Saving Abel (Rocker Series) (3 page)

“You want this cock now, babe?” he asked through gritted teeth. Still stroking it, he spit in his hand.
Fucking hell.

“Please, Abel. I want you now,” I begged. I needed him now.

“Need to hear you say it, babe. Tell me you want me to sink my cock deep in you.” His voice was barely audible.

The grit in his tone had me wanting to grab his dick and fuck myself with it. He was watching me closely, his control threadbare.

“Abel, fuck me with that big gorgeous cock of yours. Grind that piercing over my clit,” I hissed. That did it! He couldn’t wait another minute—neither could I. He teased the entrance with the head. Going agonizingly slow, he paid special attention to my clit with his Apadravya: back and forth, round and round. The pressure mounted. I couldn’t handle another second of the exquisite torture. I leaned forward and grabbed his cock—hard.

“Stop fucking with me, fucker, and fuck me already,” I pleaded. He answered by feeding me his cock—one motherfucking inch at the time.

“I have to loosen you up a bit. I can’t go balls-deep yet. Let me work myself in there. Love my girl greedy for my cock. Gets me harder than fucking stone.” He growled breathlessly. Leaning over me, his eyes hooded, he fed me his delicious, scorching cock. He leaned down over my face, arms positioned on either side of my head. His warm breath hummed in my ear, as his hand reached down to stroke my clit.

“Come on, babe. Open for me,” he rumbled. Thrusting a bit harder and quicker, I felt my body breaking apart for this mythical creature. My eyes closed tightly as I tried to wrap my legs around his waist to lock him in place.

“Not yet, babe. I haven’t worked in my rings yet. I’ll tell you when you need to hang on.” He nipped my ear. I sighed. Fuck, I had thought he was all the way in! Christ, I wasn’t built for this kind of torment. I reached down to his butt cheeks and clamped down with my hands, pulling him deeper inside me. He corkscrewed his ass over and over. I screamed in pleasure.

“That’s it, mama. Scream for me. You’ll be doing a lot more of that,” he exclaimed. Biting my lip to stay in the present and not float away, I took a mental screenshot of the moment. I felt so full, with my walls stretched to accommodate his girth. With each thrust he sank deeper. And I fell a little harder. Yeah, I was fucked. Literally. The sound of my blood pumping through my veins roared in my ears. I couldn’t tell if it was my breathing or his. It was a hodgepodge of ecstatic noises. He placed his hands over mine, pinning them above my head.

“Arch your back for me, babe, and spread those pretty legs nice and wide. I’m going to own this pussy right the fuck now,” he hissed. I did as he asked, completely submitting. After all, this was what he had asked for: total and utter submission.

“That’s it, babe. Offer me that sweet cunt,” he whispered. How did he make my least favorite word sound like a fucking sonnet? I felt so incredible—so alive, our bodies in tune with one another, rutting rhythmically in a crescendo of lust, his frenum rings hitting spots I’d never sensed before. He manipulated my body with expert precision. I regarded his handsome face, relishing this beautiful man on top of me. His eyes bore into me with stealth-precision. Looking directly into my soul, he smiled wickedly, then kissed me deeply.
Arrogant prick
. Yeah, he knew he was the best ride in town.
Fuck me
.

Grinding my heels into the mattress to get better leverage, I met him thrust for thrust. He moved his fingers from my clit. With his other hand still pinning my arms above my head, he pushed my right thigh up from under my knee. Just then he hit a whole new angle and I lost it. Screaming his name, I clenched my pussy, squeezing his cock. As he jack-hammered me, I felt his head swell further. He released my hands, rushing to his knees. After a few long strokes of his dick, his hot thick ropes of come painted my tits and stomach. Yeah, he was an artist, all right. His eyes were closed, his mouth parted. His breathing was hurried, his body still. He looked like a fucking God—absolutely stunning. I would never get this image out of my head.

He opened his eyes finally—to see his handiwork, watching me closely. I smiled in post-coital bliss. I was blissed the fuck out. He leaned over and on top of me, kissing me with his full lips, coaxing my mouth open with his talented, wicked tongue, not caring that his come was smeared all over his body. Most men would mind. But he
wasn’t
most men. I accepted his kisses with a moan.

He kissed me for a long while until sleep drew me under. I slept without dreams, with just the sensation floating behind my eyelids of colorful pastel swirls. If I had any conscious thought it felt much akin to Alice and the rabbit hole. My body was enveloped in his scent, marking me right down to the bone. I would forever be his—whether he knew it or not. His to control. His to do with as he wished. His to consume, to eat away at my very soul. I was in that deep. My veins ran with his essence, the fuel, the nourishment, my body craved. His melodic gritty voice carried me to the surface of consciousness. It was faint, but it spoke to my heart—awakening me.

I opened my eyes, seeking him out. He was singing an
a cappella
version of …? What song was that? I knew it wasn’t one of Lethal Abel’s. I listened keenly, searching for any frame of reference. Oh, now I knew! It was his version of Katy Perry’s “Dark Horse.”
^video1
 His had an edge to it. Nonetheless, it was beautiful. And more importantly, it was quintessential Abel. He mastered everything he did, on his terms.

Oh, God
. His version of reality was quickly becoming mine. I laid back down and let his voice pull me back under again, swathing me in his gravelly tones—carrying me to him.

[Listen to OLN’s version of “Dark Horse” here: 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKVknRFEhpc
.]

