Four Temptations (3 page)

I reached down, found his belt, two buttons, the zip... Hardness brushed against my fingers as I released him, and then I held his shaft through his stretched-tight shorts.

So long and thick!

The head was swollen and wet through the fabric. I wanted to free it, releasing him completely, but the shorts were stretched tight.

He grunted then, and reached down, and then his shorts were around his thighs and that long dick was free, pointing towards me.

That was one of those moments. It wasn’t a tipping point – we’d already gone way too far for us to stop – but it was one of those moments where you just take a breath and realize what it is that’s happening, that here I was, half naked with
Simon Darby
, just about to drop to my knees and take him in my mouth.

I dropped to my knees and curled my fingers around the base of his shaft, holding him steady.

His hands were on my head, and for a moment I thought he was going to force me down on him, but then I realized he was stroking my hair, a remarkably tender and intimate thing, just then.

I moved my head so that the wet, swollen head of his manhood rested against my lips. His juices had a salty sweetness, as I eased my mouth open and slid him against my lips and tongue, and across my cheeks. Each time I drew him back across my open mouth, I pressed my tongue up hard against that sweet spot just below the head, making him groan louder each time.

Then tender turned to urgent, those hands on my head guiding me, pulling me down on him so that his length slid deep into my mouth. Deeper and deeper, until the end hit the back of my throat and I had to swallow to stop from gagging. Each time I swallowed my throat tightened around the head of his dick and he tensed and groaned.

My fist wrapped around his shaft started to pump – he was so hard! – and my free hand cupped his heavy balls, rolling and squeezing them.

Abruptly, his whole body stiffened and I braced myself for that sudden gushing deep in my mouth. His shaft throbbed and pulsed, and his balls tightened. And then, slowly, the tension eased, and he had managed to stop himself – so close!

Now, those hands on my head eased me back, away from him, drawing his length away through tightly-clamped lips, until he was free of me and I was looking at him along the length of his glistening wet manhood.

He dropped to his knees then, my head still cradled in his hands. He paused, his mouth almost on mine, those blue eyes fixing me, and then our lips pressed, and his tongue explored my mouth, tenderly at first, and then more and more hungrily.

His hands worked down, stealing round my back to release my bra, and then they were cupping my breasts, a thumb circling one nipple and then flicking at it, the nail hard against me, stinging with a pain that was mixed with the most exquisite pleasure.

His mouth closing around my other nipple amplified that pleasure, his teeth teasing and biting, sending thrills through my body, and as a hand stole down between my legs I thought I was going to climax right then at his touch.

He cupped me with that hand, squeezing and kneading my labia between his fingers and thumb, the heel of his hand grinding against my clit. I was so close... I tried to fight it, remembering how he had gone right to the edge and then stopped himself.

“Fuck me,” I gasped, between gritted teeth. “Fuck me now.”

Revenge sex. Rebound sex... it has to be urgent and animal, doesn’t it? Crude, rough sex.

I moved away from the bookcase, and then leaned back to lie on the carpet, my hands on his jacket pulling him with me.

He came down on top of me, taking his weight on his elbows, and that hard shaft slapped down on my belly, its base hard against my clit. I drew my knees up, savoring the way the movement ground that shaft against my pussy. Then, with a roll of the hips, I started to press and slide against him, his balls hard against me, his shaft sliding between my labia, against my clit, and along the narrow strip of hair, the wet head squeezed tight between our bellies.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, holding him tight, pressing and shifting so that I could feel every slight movement.

And then – deliciously, slowly – he pulled away. The head of his dick dragged wetly down my belly, down along that strip of hair, and pressed against the hood of skin covering my clit. He paused there, and I could feel every faint throb in his dick. When his eyes locked on mine, there was an intensity in his look that was almost shocking.

“Fuck me,” I whispered, so softly that it was almost inaudible.

