After Hours (13 page)

His hands slipped down my belly and over my hips, kneading my thighs. It made his
chest clench—hard muscles pushing into my back every time his palms stroked my knees.
Oh, the fucking rhythm of it. The harsh sound of his breath punctuated each motion
and all I could think about was sex. About watching Kelly’s body above mine. Flexing
chest and arms and hips, the flash of his driving cock, and those cruel, unreadable
eyes.

My hands twitched, dying for something to do. Some part of Kelly to touch. Knowing
I might get corrected, I angled my arm to cup the back of his head. That soft hair
brushed my palm, not matching any other hard part of him.

“I know what you want,” he said.

The next time his hands stroked up my thighs, they stayed there. His thumbs traced
the inside borders of my panties, sparking bright and hot as matches. He took my ear
lobe between his lips, the gesture so unexpectedly erotic, I gasped. No time to recover,
he slid one big, intrusive hand down the front of my underwear.

“Oh.”

His palm rested on my mound, fingers impossibly cool and dry, just barely glancing
my clit and the seam of my sex. I shivered, not caring if he saw. Not even caring
if it prolonged the wait—all this near touching was getting me as hot as the best
head I’d ever received. I could’ve come from his voice and presence and the promises
his hands were making, nothing more.

“I like this,” Kelly murmured, stroking his fingertips through the hair on my mound.
Then they tightened, fisting my curls, and I choked on a moan, bucking forward.

His free arm circled my waist, holding me in place as those fingers clutched and eased
again and again. When I stilled, he released my middle. His grip on my hair tightened
and held, ten times as arousing as it was painful. It opened me even wider, made me
feel like a restrained animal. His other hand slipped beneath the crotch of my panties,
and finally it came. The friction.

“
Oh
.”

The side of his thumb stroked my clit, the length of his fingers sliding along my
lips. My spine curled in on itself, every muscle convulsing.

“Good,” was all Kelly said, and his voice gave him away. Scratchy and shallow. His
hands were perfectly poised, but that single syllable thrummed with excitement, just
like every last inch of the thick cock beating against my tailbone.

Two stiff fingers slipped forward and back along my lips, forward and back. I squirmed,
wanting more—more friction, more depth, more of anything that promised violation.
I shut my eyes, remembering the way his erection had taunted me that night in my bed.
The way his hips had felt, pushing into me, the way he’d forced my hand around his
head and bathed my palm in his come. I squeezed my inner muscles, sharpening the pleasure.

“I know what you want,” Kelly told me again. His voice was deep once more, arousal
sounding tamed. At long last he let my curls go, freeing two fingertips to gently
pinch my clit, his other hand still tracing my lips, but deeper now.

I was so wet, it was shocking. I felt shameful and proud at once, and above all, exposed.
Found out. My mouth could deny my interest in Kelly all day long, but my pussy didn’t
lie. He felt like more than a single person. Two hands, a hard body, a mean voice.
A one-man orgy. I’d leave here limping, just as he’d promised.

He rolled my clit between his thumb and forefinger. Pleasure gathered in steady pulsations,
but the contact wouldn’t get me off. It wasn’t meant to.

“You thinking about my cock?”

“About your hands.”

“What about them?”

“It feels. So fucking good.” I nearly laughed, just from how ridiculous and overwrought
I sounded, and yes, from how
fucking good
his hands felt.

“I could make you come if I wanted,” he whispered. “Just like I did in your bed.”

Yes yes yes. Now now now.

“But you got off easy that night. Bring your legs together.”

His hands left me, the most torturous neglect ever. I was too lust-drunk to understand
his order, but then he was tugging at my panties and I caught on. I shimmied my legs
close enough for him to push my underwear to my knees, then got them kicked away.
Another gruff directive spread my thighs back open; so much cool air, so much shocking
heat. He clasped my breast with one strong hand and the other slipped between my legs.
The pad of his thumb rubbed my clit with maddening, blunt strokes, as those fingertips
went right back to taunting me—promising penetration but showing no signs of delivering
anytime soon.

