Outside The Lines:: Third Person Narration (12 page)

“Just like that,” he whispered in her ear, then said, “Watch.”

She looked down and watched his overturned hand stroke her clit with his fingertips, fluttering, slippery strokes. She panted into the hot space between their bodies, staring at him touching her, feeling him touching her.
 
He fisted his other hand around the base of his erection and pushed it forward, against her abs, a hard slap.
 

“Fuck,”
she whimpered, a ragged, broken thing. She never cursed. He was destroying her.
 

His eyes were dark with desire, burning through the room. “Touch me.”

She could barely breathe as she reached down and brushed her palm down the curving length of him.

“Put me inside you.” His voice was a little hoarse.

She arched her back instead, pushing her breasts out so they brushed his face. He turned his head to chase them with his mouth, but she cupped his cock in her hand and pressed it to her abdomen and rocked against him a few times, holding him there. He immediately pushed his hips up, into the rhythm.
 

“You want me to come right here?” he asked, his voice hard and definitely hoarse now.

She shook her head, dizzy with the power she seemed to have.

“Then sit down on me,” he said, his voice rasping. “I want to fuck you.”

Hard pleasure ripped through her. She lifted herself up on her knees and he held his erection upright while she slowly lowered herself onto him. The velvet-smooth, hard, sheathed tip of him slowly penetrated her, thick and round, almost burning. She caught her breath with a gasp and froze.
 

He released his cock and gripped her waist with both hands, holding her but not guiding. Still, she could feel the roiling tension of him, the harsh, male demand to shove his hips up and take her hard. But he didn’t move a muscle.
 

She lowered herself an inch more, then another slow half inch. She closed her eyes and kept going, the back of a hand over her mouth and slowly went down on him, her body stretching to open for the hard thick heat of him.
 

He didn’t move until she was more or less settled, most of her weight still on her knees, not him. She opened her eyes.
 

“Okay?” he asked softly.

Why did her eyes feel hot?

She nodded, said a bit brokenly, “Yes.”

He was quiet. “This isn’t your first time, is it?” To his credit, he didn’t sound horrified.

She shook her head, fast, not looking at him.
 
“No.
 
Just…not a lot.”

He muttered “Fuck,” and cupped her face to kiss her, while he slid his other hand down between their legs, to slowly, gently, perfectly, brush against her clit.
 
It made her moan a little. He did it again, long, slow strokes. She pumped her hips experimentally and his cock pushed in deeper.
 
Their eyes met and she let her knees slide out a little further, so he went in a little deeper.
 
Slowly she rocked on him, testing each inch, letting him in more, until slowly the burn and stretch turned into a beautiful, hot, full pressure.
 

She blew out a long breath.
 

“Yeah?” His voice was low.
 

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s go,” he said, and lifted his hips to hers, slow but hard, and something deep inside her got strummed.

She stared into his eyes and whispered,
“Oh.”

He smiled.

Slowly they rocked like that, her hands on his shoulders. Stroke by stroke, their pace picked up. They were silent, staring at each other, breathing hard. He leaned his head back on the cushioned chair and watched her move. She loved that. She arched over him, the long dark curtain of her hair all around them.
   

She felt wild, in the darkness of the empty hall, her almost naked, him almost fully clothed, the zipper of his jeans scraping the back of her thighs with each pump.
 
Johnny set the pace now, a hard, fast, unforgiving,
wonderful
pace, his hips lifting her off the chair. She felt like she was riding a wave. Harsh, guttural, slapping sounds of their sex echoed through the room of shadow and light.
 
Her body rocked, her hair and breasts swung, the breath shoved out of her with every surge. Everything was so primal, the masculine lines of Johnny’s face, his fierce eyes on hers, his hard hands, pushing her harder, holding her into it. She felt like a goddess, something ancient and of the earth, alive and knowing old things.
 

“Fuck,” he rasped. Their eyes locked. “I’m sorry, babe, this first one’s going to be quick.”
 

She slung both forearms over the back of the chair and leaned over him, their mouths inches apart beneath her swinging hair.
 

“You look good, Johnny,” she whispered, and bit his lower lip.
 

His head jerked back, his eyes shut, and he came, his hips pistoning, bouncing her recklessly. Even through the condom, she felt the hot surging power of him, and was just within the realm of sanity enough so she didn’t tear the condom off and sit down on him again, to feel his release spilling through her.
 

She decided she could do this all night long.
 
She’d found her new hobby: to make Johnny come, over and over, deep inside her, surging with power, and she’d be satisfied.

That’s what she thought.
 
But Johnny soon showed her that was not enough, not even close.

She’d thought after an orgasm, he would need a minute to regroup, maybe inhale or something, but it seemed to have energized him.
 
His eyes opened, he pulled her face down to his and said, “You look good too, Juliette.”
 

Then he kissed her and as he did, he sat upright, held her bottom and lower back, and shoved to his feet, taking her with him, right up out of the chair.
 

He was still hard inside her, kissing her, and she pushed up against him and took that kiss. He had such a
nice
body.
 
