Authors: Elizabeth Finn
I end up lying on my stomach at the edge of the deck, trailing my hand through the water below. It is cool and clear, and I’m suddenly overcome with a fairly childish desire to jump in naked and swim. I learned to swim early in life, and I’m as comfortable in water as I am on land. I love the feeling of being completely surrounded by water, and the weightless relaxation of floating around in a pool for hours. As I peel myself out of my clothes, leaving them heaped on the deck, I only pause for a brief moment to wonder if Derek will be upset with me before I jump in.
I swim, diving deep to the sandy bottom. The water is so incredibly clear. I float on my back endlessly, spacing off into comfort, and I think about Derek and all his mystery. I know nothing about him at all. He comes from a political family, he doesn’t talk to them, he designs houses … what else don’t I know about this man? I’m guessing far more than I’ve figured out thus far. I drift aimlessly around in the clear water that is speckled only with leaves that have fallen from the lush trees, with Derek’s beautiful lips and exceptional features in my mind. I have no idea how long I’ve been swimming, floating, daydreaming, but as I reinvigorate, I dive back down below the surface, not yet ready to give it up. When I return to the surface though, I look toward the deck. He’s back, and at this distance, I can’t tell if he’s upset to see me swimming alone in the pond or not.
He’s leaning against one of the pillars that support the overhanging roof of the pergola-style deck. I continue to watch him as I start to slowly, hesitantly swim back toward the deck. When I reach the deck, I see by the smirk on his face that he isn’t upset in the least, or at least he’s not going to say he is. He reaches a hand down to me and pulls me easily to the deck. He stands in front of me, letting his gaze travel every dripping inch of my body as I inhale deep and needy breaths, waiting and hoping for him to make a move. He does, and moments later, I’m in his arms and he’s carrying me away to the very inviting bed in the master bedroom.
He lays me gently down on the quilt that covers the bed and hastily pushes my legs apart as he covers my body with his. He’s still clothed, but every time I reach for the waist of his jeans, he stops my hands. When at long last I give up trying to undress him, he moves to my mouth. Pulling my chin down, he invades my mouth forcefully. He wants my mouth, which is such a complete flip from two weeks prior, when the very act of kissing me seemed to chill his body. He’ll hear no complaints from me. I need his kisses; this intimacy is healing in a way that nothing else can even touch, but as he slowly pulls from my mouth and looks in my eyes, I still in nervousness at his next words.
“I want you to let me taste your pussy.” His smirk is downright lascivious, as he well knows.
This man has pushed every last limit I’ve ever had and ever imagined I would have, but this is more than what my self-conscious, often self-loathing, overly naïve, and let’s face it, chicken-shit mind can handle. There is no way this man can want to be so up close and personal with my vagina. If he’s trying to convince me that I don’t repel him after the events of the night before, sex will do just fine, thank you. I just don’t have the nerve to let this man, whom I happen to be obsessed with, “taste” my most intimate girl bits.
But as usual, he is unrelenting. He watches my eyes, not the least bit phased by my fear. His swollen cock, still restrained by his pants, brushes enticingly across my sex, and I realize this is exactly what he wants, really and truly wants. But we don’t do this. If kissing is taboo for a house manager and one of his girls, this is downright illegal. As always, though, his desire has my body tingling. I know the feel of his mouth on that most private part of my body would, without a doubt, be incredible, but there is far more to this act than simple physical pleasure. Submitting in such an intimate way, with nowhere to run and hide, with every last inch of my body exposed and tasted, is terrifying. This is beyond being vulnerable to him, and my self-conscious fear has me frozen. This beautiful man can’t possibly want to see me and experience me in such a way. And yet, even as my fear rises, so, too, do the goose bumps on my skin that betray my nervousness and undeniable lust for this.
“We aren’t allowed to do that, are we?”
“I’m allowed to do whatever I want to you, and quite frankly, what we choose to do together when we’re alone is no one’s business but ours.” I watch him warily. I love his words, but I’m terrified of where he’s going with this.
I can’t do this. What will he think of me? Then I have to remind myself that I asked the same question of him the night before, and it is quite obvious his opinion of me hasn’t suffered in the least. His face is pained in need for my body. He’s clothed, and his body is straining against the zipped fly of his jeans. He wants me so desperately, and nothing of what he’s seen so far has affected that. What makes me think this would?