The sweep of his fingers, the squeeze of the palm holding my breast. The stiff length
of his cock digging into my spine like a hostage-taker’s gun. And his words, his fucking
words.

“Still only thinking about my hands?”

“Your hands. And your voice. And your dick.”

“What about my dick?”

“About . . . About how it’ll feel.”

Without warning, he pushed two fingers inside me to the middle knuckle.

I clasped his wrist. “
Oh
.”

“Shhh.” He drew them out, basting my clit in the wetness, then drove back inside.
Three fingers, now? Or was I just so swollen that it felt like that many? He kept
them stiff and straight, and my mind wandered right where he surely wanted it, to
the hard heat between his legs.

“Now tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Your cock.”

Harder and faster, his fingers plunged. Then suddenly he stopped, drew them out slowly
and brought them to his mouth. He moaned as he tasted me. Tasted what he’d done to
me. The next breath, he slid them back inside me, pace resumed like he’d never stopped.

“Oh God.”

“Say my name.”

“Kelly.”

“Good. You got permission to say that anytime you like. Now tell me what you want
from my cock.”

“Whatever you’ll give me.”

Another of those nasty chuckles hummed in my ear, and his fucking fingers slowed.
“Good answer, sweetheart. You want me to tell you what I plan to give you?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t work that way.”

Of course it didn’t.
I want what I want, when and how I want it.

I was left waiting for the whims of Kelly’s cock to assert themselves. Aching, I lost
myself in the steady, explicit violation of his fingers, imagining watching his length
sink inside me. Imagining how he’d be, when he finally lost control. I knew how he’d
sound—I’d recorded every word and grunt and breath from that night in my bed and replayed
it when I got myself off, a dozen times at least. But what he might look like, I could
only guess. Mean, surely. Mean, but helpless. Kelly Robak, helpless from what I could
make him feel. The notion was as hot as his pounding fingers.

I shifted, needing something, anything, just the flex of my own hips to spur the desire.
Kelly seemed to mistake the gesture for restlessness. The spread fingers cupping my
breast crept up my neck, slid into my hair and tightened.
You’re not going anywhere,
his fist told me.
You stay right here and you come when I make you come.

It was the singularly most erotic touch I’d ever felt—the coldest, hottest, cruelest
sensation.

A snatch of memory visited me, of my pitching a fit when an old boyfriend had grasped
my hair when I’d been giving him head. It had hurt, and worse, it’d made me feel like
he’d written me into some porn scene. I’d signed up to be with a nice guy, not some
porno-jack-off hair-grabber, and he’d violated my expectations. How dare he not conform
to the script I’d composed when I cast him as my gentle lover? How dare he try to
recast
me
as some slap-around slut whose hair he got to grab while he fucked my mouth? The
poor thing. He’d probably just thought it’d be hot, and hoped maybe I’d be into it.
Instead I’d snapped and ranted at him for five minutes. Shamed him for treating me
like that.

I could be a real control freak, with guys. With nice guys.

Funny how with Kelly, I welcomed the dirty stuff. The degrading dynamics. I guess
because he came as advertised. He couldn’t violate my expectations, when violation
was basically his main selling point.

“I know you’re getting close,” Kelly said.

I had been. I’d distracted myself with that memory, hoping to draw things out, but
I was creeping closer and closer with every push of his fingers.

“Tell me.”

“I’m getting close.”

“You’ll come when I let you. When I tell you. Got that?”

Oh fuck.
“Yes,” I said, uncertain I was physically capable of keeping that promise. If I failed,
would I get punished? Did I
want
to get punished? With no other man on earth would I want to be laid across a lap
and spanked, but with Kelly . . . Shit, I had no fucking clue.

“Stand up.”

I obeyed on boneless legs. Kelly stood as well, yanking off his shirt, unbuckling
and stripping his belt with a rough, practiced motion, opening his fly and shoving
his jeans down his legs. I got the same non-view of his cock as I had before, obscenely
stiff, straining against black cotton.

I fidgeted with my waistband, wondering if I was supposed to be stripping, too.

His eyes didn’t miss my silent inquiry. “Keep it on. I like skirts.”

