The Seduction of Molly O'Flaherty (2 page)

I managed to stay still as he rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt, as he came onto the bed and straddled my shoulders, pinning me down as he slowly opened up his pants, exposing the long jut of his cock, already hard, already swollen. I dropped my eyes to it, hungry for it, and then there it was, pushing without apology past my lips and into my mouth. For the second time today, I had a cock in my mouth, but this time could not have been more different. Silas’s murmured words,
be my little doll
and
suck harder
and
your mouth is so good, Molly, so fucking good
, made me wet and squirmy, and his hands threading into my hair made me feel like a princess, and his dick was the most perfect thing I’d ever tasted—nothing about it felt wrong or shameful or violating. In fact, I embraced the similarities; every stroke of Silas’s cock erased each stroke of Cunningham’s, every dirty word Silas whispered erased the humiliating ones Cunningham had spoken. And where Cunningham had been clumsy and uncaring, Silas was deliberate and careful. He wasn’t thrusting into my mouth, he wasn’t stroking fast and hard against my tongue—he held my head and moved in slowly and thoroughly and rhythmically, almost like he was doing it for me and not for him.

“There,” he said. “Isn’t that better? Isn’t it all better with my dick in your mouth?”

I nodded, looking up at him and then moaning at his face, so uncharacteristically assured and commanding, that normally smiling mouth pressed into a line of masterful determination. He reached down and ran his thumb along my lower lip, which was stretched wide to accommodate his girth, the first hint of frenzy glinting in his eyes. “Such a pretty mouth,” he muttered, speeding up the rocking of his hips. “Such a pretty face. Such a pretty girl.” I flattened my tongue against the underside of his cock, tightening my lips around him. He hissed out a sharp breath. “My pretty girl.”

Yes,
his
pretty girl, I wanted nothing more in that moment than to be his girl, his Molly, because somehow I knew that Silas would make it all go away. Maybe not forever, but sometimes, most of the time, because he would shelter me when I needed it, bring me to a bed and remind me that there was a place where my only responsibility was being
his
.

In fact, just that thought, just the word
his
, sent so much heat to my cunt that I had to rub my thighs together, but the moment I did, he pulled back, his cock sliding from my mouth with a wet pop. “You don’t think I’m going to take care of you?” he asked, his voice somewhere between cold and demanding. I searched for a glimpse of his usual joking self, his usual ready grin, but it was nowhere to be found, and a small thrill chased down my spine.

“I—”

“I told you not to move. Because I’m going to make you feel better.” He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you trust me?”

Now that my mouth was free, now that we weren’t touching—save for his knees against my arms and the slight pressure of his ass against my stomach (it didn’t escape me that he was careful to keep his full weight off my body)—now that things had slowed down, I could think again. And that was a bad thing, because all of those bad thoughts had returned, telling me I was contaminated, that Silas wouldn’t want me if he knew what had just happened, and so I opened my mouth to tell him, to explain.

“Silas, I do trust you. But before, when I was—” my voice cracked, still raw. His hand stroked through my hair, soothing me, and his eyes were deep wells of affection and concern. Despite the dark wet cock still arcing between us, he was stilled and completely attuned to me. I licked my lips and swallowed my pride and tried to forge ahead. “When I was crying…”

My voice faltered again. I couldn’t finish. I wasn’t ready to tell this story yet, even though Silas was ready to listen. And then I felt even more embarrassed, even more ashamed—I couldn’t even whisper the words. How weak was that?

Silas looked down at me, his expression thoughtful. And then he pressed his fingers against my lips. “Not yet. You don’t tell me yet.”

I blinked up at him, confused, because I
couldn’t
tell him, I couldn’t say it, and that was the problem. And then those strong fingers pressed against me even harder, and I realized what he was doing. He was lifting the failure from me by taking away the choice, he was erasing the moment of weakness by telling me I wasn’t allowed to succeed anyway.

“Whoever made you cry—they don’t get to be here right now,” he continued, his eyes boring into mine. “Not even in your mind. Right now, you are the most important person in this room, and the only thoughts I want you to think are about your pussy and your mouth and your perfect tits. Understood?”

I should have been irritated at that—normally, I didn’t like being told what to do with my own thoughts. But this time, he’d rescued me from the inescapable pit within my own thoughts and I couldn’t have been more grateful. His words soothed me and calmed me, and I closed my mouth, catching the tip of his middle finger between my teeth as I did.

He growled and leaned down over me, settling on his forearms and pressing his body against mine. “I asked you a question,” he said and ground his bare cock against my clit. The direct pressure after so long without stimulation…I groaned, trying to lift my hips up to him. He raised up just high enough so that my endeavor was pointless, the tip of his cock bobbing down onto my belly. I could feel the drop of pre-cum he left there and I shivered.

“I asked you a question,” he repeated, reaching over to tug on one erect nipple. “I want you to answer me. Do you understand?”

He tweaked the nipple—hard—and I whined. “Yes,” I whimpered. “I understand.”

“Good girl.” And then his cock was back, steel-hard and hot against the sensitive flesh of my cunt. “Now be my little doll and stay still.”

I did, catching my breath as he slid down my body, kissing his way to my navel and then farther down, to the top of my silky copper curls. He glanced up at me, as if to make sure I was obeying and staying still, and then he braced his hands against my inner thighs and spread me wide. But he didn’t dip his face down to my cunt, not yet. Instead he seemed to be drinking the sight of it in, the sight of me spread open for his pleasure. And part of me wondered if Silas and I had ever done this before; if I wanted to be licked, I generally sat on his face, as I did with all of my lovers. I didn’t like laying back and having a man’s head between my legs, and I knew exactly the reason why I didn’t—

No.