He’s tiring of my hesitation, and in his effort to set my mind at ease, he continues. “I want to know your taste, just like you know mine. Why should that be surprising? I’ve wanted to taste your sweetness since the first moment I saw you trembling and naked in that damn interview chair.”
“And here I thought you hated my guts when you met me…” Oops. The brain-mouth filter is just broken today for some reason, and watching his already hooded and desperate eyes, I realize this is just one such time that I perhaps should have kept my mouth shut.
“I’m practically drooling on you, and you want to discuss this right now?” I stare slack-jawed at his face. He’s not upset; he’s just so damn desperate for me, and I’m desperate for him too. Why couldn’t I have just kept my damn mouth shut! But as he watches me while I’m stunned into silence, he speaks again. “I’ve never hated you … not ever. But I’m sure it felt that way…” His voice and eyes trail away at this admission.
He’s right. It did feel that way, and I don’t want to do this right now. It’s too much, too heavy, and too real. Suddenly, his mouth on my pussy seems like a far easier prospect than having this conversation.
His eyes return to mine, but before he can speak another word or offer some explanation or delve too deeply into those early days, I decide to kiss him. Swiftly, I take his mouth, and when our mouths part, I whisper, “Okay, but, I’m really nervous.”
“Aren’t you always?” The smirk has returned.
He doesn’t wait for my answer before his mouth moves to my neck, where he gently nibbles and kisses his way along my collarbone. Intimate is an understatement. His deep breathing as he works his way around my neck is all the evidence I need of his want for me. When he moves farther down to my breasts, my breath starts to shudder, and my muscles start to twitch. He kisses trails across my breasts, avoiding my nipples, and at long last, when he finally pulls one nipple harshly and deeply into his mouth, I gasp and groan at the sudden intense sensation that radiates down to my groin. My other nipple is equally eager for his attention, and he leaves them both glistening from his mouth before moving farther down.
At my stomach, his fingers start to gently caress their way across my body, so feather light that the tickle has my stomach muscles clenching and quivering. He’s watching my eyes, his incredible, dark eyes taking in every reaction I have. I feel beautiful, held strongly in his gaze. He’s giving me every last ounce of reassurance I haven’t been sullied and destroyed by my choices. The realization that my self-hatred and loathing will never come from him, but only from me, is sobering. He’s not my enemy, and I have nothing to fear from this man. I continue to look into his eyes, and I give myself over completely to his wishes.
He seems to see this shift in me instantly, as he whispers, “Okay?” and waits for my final approval. I nod, never taking my eyes from his. At the first touch of his lips on my lower abdomen, right above my pubic hairline, I still, not breathing, not moving a muscle. He inhales deeply with his nose to my sex, and I wait in desperation for more touch. He gives it. His fingers gently part the lips of my vagina, and he looks intently and closely at my body. He reaches another finger to the slick, wet folds, and strokes gently, still studying every last contour of my body. With one final look to my eyes, he lowers his mouth to me, and when his lips seal against my pussy, I gasp. His tongue starts to move over my skin, tasting my wetness. When his tongue finds my tight nub, he focuses all of his attention on that one place.
My hips are writhing beneath his mouth, but he holds tight to me, never separating his mouth from my body. My climax is building, and my body is coming unglued as his mouth and tongue continue to work on my body. The sensation is more incredible than I could have imagined. It is the combination of warmth and an itch that begs to be satisfied. My orgasm will relieve the mounting tension, but as it continues to build with every touch to the most sensitive bundle of nerves in my body, he pulls away, leaving me gasping and desperate. I want to pull his mouth back to my body, and I realize that my fear was easily set aside for the amazing pleasure of this act.
His lips are glistening with my wetness, and I’m nearly ready to beg him for my release when he reaches his hand to me once again. His eyes study mine as he slides one deliciously long finger within my wet hole. He fucks me gently, now focusing his eyes on my penetration, and as he adds a finger and continues to watch, his lips part, and he starts to lick them unconsciously. He does want to taste me.
As I watch his tongue pass over his lips once more, I finally give in to the pleas that have been ringing out in my mind, and I speak, or more like beg. “Please, Derek.” My voice sounds as pleading as my words, and he wastes no time latching himself to me once again.
His fingers continue to invade my tight sheath as I contract around him. His mouth has found my clitoris again, and he pulls, sucking it into his mouth. He’s gentle, but firm and unrelenting, and as he runs the tip of his tongue over the tight nub held securely in his mouth, I lose my mind.