He sat again and patted his lap. My legs were wobbly as I returned to my position,
straddling his thighs. He tugged me tight to his chest, erection hard against my ass
and feeling a hundred times dirtier with his jeans gone. Cocks had always been an
incidental bonus to me, something I only cared about in proportion to how much I liked
the guy it was attached to. Silly when flaccid, exciting or scary or off-putting when
hard. It was a man’s words or expression or caresses that dominated my masturbatory
fantasies—a specific man at that, be he a crush or a celebrity or a character from
a movie. I never simply fixated on a dick. They were strictly secondary to the man
himself.

Right now, though, the world spun on Kelly’s cock. The sun rose and set around it,
and I wanted it like I’d never known I could want anything. Just to see it, to feel
its weight against my palm, taste and smell the skin, to discover what it needed from
me and do exactly that.

Heat,
I thought.
This is what being in heat feels like.
A need so primal and crazy-making, it leaves a bitch howling.

“Sit up. Scoot forward a sec.”

I did as I was told and Kelly fumbled behind my butt, adjusted the way he sat. When
his hand guided me back, the other circled my waist and slipped between my thighs,
and he lined his bare cock up along my wet lips. I sucked a breath, suddenly back
in my bed with him, taunted by the darkest part of him, the one I seemed doomed never
to set eyes on. Only now it was a hundred times hotter, and dirtier, and more dangerous.

Hands clamped my hips, pitching me forward an inch or two, easing me back. I took
their directives, bracing my hands on Kelly’s knees. Forward and back, over and over,
his naked cock and my naked cunt rubbing in slick strokes.

I moaned, arms shaking. He shushed me.

“You come when I let you come,” he told me again.

My body gave a pleasurable, hungry squeeze at his words, the very last scraps of my
stubborn feminism abandoned.

“You do whatever I say.” He freed a hand, put it to my ribs and gruffly arched my
back against his chest. Took my earlobe between his lips, nuzzled my cheek with his
nose. “You come when I say, suck my cock when I say, spread your legs the second I
tell you to. Got it?”

I managed to huff an, “Okay,” between stilted breaths.

“You’ll get it, though. Don’t worry.” He grasped my shoulder and waist, making me
arch deeper, my sex pressing against the length of his erection. He guided me to move,
short motions of my hips keeping his flesh gliding along mine.

“Fuck.” I said it without meaning to, almost a plea.

A
shhhh
warmed the skin behind my ear. “You’ll get it,” he echoed. “But only if you behave,
and keep that pretty mouth shut unless I’m asking you a question.”

I held my tongue, bit my lip. My pussy actually, truly hurt; I was so close.

Don’t come. Don’t come.
I tried to watch the movie, but my eyes closed, awareness solely on the slippery
strokes of his cock. I could angle my hips, maybe feel him push inside me. Feel his
hands on my waist, feel his body thumping into mine as he took over the thrusting.
I wanted to be held in place and fucked, just
fucked
. The thought made me dizzy. The thought edged me closer. And if I lost it, surely
I’d have to wait even longer.

Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come!

A loud moan built of frustration and pain and pleasure erupted from my throat.

Kelly froze, then his hold on me loosened. So, so lightly, his fingertips played up
and down the length of my arm.

“You remember what I told you? About being quiet?”

I nodded wildly, crazed from the heat and sound and need stuffed inside me.

“If you can’t keep quiet,” he said, “we’ll just have to find that mouth something
useful to do.”

Chapter Nine

“Get up.”

Another hot jolt, chased by a shiver of fear.

I fumbled from Kelly’s lap, his wet cock sliding between my cheeks and embarrassing
me. When I made it to my feet and turned, he was up and shedding his shorts, and finally
I got to see him. All of him.

His cock looked just as it felt: big and thick and intimidating, heavy with need,
a force not to be defied.

“On your knees.”

I did as I was told. The carpet was soft, as soft as the eyes staring down at me were
hard.

“Get your shirt off.”

I peeled it away, put my fingers to the clasp of my bra. He nodded and I ditched that,
too. I touched my waistband, but—

“Leave the skirt.”

