Punching and Kissing (21 page)

I pulled back a little, breaking the kiss, because I wanted to look at her. She was absolute perfection. Sitting there on the edge of the table, that silky white dress still halfway decent on top, but hiked up to her hips down below. Her legs wantonly spread. Her long, black hair silky but disheveled where I’d run my hands through it again and again. And those soft, pink lips parted in pleasure, her breath coming in quick little pants. She really could have been a fallen angel, seduced by the devil.

She reached for me, eyes still closed, focused on the feel of my hand between her thighs. She started to undo my shirt buttons, doing it by feel. It was the perfect opportunity to gaze at her uninterrupted. That gorgeous face, marred only temporarily by that bitch who’d fought her. I wouldn’t care even if those marks had lasted forever. She was perfect to me, no matter what.

My shirt came open. She leaned forward to kiss my chest and that moved her pussy against my hand. Both of us groaned. Then the soft touch of her lips against my pec. I caught my breath. She started to work her way down. When she licked at my nipple, I let out a growl. My cock felt as if it was going to rip right through my jeans.

I leaned forward, my mouth right next to her ear. “Does that feel good?” I ran my thumb across her pussy, strumming across the lips. I could feel her wetness soaking through her panties, but I wanted to hear her say it.

“
Yesss!”

“Tell me what you want.” We hadn’t really done the dirty talk thing since the rooftop, but now I wanted more and more of it. The sound of her voice, low and throaty with excitement, was the ultimate turn on.

“I want you to
not stop,”
she whispered, her breath hot against my spit-slick nipple. She ground even harder into my hand.

“Like this?” I sped up a little.

“Oh, God, like
that!”

“You’re wet. You’re soaking wet, Sylvie. I bet if I—” I couldn’t resist it any longer. I grabbed her panties with both hands and pulled them down around her knees, stepping back to give myself room. Then I speared two fingers up inside her, hard and fast. God, she was soaking, her inner walls hot and silken, almost dripping for me. She cried out and closed her thighs hard around my hand, trapping it there. I began to pump my fingers. “God, you’re so wet. Do you want it?” I pushed up against her leg, letting her feel the bulge at my crotch. “You want
this?”

“Ah—
Yes….”

I pumped faster, loving the feel of her, my long fingers sliding deep into her secret places. “Where? In your bedroom? On the couch?” I thrust faster still. “Where do you want me to fuck you, Sylvie?”

“R—Right here,” she gasped. “Right here on the table.”

Sylvie

He stiffened a little and I felt my cheeks flush. God, had I gotten carried away? Had that sounded really slutty? It was his fault, him and his damn Irish accent. I’d never been big on talking dirty before, but with his voice it was incredible. I looked up at him, expecting him to look shocked.

He didn’t look shocked. He looked more turned on than I’d ever seen him.

He stopped touching my pussy for the first time in what felt like hours and, as the cool air of the room hit my lips, I really felt how sopping I was down there. Sitting on the table edge, legs slightly apart, panties halfway down my thighs, I’d never felt so...
wanton.
Or so turned on.

His hands slid through my hair and he kissed me again, slow but deep. I felt his hands slide down my neck and then into the top of my dress and then he was reaching around, undoing the zipper with an expert hand. I felt the top of it loosen around my chest and my heart started hammering. I was already basically naked below the waist so I don’t know why it seemed like a big deal, but the feeling of being systematically stripped...I don’t know, it threw a switch somewhere in my brain. He pushed the dress off my shoulders and I felt the silky fabric slither down around my waist. Then he was kissing down my neck, leaving a trail of fire all the way down to my collarbone, and my bra was pulling tight for a second. I caught my breath in anticipation.

There—
the clasp came free and my bra loosened. His hands skimmed the straps off my arms and it fell onto my lap. My breasts ached and throbbed in the cool air of the apartment, begging for his touch, my nipples hardening as much from the feel of his gaze on them as from their sudden exposure. Then his hands were on them, squeezing them together and lifting them in slow circles so that the sensitive flesh rubbed against his palms. He kissed all around my open, panting mouth: my cheeks, my chin, my upper lip, always leaving my mouth itself alone so that I could moan out loud.

