, urging him on. He doesn’t move, but instead rolls to his back, dragging me on top of him. He keeps a hold of my hips, allowing me to hover on his cock, but not sink down on it. Once I’m positioned above him he releases his hands, and grips my thighs, just above the knees.
I slide down his length, until his taught stomach is brushing against my clit, and then I roll my hips forward, rubbing my clit along his skin, whilst absorbing the full force of his cock. I moan shamelessly as I swing my hips faster, riding him. His hands fist in the duvet as he throws his head back. He bucks upward underneath me, and I throw my hands out onto his chest to steady myself. The rhythm gets faster and faster, until I’m shaking and screaming his name.
I clench around him as an orgasm grips me, hurtling me into oblivion. I feel his fingers digging into my hips hard as he pounds upwards into me. “Shit!” He roars, as his thrusts stiffen.
Then he goes limp, his big body falling back on the bed in a heap. I fall forward, and rest my head in the crook of his neck. His breathing is as ragged as my own, his chest rising and falling heavily. Warm hands cover the skin of my bare back, and slide up into my hair.
Neither of us says anything. There is nothing to say.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HUGO
Sex therapy round three. I never saw Stacey after that first time. I kind of figured that the sex therapy wasn’t really working for her. In fact, I’d say she was having about a much success as I am, which incidentally is a lot. If there is one sure way to pick up a chick, it’s at sex therapy. I mean, come on, two sex addicts together. That’s like putting two junkies in a room with a bag of coke and telling them not to take it. Except we have to make our own coke, but hey, that’s the best part.
I’m currently getting the ‘look’ from Claire. Claire is a sex addict who masturbates up to five times a day. My kind of girl. She’s what I’d call curvy, okay so she’s a big girl, but I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy. I don’t discriminate.
“Hugo, how do you feel you are progressing?” The therapist whose name I still can’t fucking remember says to me. He rarely speaks to me. I’m pretty sure he allows me in here because he has to. That’s fine by me. I come in, miss out on all the Kumbaya shit, and pick up.
I shrug and answer him. “Fine.” I don’t have a fucking problem, so there’s nothing to progress on.
“I think that you use sex as an emotional outlet. You don’t openly express your emotions any other way. You simply laugh it off, or evade the issue.”
“Oh, it’s an outlet alright, but there are shit all emotions involved, you can trust me on that.” I laugh.
He sighs and moves on. Something tells me he might sign me off as ‘cured’ as soon as the opportunity arises.
Claire happens to live five minutes from the shrink. I offer to bend her over last weeks shelving unit, but apparently she’s not that kind of girl. Who knew that a sex addict would have morals? I suppose that a girl who’s willing to pick up at sex therapy has to keep a few to herself.
She lets me into the small Soho apartment, but I don’t look around. I’m horny as fuck. I haven’t had sex for two days. Two days! My balls are getting twitchy, and that’s never cool. I’m about to make my move, when she does it first. She shoves me back the wall hard and starts frantically clawing at my belt
“Straight to the point. I like it.” I say with a smile.
She bites her lip as she yanks my jeans open and shoves them and my boxers down my hips. My cock springs free, eager and willing as always.
She wastes no time, and drops to her knees in front of me, licking my cock like it’s her favourite flavoured lolly. Ah, fuck. One hand cups my balls, as she practically fucking swallows my cock. I look down, and her lips are touching my pubes. Holy fucking shit, she just deep throated my entire cock without even gagging. I think I’m in love.
She works me hard, bobbing her head back and forth as her hand massages my balls. I wrap my hand in her hair and thrust forward slightly. She moans, and the vibration of her tongue has me groaning through gritted teeth.
She sucks hard as she pulls up, and tingles shoot down my spine. I’m so fucking close to coming, and then she stops, releasing my cock with a little pop.
“What the fuck?” I growl.
She stands up, pointing at me. “I haven’t been laid in six months. If you think I’m letting you blow your load in my mouth, rather than my pussy, you are sadly mistaken.”
“Six months! Fuck, I guess now I know why you have to bash one out five times a day.” I mumble. “You do realise this is just sex though, right?” I have to check. Ward off the psycho bitches.
She narrows her eyes. “You’re a sex addict. Of course it’s just sex.” She points out the obvious. Had to check.
“Okay, good point.” I concede.
“Now shut up. I want you to ruin me.” She snarls. Oh, she has no fucking idea what I’m capable of. Hell, she won’t need sex for the next six years after I’m done with her.
“Sweetheart, I’m about to fuel every orgasm you will ever have, for years to come.”
She smiles, and presses her lips against mine. This isn’t romantic, but fuck me, she’s keen. She thrusts her tongue into my mouth, and bites my bottom lip. I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding by the time she’s done with me.
Needless to say, Claire makes me fuck her on pretty much every available surface in that flat, and then she fucks me. She rides me like she’s trying to win the Gold Cup. Her tits bounce up and down with every thrust, as she moves over me. She comes, screaming like a wild animal. Her pussy clenches around my cock, and just when I’m about to come, she stops. Oh fuck no.
I push her down on the bed and flip her over, pulling that big round arse up in the air. I dive right back in, and her pussy spasms around my cock.
“Yes!” She screams, as I drill into her mercilessly, chasing down my orgasm, until my balls are throbbing, and my cock feels like it’s on fire.
Everything in me tightens, before exploding back out. “Oh fuck!” I ride out the orgasm until there’s nothing left, and promptly pass out on the bed. Who would have fucking thought it? I pay ten grand a night for hookers, and yet the chubby girl who hasn’t been laid in six months just made me come harder than any of them. Fuck going to sex therapy, I’m going to start hanging around outside Weight Watchers.
I have to be at Allure tonight. I promised my friend Danny VIP entry for his birthday. He’s a pro footballer; he’s actually signed to Chelsea for forty million. Basically, I said I’d be around. I walk into the club and it’s heaving, which is always good.
I designed Allure from the ground up, and it’s one of the most popular night clubs in London now. Everything in here is white, with blue up-lighting. The bar is in a circle in the middle of the room, and the top is one solid piece of marble that cost over fifty grand. Cylindrical cages sit on opposite sides of the bar, and in every corner of the room. I pay the best dancers to dance in them, and believe me, they are worth every fucking penny. I have strippers who, sliding down a pole in a g-string aren’t as hot as these girls, and they aren’t even putting anything on show. Well, no tits or arse anyway. I don’t put much weight in achievements. I’ve set up numerous businesses over the years, but this club is my favourite, and the one I invest most of my time in. It has booze and women though, so I can’t exactly claim that my interest in being here is entirely business.