He stood before me, cock hovering between us accusingly. He fisted the root. I wanted
a photo of that very sight, the only pornography I’d need for the rest of my life.

I’d never done quite this—never gone down on a guy while he was standing. Felt like
a new act entirely. All the power belonged to Kelly with his looming body, his ready
cock, bossy hands, and whatever commands might fall next from his lips, dropping down,
down, down from so high above me.

“You ready for a feast, sweetheart?” He gave himself a long, tight pull, not waiting
for an answer. “You gonna suck my cock? Show me whether or not you deserve to come
on this later?”

More strokes, quicker but still perfectly controlled. Already a drop glistened at
his tip, growing fatter until it slipped down the cleft of his head. I could feel
my own desire priming, mimicking his.

“Open your mouth, girl.”

I swallowed, then obeyed, shutting my eyes to temper the intensity of the moment.
His finger or thumb traced my lower lip, followed by the unmistakable smooth skin
of his crown. Just the smell of him made my thighs tremble, and the flavor of his
sex matched it—earthy and dark. My flavor, too. The arousal I’d basted him in.

“Wider.”

I obeyed, and his first inch slipped between my lips.

“Taste yourself.” That most unexpected of erotic touches again, as he slid his fingers
into my hair and made a fist. As welcome now as it had been rejected with that old
boyfriend. Kelly’s hips flexed, giving me more. Already my jaw ached, but it was just
gas on the blaze, a spice that brought out the nuances of what he was serving me.

“Suck.”

I wrapped his base in my hand, held his hip with the other. I wanted to run them over
his hard stomach, his thighs and his ass, the swell of muscle cresting from his ribs
to his hip bones, everywhere. But I was the sex object, not him.

“Suck. Me.” The fist in my hair tightened, forcing my mouth farther down his cock.

I shut my eyes and closed my lips around him. Fucking big. Fucking hard, and with
my mouth full, I had no choice but to breathe him in—that potent, distinctly male
smell with its millions of iterations, that scent that can kill an attraction dead
or make you an addict for life. And I was hooked on Kelly, instantly. His smell was
as right as his voice, as hot as his body. It hit me like a shot of liquor, and all
I wanted was to get wasted.

He tasted like skin and salt and sex, sex, sex. Just right. I’d never felt this with
a man, this blind, shameless need to simply have him inside me, in any way I could
get him. To submit to his maleness, do his bidding, invite him to shed all civility
and just be. Just be a man, in all his base, greedy, selfish glory, and let me wallow
in it.

I strained to take in the body above me, that face and those eyes. Tense muscle, flushed
skin, that hard expression with those beautiful clear irises.

“More.”

His voice made me shiver and the hand holding his hip twitched. I took everything
I could, slowly, to keep from gagging.

“Yeah. Nice and deep . . .” He gathered my hair in both hands, nearly tender. “I should
come right now. Make you drink me down, send you to bed hungry for trying my patience.”
He stroked my cheek roughly with his thumb and the caress echoed through me, potent
as fingertips on my clit.

With his hips, he showed me the rhythm he craved. He went deeper than I wanted, triggering
shallow gags and making my sinuses sting. His smell seemed sharper, the deed darker,
and when the reflex tears began brewing, it became tougher to breathe. But wasn’t
that just so right?

“
Oh
.” His hips bucked faintly with the moan. “I’ve got so much for you. So much. I wanna
see it slip down your pretty chin when I fill that mouth up.”

His words made me reel, made my legs shake like some cliché.
Do it,
I begged him in my mind.
Exactly what you said, you filthy fucker.

“But not yet,” he whispered, shooting down the prayer I’d beamed. “Not yet.” And he
eased my mouth from his cock with that nasty hand in my hair. Even as the air quenched
me, I wanted him back inside, like my sanity depended on it.

“Stroke me. I wanna see my cock in your hand.”

I wrapped my fingers around him, squeezing gently. Uncertain what else he might like,
I kept my other hand on his thigh.