A slight shift, and he was pressing between my lips, right against my opening, and then he was pushing inside, and it felt like I was being prized open by that broad dick, stretched like I’d never been before. Slowly, he filled me, until finally he was completely inside me, his hard pubic bone grinding against me, his balls pressed against my ass.

I’d never been so full before, and then he started to move, pressing, grinding, rolling his hips, and my whole body was alive to the sensations of what was happening deep inside me.

He knew what he was doing. He could tell I was on the edge, and he knew how to keep me there, right on the brink. Just as the feelings ebbed away from another peak he would press, move and take me right back to that peak.

I don’t know how long we were like that, him deep inside me, barely moving, just keeping me on the edge of climax. Lying so still inside me that one more throb of his dick might send me over the edge.

It was the eyes that did it, those piercing, pale blue eyes.

His face close to mine, dipping occasionally to kiss me on the mouth, or along the line of my jaw; delicate kisses on my closed eyelids, teasing them open, and then that look, those eyes locked on mine. So intense, so intimate...

A slight shift, and my clit pulsed and then I was clinging to him, burying my face in the space between his shoulder and neck, using his collarbone to gag me, to stop me from screaming out as a wave of incredible sensation tore through my abdomen and my entire body tightened in the first wave of orgasm.

Again, my whole body clenched, everything centered on that long hard shaft, buried deep inside me.

I’d never known anything like it. Something about the situation, the intensity, the sheer
badness
of having revenge sex with my husband’s best friend. Something about the urgency: up against the bookcase, on the floor, too urgent to get more than a few paces away from the front door.

But also... How long was it since I’d been with anyone but Porter? And now... a man who cared about my response, a man who was turned on by my pleasure, a man who knew exactly what to do and how to do it. An artist. A lover.

He was in danger of spoiling me for any other man.

§

I was still clinging onto him, every muscle tensed.

Slowly, I forced my body to relax, and he started to move again, long, slow strokes, pulling out almost completely before driving back deep. Such an incredible sensation! Being filled and then filled even more, over and over again.

As he started to speed up, I met every thrust with one of my own, rising to meet him, to take him deep, but then I stopped him, with a finger to his lips and a slight shake of the head.

He paused and I pulled back, feeling him slide out of me, his shaft slapping wetly against the inside of my thigh.

I wriggled free, and then turned, my elbows out, forearms resting on a low bookshelf, my face hard up against a row of old, leatherbound hardbacks.

It was several seconds before I felt his hands on my hips. He’d been hesitating, taking in the sight of my ass, presented to him like that.

His hands on my hips, gripping almost too tightly, and then that wonderful wet shaft slid up the crack of my ass.

I squeezed my cheeks together as he slid back and forward, holding me tight, his hard shaft sliding against my ass.

For a moment I thought he was going to come like that. I even held my breath for a few seconds, anticipating that sudden hot gush, but then he paused, holding back again. He was clearly a man who liked to pick his moment.

His right hand moved away from my hip, then, slipping down to grip my ass, a tight, rough grip.

Then he was holding his dick, guiding it so that the wet head was against my dark opening, teasing it, almost slipping inside – his dick was so wet, so easy to accommodate, if only he would push a little further – and then he pulled it away, sliding it up and down my crack, slipping over that opening, again and again.

“Go on,” I said, my voice hoarse – had I been groaning and crying aloud so much that my throat had gone this raw?

That swollen head, pressing, pushing against me, and for a moment I thought it wasn’t going to happen... he was too big, he wasn’t wet enough and there was too much resistance.

Briefly, I felt relieved. I’d only done this a couple of times before, and Porter was, not to put too fine a point on it, far easier to accommodate.

But then, with one more push, he was inside, stretching me tight.

Once that swollen head was in me it was easier, and – slowly, gently – he pushed deeper. It was just like before, the way he slid slowly in and I kept thinking that must be it but he kept on going, until finally he was in as far as he could go, and it felt as if my whole body was filled with him.

“Fuck me.”

Both hands on my hips, gripping me hard, holding me steady as he started to move.