I come loudly and harshly as my stomach muscles contract in on themselves, and as I utter the very same words that a mere month ago sparked a backlash that haunted me for weeks after, I can see easily that this time there will be no such reprisal. “Oh God, Derek.”
He moves up my body, his own arousal still straining against his jeans, and when he leans toward my mouth, he speaks in a husky voice. “God, I love the sound of my name on your lips when you come.”
He kisses me gently. I taste my own subtle musky scent, and it makes me crave his body all the more. Having been so completely satisfied by him leaves only one desire in my mind, to completely satisfy him. When I reach for his waist, he stays my hands, and with one final quick kiss to the tip of my nose, he says, “Dinner first.”
Dinner? Well, ain’t that a bunch of bullshit! Who can eat at a time like this? Apparently Derek can, and he pulls me swiftly from the bed to his arms. My clothes are still out on the deck, but as I pull toward the sliding wall of windows to retrieve them, he pulls me back to him with a shake of the head. I guess I’ll be cooking sans clothes.
Chapter 20
I find out soon enough that my help really isn’t needed in the kitchen. I’m apparently just ornamental. Derek can cook. He can drive. And apparently he can design homes. I wonder what else this man can do. Can he vacuum? Can he clean? Can he mow a lawn? He suddenly seems so normal, impressive of course, but normal and very human. I wonder if he can care. Can he love? He can desire me; that I no longer question. But love… Could I ever love him for that matter? And quite frankly, don’t I already? He intrigues me, without a doubt. He scares me at times, but with every passing day, I realize my fears have been misplaced. He pleasures me, duh. His concern for me makes my heart melt. His abject fear for my safety, likewise. And don’t I carry the same worries for him? The pain that Mr. Grayson has caused us both is shared between us. I as much felt Derek’s pain as my own on the evening we were forced to spend with him. Aren’t we here now to protect one another from the very same threat? So what is our connection? Mere desire doesn’t cause a desperate need to protect another. So why do we fear for one another so very much?
His arms wrap gently around me as his body moves in to close out any space between us. I’m standing naked, facing the kitchen counter and the window beyond, and his body is covering every inch of my backside. He’s taken his clothes off. I can feel the long, hard length of his cock against my back, and I wonder just how long I’ve been daydreaming with my eyes staring blankly out the window to have missed him stripping naked in the kitchen.
His mouth moves to my ear, and his tongue gently flicks the lobe of my ear. “Time to eat.”
Sadly, he really does mean food, and as I sit, I see that not only can he cook, he can cook well. He’s made chicken of some sort that has been breaded, baked, and then cut over a pasta dish with tomatoes and basil. It is delicious, and could I keep my eyes on my plate and not on him, I could likely have gotten through the meal far sooner. As it is, my body is screaming for him. I can feel my wet warmth against the hard surface of the chair. The chair is cool to my skin, and it exhilarates my body. Judging by Derek’s own dark and watchful eyes, he’s struggling with his own composure as well, and the moment our meal is finished, he pulls me by the hand to kneel in front of his chair. Within moments, he’s filling my mouth with his cock.
His hips flex upward to my mouth as I try desperately to accommodate his breadth. He tastes so very Derek, and I’m ravenously hungry for him. I want him in every way I can take him. I need him to wipe out every disturbing memory from the night before, and replace them with his own touch, taste, and kiss. I have only this time with him because, come tomorrow, I will once again be off-limits to him as I ready myself for another stranger that will use my body. I can’t stand the thought of missing one single moment with Derek tonight.
Just as hastily and quickly as he started fucking my mouth, he stops me, pulls me to my feet, and then toward him. I straddle his hips, hovering over his engorged and stiff penis. As he guides my hips down to line his cock up with my entry, he watches my eyes. When the head of his cock is nestled between the wet lips of my pussy, he kisses me once before instructing me to fuck him. I push down slowly, as he steadies my hips with his hands. His eyes narrow and he inhales a quick breath as I start to slowly take him within my tight sheath. His lips stay parted as he watches every last inch of his length disappear within my body, slowly. He flexes his hips once, driving the depth of his cock painfully farther, but I welcome this pain. It is consuming, and it claims my body as his own. Once I’ve adjusted to his thick length inside me, I slide back up along his shaft. My arousal has me as wet as I’ve ever been, and he moves tightly but smoothly within my body. I pull myself from him completely as his breath comes out in a hiss. When I sink back down and over the head of his cock, he moans a deep guttural sound.