After half a minute, he took over. “Like this.” He fisted himself, demonstrating long,
tight, downward strokes, rougher than I’d dared. The other hand went to his balls,
cupping first, then giving slow pulls. The latter he kept up, releasing his erection.

“Try again.”

I gripped his cock, mimicking what he’d shown me. On a whim, I added a second fist,
stroking him from the base to the head, hand over hand over hand. His own hand froze
in tandem with a grunt, telling me he approved.

“Better,” he muttered, and let his balls go, gathering up my hair once more. “Now
suck.”

The salty tang of his excitement was strong with the first pass of my lips, fading
as I found my pace.

“Yeah. You’re good. But I’ll make you even better. Keep going. Earn the fucking I’m
gonna give you tonight.”

I swallowed him deeper, back to the edge of choking, though it wasn’t as bad this
time. I found a smoother way to take him, an angle that was easier on my gag reflex.

“Look at me.”

I did my best, straining to meet his eyes. So, so gently, he ran his knuckles over
my cheek.

“That’s good.”

And then the fist holding my hair pulled me back, his cock slipping free and leaving
me all at once disappointed and hungry and empty. Angry.

“I think it’s almost time,” Kelly said. “Don’t you?”

Without thought, I replied, “Whatever you say.”

He smirked at that, eyes narrowing. Then he left me kneeling there, striding out of
the room, past the kitchen and down the hall. When he reappeared, he was sliding a
condom down his cock, and my heart was racing in an instant. He tossed the wrapper
on the counter, eyes locking with mine as he closed in. Fear chilled my skin and arousal
heated my cunt, and I awaited his next order.

“All fours.”

The carpet had already begun to chafe my knees, but I dropped obediently to my palms.
Kelly circled me, then stopped. No sound or movement for a long, long moment. I could
feel his gaze on me, explicit as stroking fingers.

After an eternity, he knelt behind me. My skirt was flipped up over my back and those
big hands held my waist, sliding down and along the outsides of my thighs then up
the insides. One hand cupped my hip. He flattened the other palm, drawing the edges
of his thumb and forefinger along my folds, making me yelp.

“Shhh.”

I shut my mouth, harsh breaths wheezing from my nose. It felt so good. So
fucking
good. Then the pleasure sharpened, deepened, darkened as Kelly’s hand was gone, replaced
with the hot, latex-smooth length of his erection.

“You made me wait so long,” he whispered, cock sliding forward and back along my lips,
pelvis bumping my ass to punctuate each pump of his hips. “Now I get to take my time.
Make you wait until I say you can come.”

I moaned from the friction and his voice, then froze as he angled himself, pushing
inside. We gasped together, mine a noise of surprise, his smug and hungry. He met
resistance after a couple of inches, the reality of his size hitting home with a pang.
A groan slipped from my throat, immediately shushed.

Two hands grasped my sides. His hips adjusted. He slid out slowly, nearly leaving
me empty, then slipped back inside, a little deeper than before. More than any sexual
experience I’d had, this felt like a physical violation. Flesh rending flesh. An act
of near violence.

Jesus, it felt incredible.

“You feel that?” Another inch drove inside. “Feel that cock? Feel what you do to me?”

“Yes.”

“Feel how fucking hard you make me?”

I nodded, throat too tight to speak. He eased out then pushed deeper, deeper. His
body felt strong and big behind me, a force I’d be hopeless to resist. I was a little
bird in his huge paws, a goner.
Devour me.

“You’re so warm,” he said, cock sliding out, excruciatingly slowly. He made me feel
every inch, the sensation so intense I forgot to breathe. A head rush made me hazy,
and I forced myself to inhale, exhale, to recall any needs my body had aside from
submitting to Kelly’s pleasure.

“And so bad for making me wait.” A slap landed on my thigh, not quite a spank but
unmistakably a punishment. I jolted from my trance. Another slow pump, another slap.
It stung, hot on the heels of the first. I braced myself for a third, but he rubbed
the spot instead, then clamped his hands tight to my waist, hips picking up speed.

“Yeah.” He sucked in a seething breath, let it out with a shudder. I craned my neck
to see his face.

