Boys Next Door. Sommer Marsden
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authority. He had shifted some. Becoming a bit more self-assured and serious than the man who’d just been teasing me. I pulled him with my legs and he stilled.
‘Are you going to behave, Farrell?’
The absence of friction had me on the brink of insanity. My pussy was tender and swollen, my labia singing with blood. I needed him to move. Immediately.
‘I will. I will behave,’ I stammered. I would have promised him anything at all in that moment.
Somehow the tables had turned from me calling the shots to me begging him. Tingling excitement surged along my skin, driving my flesh to rise up in goose bumps.
‘Put your arms up for me, sweetheart.’ He buried his face in my hair and inhaled deeply. Then pressing his lips to my pulse point, he rotated his hips just so. Rocking into me so that my pussy grew tighter and tighter – unbearably tight. The sharp bite of his pelvic bone to my clit made me mindlessly thrust upward.
But I didn’t come.
I put my hands up suddenly like I was under arrest. Had I been in a more humorous mood, I’d have laughed at myself. But I was desperate. Desperate for him to tip me past my line so I could have an orgasm. So I could come with him deep inside of me. So I could feel my body eagerly lapping at his. So I could maybe, hopefully, wonderfully, push him past his limit and he’d come too.
Deke smiled at me and clamped his large hands down on my wrists. Manacling them with his own flesh to the back of the sofa. Scrolled wood, vintage fabric – how many memories were trapped in this piece of furniture?
And now I was adding my own. My first fuck in my new house. A hell of a house-warming.
He began a hypnotising rhythm of withdrawing – almost all the way – before plunging back in. When he backed off, the tip of him rubbed along the slick ring of my opening. When he plunged deep the friction made me shimmy under him – locked in my own needful dance.
I pulled at him with my legs, locking my ankles to try and make him do my bidding. He laughed at me.
‘I’m stronger than you,’ he whispered, locking his hips to that I couldn’t force him forward no matter how much I tried.
I tugged again, my legs shaking with the effort, my cunt fraught with need. Deke stayed still.
When I loosened my locked legs, he did that back and forth thing with his hips that made me whimper. When I dropped my legs down and splayed them wider for him, he thrust deep. When I sighed aloud, relaxing completely under him, his hands clamped a bit tighter on my wrists; prompting a rush of arousal so strong it stole my breath. And then he started to fuck me in earnest.
It was when I truly surrendered to him, that he gave me what I needed.
One hand unlocked from my wrist for a moment to shove a throw pillow under my ass. When I was tilted that way, tipped up to take him, everything that was good became great. All the things he did that were pleasant became utterly sweet.
He only had to rock against me a few more times and I was coming, his mouth soft on mine, his hands a bit rough – the perfect amount.
My orgasm tapered off in soft lilting waves. Then he released my arms and replaced the pillow with his hands. Gripping me hard by my bottom he drove into me. Intent and a bit animalistic now that I’d had my pleasure. Now he was going to get his.
I let my head fall back and braced myself with my elbows, rising up with my lower body to take him in. When he was seated fully in me, I gripped my cunt up tight around him, using those muscles so as to get him to make that noise. That noise that turned me inside out.
When he came, a slew of unintelligible words falling from his sensual lips, I came again. It was small and sugary and more due to the look on his face than anything. That look of a man caught in a moment of bliss, unable to control himself – and okay with it.
He dropped his head, catching his breath. I couldn’t help but smile. Or help running my fingers over the lean band of muscles over his hips. He shivered when I touched him and those dark eyes opened, flaring with spent but still present arousal.
‘That was even better than the elevator.’
‘It was. So …’ I touched him again just to see that minor quake in his muscles. ‘Is this how you greet all the newcomers?’
He chuckled, stroking my ankle bone with his thumb before straightening up and stretching. ‘What newcomers? And no.’
‘Pizza?’ I sighed, watching him gather his jeans. The man should have been carved from stone he was that well put together. He tied off the condom and disappeared to the powder room.
‘I was thinking pie and wine!’ he called. Emerging from the small room and wiping his hands on the tail of his shirt, he said,’ Sorry, I’ve been in this house. So I just …’ He pointed toward the tiny bathroom.
‘No worries. I like that you seem at home. It means it’s a nice home.’
‘Nicer now,’ he said. He curled a finger at me. ‘Come, child. Best peach pie ever. She puts up the peaches when they’re at their ripest so she can make the pies all fall and winter long.’
‘Who’s “she”?’ I followed him after pulling my sweater back on. Just the sweater; thanks to the fire, it was all I needed. I leaned on the counter and accepted a paper plate with a perfect slice of pie on it.
‘Margaret at the farmer’s market. Locals just call her the pie goddess.’
I took a bite and felt damn near orgasmic again. I rolled my eyes. ‘My God, no wonder.’
‘Told you.’ He handed me a coffee mug full of wine and I sipped.
‘Heaven,’ I said.
‘The sex didn’t hurt,’ Deke said, winking at me.
When I removed myself mentally from the situation, I was shocked to find that I was completely at ease with him. I felt comfortable and sexy and flirty. Something I hadn’t experienced – ever. And deep down it terrified me. I took a slug of wine and pushed the realisation away. I could deal with it later.
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘Elevator sex, great. Antique sofa sex, superb.’ I raised my mug and Deke clinked it.
‘Wow, “superb”. That is high praise.’
‘Indeed.’ I ate the rest of my pie and held my plate out. ‘More, please.’
His grin flashed white in the muted light of the kitchen and attraction curled like smoke in my belly. The man’s smile was dangerous. ‘Good to see a woman who eats,’ he said and plopped another generous slice on my plate.
I finished off my wine and held that out too.
‘And drinks,’ he chuckled filling me up.
I leaned on the counter and ate the second piece slowly. ‘This is … perfect.’
‘So let me ask you, Farrell McGee …’
I watched him tip back his wine and swallow. I had butterflies. Massive butterflies – swirling, twirling, dancing in my gut.
‘Yeah?’
‘My bet would be, by watching you and judging by your new lease on life, that you’re not looking for something long term.’ He was as sober as a judge. Watching me.
I fidgeted a bit, sipped my wine, and cleared my throat. ‘I’m not. Not right now. I’ve never actually been serious about someone. But I’m not ready to even get into something … steady would be a good word.’
But he does weird things to your stomach. And your heart. In one day –
I ignored that voice. No way, Jose. Not now. Not this soon. I had just gotten here. I hadn’t even spent a night in my own home yet.
‘I figured.’ He held up a finger. ‘Notice I did