She reveled how it felt under her hands and only slowly became aware that he’d backed her up to the wall, his body another wall in front of her.
 

Then his still-hard erection slid out of her as he set her down.
 
He cupped himself and reached down to his bag, she presumed to handle the whole condom thing, but she was too dizzy with desire to really notice much about details anymore. And her, being such a detail girl.
 

Soon enough he straightened again and looked her over with a long, slow, fierce look.
 
Then with a gentle pressure, he pushed her shoulders back to the wall.
 

“Take off your shirt.”
   

She’d forgotten she even had it on. The light sweater still hung off her shoulders, unbuttoned, gaping open.
 
She slid it down her arms and he took it and flung it behind him; it probably landed somewhere near where she’d flung his.
 

The bra dangled just as uselessly off her shoulders, and he took that next, until she stood there in all her naked glory, back to the wall, hyperventilating.
 

He slid his gaze down her, taking his time as he looked her over, totally unselfconscious. Of course, he wasn’t the naked one. There was something wildly arousing about that.
 
She inhaled in short, gasping breaths.
 
She felt effervescent, tingling and bright.
 
He finished his perusal and looked into her eyes.

“Fucking beautiful.”
 

Her head fell back against the wall and she closed her eyes, threw a forearm over her face, as if the sun were too bright. She reached out with her other hand, wanting to pull him toward her, but he was already there. He kissed her cheeks, her mouth, her chin, then went down, her throat, her breasts, down and down, until he was on his knees in front of her.

He leaned forward and flicked his tongue against her pussy.

A short, broken gasp escaped her.

He spread her with his thumbs, slippery and hot, and licked her from the bottom of her pussy to the top, then back down again, long, sensuous, deep strokes. She touched his head lightly and started to move to the rhythm, bumping her bottom against the wall, pushing out again for the next sweep of his wicked tongue. He laid a forearm against her inner thigh and made her spread her legs further, then knelt in between them and turned his face up.
 
He brushed her clit with his thumb and slid two fingers up inside her, hard and fast.
 

“Oh,”
she whispered. “Oh, God.”

He did it again. She shook. His mouth became the center of her universe, his fingers and hands and mouth and tongue and teeth,
Good God, his teeth
, grazing her clit with dangerous abandon, almost biting, but not, scrape, lick, press, then he sucked her clit right into his mouth and curled the fingers he had inside her in a strong, pressured push.

She banged her head against the wall and moaned.

Urgent, hot waves of desire pounded through her. She wanted more,
moremoremore
. The power of it frightened her, excited her, pulled at her like a wave, yanking her off the moorings of sense and reason and all the nice clean lines of her life.
 

She felt like she could do anything.
Would
do anything. It was terrifying and exhilarating, to be so free, to know the truth: she could do anything.
 

Anything Johnny wanted. Anything she wanted.

She felt unfurled. She was a new nation. She reached down, tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his face into her pussy, ground her wetness all across his face. He made a dark, masculine sound of approval, shoved his free hand between her thighs to cup her bottom and pull her forward, harder and faster, making her move over his face, his fingers deep inside her.
 

She might have screamed. Hard waves of pleasure started pulsing through her body.

His green eyes watched her, looking up the rocking, shuddering length of her, his mouth wet from her.
 

“Come for me,” he urged thickly.
 
“Come in my mouth, baby.”

Her body exploded in waves of hot, undulant, shuddering pleasure.
 
She was an
ocean
of coming.
 
Her body bucked between the wall and Johnny, her hair swung, her legs shook. Johnny straightened and yanked down his jeans a little further, unraveling to stand in front of her, magnificent and hard, like a statue, his eyes fixed on her.
   

“Good God, Johnny,” she whispered raggedly.

 
She was so ready for more.

Good thing.
 
Because he turned her around, pressed her naked body up against the bank of windows that overlooked the ski slopes, then stood behind her and whispered in her ear, “Now let’s really make you come.”
      And Juliette, shaking and naked, palms to the cold window, reveling in it.

How had he known?
 
She
hadn’t even known what her body wanted, and she’d been living inside it for thirty-one years.

Wizard.

Chapter Nine

JOHNNY WAS STRETCHED to the breaking point.
 

He hadn’t expected any of this, not the passion, not the intensity. He hadn’t expected
Juliette
.
 
Hadn’t expected her to be what she was. To burn so hot. To affect him so much.

Johnny rarely got blindsided.
 
Although for the moment, being blindsided, a generally dangerous position, wasn’t bothering him, because he’d never been so pumped up before either.
 
Never wanted a woman so bad, never felt this kind of fired-up desire surging through him.

Juliette stood in front of the windows, her back to him, looking over her shoulder, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips pink and swollen from his kisses, her black hair falling down across her passion-flushed body. She was a fucking goddess. And she hid it. Every day, under her clothes and her attitudes and her deadlines, under her stress and her furrowed brow and her fear.
 
Tonight, though, she’d agreed to push her limits, and Johnny was going to push them hard.
 
Blow them apart, see what fires were kindled below.