My stoic, composed guardian-orderly was gone. His mean eyes were at half-mast, cheeks
and lips flushed, mouth slack. It heated me in a way the physical sensations couldn’t,
tightening my body around his. Dangerous reactions, when I knew full well I wasn’t
allowed to come.

“You like to watch?” Not waiting for an answer, he upped the showmanship—his thrusts
slowed and deepened, the roll of his hips exaggerated, the clenched muscles of his
chest startling. The rhythmic flex of his abdomen
insane.
A thousand bucks—I’d have happily paid it for a view of his ass.

“I’ll give you a real good look.” And all at once he pulled out, slapped my hip, and
said, “Turn over.”

I flipped gracelessly onto my back, Kelly knocking my knees wide, grabbing my waist
and jerking me hard so my pussy was pressed to the underside of his erection. Carpet
burn stung my shoulder blades, but I couldn’t care. Not when he was holding his cock,
angling it, sinking back inside me, deep.

I moaned.

“Shhh. Keep that pretty mouth shut and watch.” He clasped the meat of my upper thighs,
holding me in place as he began to thrust. A deep, shuddering noise rumbled from him
and he paused to adjust his angle, eyes shut, luxuriating. “Fuck, you feel good, girl.”

Don’t concentrate on the sensations. If you do, you’ll come. Then there’ll be trouble.
Real trouble, no cheesy call-me-Daddy play spanking, not from Kelly fucking Robak.

I let the sight mesmerize me, drawing a needed veil between my body and brain. His
pace was slow and steady, thrusts assertive, their impact jolting through me.

How was this real? How was I having sex with this man? The dark hair between his legs
kissed my lighter curls each time he pushed deep, chased by a view of his thick shaft,
shining from me. More hair trickled from his chest down the gulley between his abdominal
muscles, a faint trail. I imagined stroking it while he slept, finding out if it was
as soft as it looked, as soft as on his forearms. My gaze darted to his face, and
the stubble peppering his jaw—rough as sandpaper, my chin could attest. I wanted to
crawl over his sleeping body and study him from close-up; record every line beside
his eyes, every pore, every lash and freckle, the tiniest veins in his lids. The two
little glistening pink notches at the inside corners of his eyes, too vulnerable a
scrap of flesh for a man like this to even possess, and yet he did. And maybe he’d
even shed tears from there, in some previous life. I studied every miniscule scrap
of proof that he was human and committed it to memory.

What was before me now, this couldn’t be real. Not the way his hips and stomach flexed
and clenched, not that tendon standing taut along his neck. Not that look on his face,
a mix of stern and desperate that made me feel at once scared and invincible. This
wasn’t any Kelly I knew, not even one I’d met in my fantasies.

“You like watching me fuck?” His voice, though—that was unmistakable. This was real.
“Yeah? Tell me.”

“Yes.”

He smacked my hip. “
Tell me.
”

“I like watching you fuck.”

“Good. Eyes on my cock.”

I dropped my gaze where he wanted it. Where I didn’t want it, frankly. Because already,
my resolve was destroyed, every slick push of his flesh honing my arousal sharper,
hotter, meaner. I wasn’t allowed to come yet, but if I kept watching, I would. I didn’t
need anything more—not a thumb on my clit, not one more filthy syllable in that deep,
dark voice. Just this view, and I’d be done for.

His lips were parted, lids heavy. This moment might not be about him and me, about
two bodies unified in pleasure or anything profound, but goddamn he looked good. Looked
exactly as he felt—strong and big and one hundred percent in control. And I felt exactly
as he surely saw me, a hungry vessel, eager to please, at the mercy of his cock.

Another smack on my hip scared the pleasure away for a breath.

“Eyes on my cock,” he repeated, and I obeyed.

Those big hands kneaded my thighs as his hips sped. Hotter than the friction and impact
and view were his sounds. Breaths coming faster, tiny grunts on the odd thrust. He
released one of my legs, his palm spreading tingling heat over my skin as he stroked
my hip, my side beneath the drape of my skirt, my belly. It settled on my mound, and
with a sensation like whip striking, his thumb found my clit.