The first thrust was slow and long, as if he was testing me out, checking my responses, waiting to see if it hurt.

“Fuck me!”

A second thrust, faster, his entire length pulling back and then driving in until his balls slapped against me.

“
Fuck
me!”

He started to pump, started to find a rhythm of long, deep thrusts, and each time he filled me it felt like he would never stop, like he was going to split me in two, like I was going to explode.

I was hard up against the bookshelves, breathing in the musty, leather scent; a hard wooden line cutting a groove into my chest. I flung one hand wildly, swiping the books aside, and they fell to the floor in a cascade of heavy thuds.

My throat. Raw and sore. I was groaning again, an animal sound, a sound I never knew I was capable of until that evening.

He sensed it, sensed a change in me, and then he slipped a hand around me, stroking down over my belly, finding that narrow strip of hair and driving down, deeper. Fingers pressing against me, rolling from side to side, sliding the hood of skin across my clit.

Such an intense mixture of sensations... I couldn’t take any more than a few seconds of that.

I threw my head back and gave an animal cry as my whole body tightened again and his fingers drove deep inside me, filling me again.

And then there was another sound, a low, deep groan, building. A baritone crescendo, as he thrust deep, held himself there, and I felt his shaft throbbing deep inside me and then a sudden, hot gushing sensation filling me with his wet seed.

§

That moment, when you come down from a high, when your normal senses steal back over you. That moment when you’ve been overcome, overtaken, and finally you have to return to reality.

That.

§

He stayed inside me, held me tight, leaning forward to cover my shoulder blades with tender kisses as he grew soft inside me.

Such a tender moment, that crossing point, the bridge between reality and the delicious escape we had found in each other.

And then... soft, wet, he slipped out, backed away. Was it going to be all awkward silences, avoided looks, clumsy fumbling at clothes?

I turned, leaned back against the bookcase, its contents spread over the floor.

“Let’s avoid the awkwardness, okay?” I said. “We’re both grown-ups. Both a little bit drunk. Both swept up by the moment. Okay?”

He shrugged and then nodded, clearly trying not to feel self-conscious as he stood there, still in his shirt, his dick semi-hard and wet from our mixed juices.

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever.”

We were grown-ups. Him a man; me another box ticked for him, no doubt.

“You going to tell Porter?”

“You want me to?” he asked.

It was my turn to shrug.

“So this is just revenge, is it?” he said. “That all?”

“We’re grown-ups,” I said, all I could come up with to say to him, no longer even sure what I meant by it.

What more could it have been than that? A moment of passion, a complex stew of revenge and need and liberation.

I was fragile, broken, caught on the rebound. That was all it could be.

“What if I was to say it was more than that?” he said.

Those eyes. Those piercing, pale blue eyes. They wouldn’t leave me alone. Wouldn’t let me hide behind my platitudes and easy answers.

“What if I was to say that I’ve wanted you for the longest time? That ever since Porter first introduced us I’ve longed for you, and only ever stopped because he’s Porter and how could I do anything that would hurt him? Because you’re gorgeous and how could you ever see anything in me? That I’d even stoop so low as to take advantage of you on a night when you’re vulnerable because I’ve dreamed about you for years? That I’ve never had a relationship that worked because –
always
– no one else measures up when compared with you? What if I was to say all that, in a long, embarrassing, gush, as if those words have been waiting to spill out for years and–”

I silenced him, briefly, with a finger to his lips.

Then: “Didn’t you
know
?”

Does
knowing
have to be a conscious thing? Or can it be there in how you respond when the situation arises? Would I ever have done this thing with him if a part of me hadn’t always known? Maybe I’d blanked it out, maybe my mind had protected me, but when the time was right it was as if I had known all along.

“Listen,” he said. “I’ll go. I’ve said too much. I’ve spoilt it. I’ll–”

This time I silenced him with my mouth, my lips sealing his closed, and then my  tongue, tenderly prizing them apart.

I felt him respond against me, instantly.