:

Getting a job at Gunner ESQ was a dream come true—or the beginning of
my
dreams coming true. The brick fascia building loomed in comparison to the other buildings. Its cold detached stature gave a feeling of wealth and privilege. Large bay-front windows gave its occupants a spectacular view of Colorado’s snow-peaked mountain tops.

I had acquired this job with the assumption that I would run into Mr. Timothy Gunner’s gorgeous rock-star son, Abel. This scion’s son was a dreamy tatted-sleeved God who had my girly parts thick with cream and clenching. Thank God for my roommate and sister from another mister—Cindy. I owed her everything. After all, it was all
her
doing that I had a desk in this salacious world of moneyed elitists, aiding me in my quest to get tall dark and dangerous into my clutches and then appropriately in my bed. We had a bet going that I couldn’t succeed in bedding this enigma. Hands down I stepped up and accepted the challenge. Fuck, yeah! I’m no pussy when it comes to challenges. I wear that shit like a badge of honor. Besides, I needed to get out of this Podunk town and into his Beverley Hills estate.

All I needed was to lay on copious amounts of tease and sex while he was here on one of his impromptu visits with his dad. It seemed this bad boy had gotten himself into a jam with one of his conquests. I snuck a peek at a confidential file in Mr. Gunner’s office. Yeah, I could lose my job
if
I were caught—but I was all ninja and shit.

“Incoming,” Cindy blurted manically as she rounded the corner of my desk walking to hers. Cindy was a tall waify blonde with the grace of a runway model, the mouth of a dock worker, and in addition, she was on the official karma police street team. She had blue-grey eyes, long legs that went on for days, and lengthy thick blonde tendrils reached the middle of her behind. Cindy loved the law, loved having that conversant edge over people. Not enough to practice it, but enough that being a law secretary was her only option.

‘Incoming!” she blurted. What was she getting at this early, I wondered?

“Incoming. Hello. As in: the eagle has landed, chick,” she huffed, giving me her signature eye roll.

“Speak fucking English, will you!” I snapped. Christ almighty, it was 9 a.m. and I already wanted to pound her face in—hard.

“
Abel
—you fucking retard!” She spoke through gritted teeth, clearly frustrated by my lack of understanding. The
fuck
. I quickly reached under my desk for my make-up bag, rummaging through it blindly till I landed on my favorite lip gloss. I wanted my lips glistening to the point of obscenity. I would leave nothing to chance. Chance was the fist-fucker of all fist-fuckers—and I left nothing to it. And I had had enough squandered opportunities in my life to know this intimately.
One breath in. One long breath out.

A foreboding shadow hung in the doorway.
Christ almighty
. I swallowed, allowing my eyes to take in fucking perfection at its finest. My eyes found their way climbing ever so slowly to his beautiful face. I gasped audibly.
One breath in. One long breath out.
A bolt of white-hot energy ran from my nipples to my clit. Weirdly, my thoughts drifted to Ben-fucking-Franklin. My eyes closed on their own accord, as I collected myself, refocusing on the task at hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Gunner.” I smiled congenially and then he turned to Cindy.

“Morning, Cin.” He warmly greeted
her
. My heart squeezed for a moment at his playfulness and familiarity. He readjusted his eyes, bringing my face back into focus.

“Call me Abel.” A slow smile played with his
perfect
lips. Yeah, my eyes were
there
. God, they were luscious lips. Mmm. Probably tasted yummy too. Speaking of tasting … My eyes paid his body another visit. Jerking them upward, I met his enigmatic gaze: perfect brows framed his face, and his strong jawline extenuated his perfect cupid dimple, making him incredibly handsome—mouthwatering.

“Okay, Abel it is,” I replied, licking my own lips.
Mine, mine, mine,
my lascivious mind chanted. My body was battling an internal war that was quickly spiraling out of this galaxy.

“Can I get you some coffee, tea or water?” I offered.

“Nope.” He gestured to his venti Starbucks cup. Man, he was an addict just like me. This was
perfect
. He leaned in, bracing his hands on my desk, scanning the top of it. I leaned back with wide eyes. He grabbed my name plate, gesturing to it.

“Gia Mastro,” His raspy voice felt like velvet to my ears. He arched his picture-perfect brow.

“
Miss
Gia Mastro.” I accentuated the
Miss
so there was
no
misunderstanding that I was available—unattached.

“That’s a beautiful name, Gia.” He fingered his front pocket for a piece of gum, then put it in his mouth.

Cindy and I watched in rapt fascination as he chewed, his Adam’s apple riding up and down his throat like an elevator. Damn. What woman didn’t find a man’s Adam’s apple sexy? As he stared to and fro between Cindy and me, I took the opportunity to lean forward to better access his wears. He wore a closely fitted
consider yourself saved
tee shirt that clung to every ripple of his muscled chest. Dark-washed black denim enveloped his thick long legs, leaving that all-important V to peek out, winking at me. Oh, what did we have here? A hint of a colorful tattoo came dangerously close to his happy trail and disappeared into his pants. Going lower still, my eyes zeroed in on his maleness. Oh
my
. Was he turned on? Gesù Cristo.
Jesus Christ
. Gulp. Eyes up! Eyes up! I willed my mouth to speak, as I was quite positive I had just gotten busted for checking out his dick.

“Ah, thank you. Abel’s also very beautiful.” Ugh! “I mean, it’s different. But it suits you.” I tilted my tongue-tied head, awaiting his response. His eyes flashed a warning: heat, and a glint of danger—all of which sent a flood right down to my basement.

“Yeah, it’s cool. Anyways, I’m out. Nice meeting you, Gia. Enjoy the day, ladies.” He turned and was gone in three strides.