“What are you thinking about?” he asked, inching closer to me.
“About all the ways there is to die.”
“None of them are going to happen to you.”
“You sound so sure.” And yet I believed him. At least, I wanted to. I wanted so much from this man. I could feel the intensity burning off of him, infecting me, making me feverish from head to toe.
His face was so close now, his eyes half-closed with lust and focused on my lips.
“Are you going to kiss me?” I whispered.
“Yes,” he murmured.
“Are you going to fuck me?”
“Oh, yes.”
A small, brief smile flashed across his lips and then he leaned forward. The kiss was soft for a moment, just enough time for me to luxuriate in the dreamy fullness of his lips, the way they covered mine, wet and warm and wanting. It pulled me in, stirred something deep inside, like a small candle flame that was growing with each feathery stroke of tongue against tongue, each long, lingering taste.
He pulled his lips away a millimeter to catch his breath and it felt like he was stealing mine.
Then his mouth came back onto my own, hard and fast and urgent. His large hand gripped the back of my neck, the other wrapped around my waist as he tugged me toward him. My nipples immediately went hard, brushing against the inside of his baggy shirt I was wearing. Heat pooled between my legs, throbbing for him already.
Damn, he was good at kissing. Each passionate melding of our lips and tongue was stoking the fire inside until I felt ready to self-combust. I moaned against him, trading in the ability to breathe for the ability to be fucked by his mouth. He was so needing, probing, greedy. I loved it, wanted more, wanted everything.
He slipped his hand under the shirt, finding my breast. He gasped, raspy and deep, as his fingers found my nipples, rubbing over their stiffness.
I loved a bit of foreplay. Making out was a long lost art.
But I needed this man inside me and badly. I needed him for a few days now. From the stiff bulge in his boxer briefs, I could tell he felt the same way.
“Fuck me,” I whispered as his lips found my neck and sucked along there. “Don’t be gentle.”
He paused for a moment, probably remembering my injuries.
“Don’t be gentle,” I repeated, my good hand holding the back of his head, his buzz-cut hair both rough and soft against my palm.
“I won’t,” he mumbled against my neck. Then he pulled away and got up. In a second he got his strong arms under my body and was lifting me up in the air. So effortless. I really felt like I was going to get fucked by superhero or something. He definitely had that whole Captain America thing going on.
He put me down on the bed and pulled the rest of my dress off as I tried to shimmy out of it. There was lying naked, legs open on the bed, bare for him to see. And boy, did he seem to see it. He stared down at my body, his eyes roving over me in such a way that I could feel their heat on my skin.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said, voice raspy and dripping with lust as he slid his large rough hands down the sides of my body.
“So are you,” I said, trying not to feel bashful. That wasn’t like me at all. “Take off your clothes. It’s not fair that I can’t do it myself.”
He gave me a cocky grin then removed his shirt over his head. I propped myself up on my elbows and admired the sight of him undressing between my legs.
His chest was a work of art. Everything about him was a work of art, like a living breathing sculpture of what a real man should look like. His pecs were so hard and wide you could bounce pesos off them, his shoulders broad and muscled, his abs a perfect, grooved six-pack leading down to the flattest stomach imaginable. Most impressive of all was his arms. Obviously I’d been admiring them before, their thick, veiny example of Derrin’s brute strength, but now with his shirt off he was the total package. He looked like a killing, fucking machine.
“All of it,” I told him, my intentions bold even though my voice was barely above a whisper. I was so fucking eager for him I could barely stand it.
He kept up that arrogant grin – one very rightly earned – and pulled down his underwear, stepping out of it.
Against the virile strength of his thighs, his erection jutted out like a mast. I had been right when I assumed perfect head equaled perfect dick. This man was all man and definitely didn’t use any steroids for his body. His cock was thick, long and dark with want. He even had a nice set of balls that I wanted wrap my lips around.
He stepped to the edge of the bed and I quickly remembered I had condoms in my purse.
“Condom,” I told him. “I haven’t been taking my pill properly since the accident.”
He nodded, almost looking a bit sheepish for not suggesting it, and went over to the chair and fished a foil packet out of the purse. He ripped it open and slid it on him and I couldn’t help but bite my lip at the sight.
He came back to the edge of the bed and took a hard hold of my thighs and yanked me toward him.
“I need to be inside you,” he said, his voice sliding over me like rough silk. I agreed and wrapped my legs around his firm, tight hips. I winced slightly at the sight of my cast, knowing it couldn’t feel too nice against his skin but he didn’t even seem to notice. He positioned the head of his cock at my opening and moaned as his fingers drifted over my slickness. Then he grabbed my thighs even harder, holding them up as he thrust into me.
I gasped from the welcome intrusion, his stiff length as it struck deep. He felt so good inside of me, so full, so thick. My fingers grabbed the edges of the blanket, holding on as he pulled in and out, so slowly, so deliciously, and I expanded again and again to take him all in.
“Yes,” he hissed as he pumped into me. I stared up at him, at the mammoth man, my legs looking so small in his capable hands. There was a sheen of sweat over his hard body, his muscles flexing as he fucked me harder and harder, his hips swiveling and driving in as deep as he could go. When he was pushed into the hilt, he paused and then started to rub my clit with his thumb, even though I was so close to coming without it.
He stared down at me as he brought me to orgasm, his eyes filling with lust and want and maddening desire. There was something else in them though, some kind of sadness or loneliness that would have hit me in the heart if he hadn’t just pushed me over the edge.
I came violently, my body screaming with the release of it all, the release of everything. I writhed and spasmed, feeling no pain, no weight, no shadows. It was all just light and I was warm and fuzzy and in an angel’s hands. An angel who was coming himself with a few loud grunts and a well-placed, “Fuck, Alana, fuck.”