I wasn’t letting Cunningham in. I would listen to Silas and only think about myself. About the breath tickling against my clit as Silas slowly lowered his mouth, about the jolt of electricity I felt as his tongue slid against my folds for the first time. About the curling fingers of tension in my pelvis, weaving a tight, hot knot there,
right there
. I finally dared a glance down my belly, and what I saw nearly made me come right then and there. His fierce blue eyes trained on me, his hands on my thighs, his whole mouth moving on me, jaw and lips and tongue, like I was a fruit he was trying to devour. And we kept our eyes locked the entire time, even as he guided two long fingers into me, pressing against that perfect spot, even as his other hand snaked over my hips and stomach to hold me still against the bed. And it was those blue eyes—eyes I’d looked into a thousand times but never like this, never with him in control and so
focused
—it was those eyes that shepherded me past my lingering shame, past everything, into one of the strongest orgasms I’d had in years. Pulses spread from his fingers and his mouth, powerful pulses that curled in and crashed on themselves, waves rippling outward from my core to my chest and legs, and finally to my fingers and my toes. The waves were relentless, never-ending, wiping away all thought and all feeling and all memory, because there was nothing left but eyes,
blue eyes
, and that flat, hot tongue and the small cries I couldn’t stop from issuing from my throat. And then Silas was over me, one hand braced next to my head, the other at the base of his cock, the tip rubbing me from clit to ass, ass to clit and then it was notched in place, the crown just barely inside my hole.

“Whose little doll are you?” Silas asked.

“Yours,” I whispered, still malarial from my incredible orgasm. “Only yours.”

“And who takes care of you?”

“You do.”

He nudged in a little deeper, so I could feel exactly how much he stretched me. “And what are you going to do right now?”

“Not move.” I moaned as he slid in farther. “Let you make me feel good.”

“Good girl.” Silas dropped a kiss onto my lips and then pushed in all the way, giving me a moment to adjust as he did. And then he began making love to me. Not fucking—this wasn’t fucking. Despite his edict that I needed to lay still, despite the way he leaned down and growled those delicious words again—
stay still, just let me have it
—there was something different here than there usually was between us. I could see it in his eyes, in the way his stomach muscles tensed as he moved with complete control and restraint. Normally, when we fucked, we were friendly and affectionate, but we were both there for our own pleasure. But today, Silas was only here for
my
pleasure. Or maybe even that wasn’t quite right, because this was about more than pleasure right now. He was healing me, caring for me, in a way that no one ever had before, and somehow he could sense this, I thought, sense that this was some sort of watershed moment for me.

And as his head dropped to nuzzle into my neck, I wondered if it was a watershed for him too.

In the spell of his touch, I’d forgotten that I hated this position. I hated not being in control of the depth and pace, and I even more hated not being in control of my own orgasms. But all that was cast aside right now, as if the Molly that felt all those things was lying in the same discarded heap as my clothes, and I was a new Molly altogether, one who gasped and then sighed as Silas shifted so that the hard muscles above his dick ground against my clit as he moved.

“Your pussy is so sweet,” he breathed in my ear. He found my hands with his, lacing our fingers together and bringing my hands up over my head. His body was stretched along mine completely now, the sides of his white shirt brushing against the place where my skin met the bed-sheets and the fabric of his trousers chafing the insides of my thighs. And now he had the whole weight of his body on me, pressing me down into the bed as he drove his dick into me, deep and hard and angled just right, and I should hate it, I should hate having a man’s weight on me, but now he was kissing me so perfectly, with such demanding vigor, and I wanted it never to end, having the man I loved on top of me, kissing and penetrating, everything wet and warm and still raw from my earlier tears. And suddenly I wanted him to know that. I wanted him to know that I loved him, that I wanted him and only him, but before I could break our kiss to say the words, my second orgasm rolled home, an abrupt cliff I hadn’t expected but leapt off happily, squirming under him as his cock and the friction of his groin against my clit drove the orgasm over the edge and sent me tumbling into oblivion. I cried out as the first contractions took me, clenching my cunt and my belly, and then there was sensation everywhere, heat and joy and fluttering, passing through me and leaving numbness and tingling in their wake. I couldn’t feel my fingers and toes, and the first thing that greeted me as I slowly came back was feeling of Silas’s mouth hungry on mine, as if he wanted to eat my sounds, as if he wanted to taste my soul.

And I wanted to taste his. I wanted to taste his everything—thoughts and feelings and pain and pleasure and everything that made Silas himself, I wanted it all. For the rest of my life. And I couldn’t stop myself, not with the lingering waves of joy—coming so soon after those miserable, lonely waves of pain—not with his perfect mouth against mine and his perfect cock still worshipping me.

“I love you,” I murmured when he lifted his head, and then time stopped.

Silas froze, his jaw clenched, his eyes pinned on mine, the words echoing in the room despite how quietly they were uttered.

I love you I love you I love you…

He didn’t speak for a moment, his face painted in an expression of impassive withdrawal, and even his hips had halted, his cock buried up to the root.

I made a mistake
, I panicked. I’d said the wrong thing, let go of the wrong secret, and now I’d ruined what had been the best moment of my life so far, and
why
had I said that?

Except then he cried out, low and long, his head dropping to my shoulder and his body trembling over me as he pulsed hot and fast, pulsing so hard that I could feel his warmth surging into me. His hands squeezed mine as he drove his hips even deeper, his breath stuttering and shuddering against my collarbone, and I could feel every moment of his climax, every throb of his cock and every beat of his heart and every jet of cum, until he finally let out a long exhale and relaxed, his hands releasing mine and finding my face and my neck, his mouth hot against my ear.

“I love you too,” he breathed, and then before I could answer, he was kissing me again. His cock, which had never softened, was now moving inside me again and there was no time to worry about what I’d said, about what he’d said. There was only time to feel and to come, again and again and again…