Then his mouth was on my breasts, his tongue lapping at my nipples and swirling around them. He was just the right mixture of smooth and deliciously rough. First he’d kiss and lick at me, working his way inward across the breast to my nipple. Then he’d swirl his tongue around it in spirals, drawing it up to a quivering peak. And finally he’d bite gently at me, using his own lips as cushions over his teeth, until my feet were twisting together in circles and my nails were digging into the table top.

And then he’d do it all over again. It went on and on, lifting me closer and closer to my peak.

By the time he stopped, my breasts were shining and my hands were buried in that thick, dark Irish hair, dragging his head to me. I was trembling from being on the brink of an orgasm for so long. When he stepped back, I just sat there staring up at him, incapable of speech.

“I want you to come,” he growled. “But I want to be in you. I want to feel it.”

Oh Jesus yes!

He drew my panties down my legs and off, then tossed them away. He stepped between my legs, knocking them apart a little farther with his hips. Then he undid his belt and let his jeans slide down. The shape of him was clear through his jockey shorts and, a second later, it was there in his hand, thick and long and pointing right up between my spread thighs. He stared right at me as he took a condom from his pocket and rolled it on. I stared down at myself as he came closer and closer, watching the tip of him approaching me. I wasn’t used to being able to see it like this, to actually watch as he—
Oh God!
The head of him pushed between my folds, spreading them. I felt myself opened up. It was different, like this, everything felt—
Ah!
He slid inside me, the girth of him stretching me just a little, making me grab for his shoulders. Everything felt different. And goddamn
great.

He stepped closer, pushing right up against me as he slid deeper. It would have been awkward if I hadn’t been so thoroughly, shamefully soaking for him. I let out a long moan and clasped my arms around his back as he pushed all the way into me, filling me completely. I squeezed my legs shut against his hips and that changed things again, making both of us gasp.

“I love fucking you,” he said. “When I’m not with you, I dream about fucking you.”

My brain and my heart did somersaults.

His hands went out to grip my hips...but at the last moment, he must have remembered my bruised hip because he grabbed my waist instead. He held me in place as he started to thrust, slowly at first but getting faster, those thickly-muscled thighs and tight ass giving him the power to really go at me. I threw my head back and luxuriated in the feel of him up inside me, so big, so gloriously wide, stroking against me, angled up so that he hit me in just the right spot—
God!

Ribbons of hot pleasure were starting to swirl their way upward, spreading out to every part of me, flaring into fire when they touched my breasts or lips, anywhere he’d touched me. I started to jerk my hips towards him, wanting more of him. The table began to shake as we slammed our bodies together as hard as we damn well could. My hands came down to clutch at his ass, digging my fingers into the solid muscle there.

He sped up again and suddenly he lifted me and thrust his hands under my ass, cupping my cheeks. I groaned as he began to squeeze and knead me there in time with his thrusts. I’d been rocking back and forth a little before, but now his hands formed a firm little seat at the edge of the table, holding me in place for him. I groaned low in my throat as the increased friction sent me wild. Every thrust ended with a grind of his groin against my clit and I could feel the pleasure drawing tight, bursting free—

I came, eyes squeezed shut, legs and arms wrapped around him, shuddering helplessly against him.
His.
He groaned as my body squeezed at his cock, but I didn’t feel him come.

When I regained my senses, he was moving very gently inside me. “Are you ready for more?” he asked in a low, utterly filthy voice.

More?
I was still panting. But
hell yeah
I wanted more. I nodded.

He lifted me up to standing. And then turned me around to face the table. He pushed me up against it so that my groin was at the edge and then pushed gently on my back.

I got the idea, and the thought of it made a dark depth-charge of heat sink down to my groin and detonate there.

“Open your legs,” he said. I’d never heard his voice so thick with lust.

I stepped my legs apart. I was still wearing my heels and that meant my ass was higher than the table top. If I wanted to put my chest down on the surface, I had to arch my back like a cat and tilt my pelvis...which of course, from where he was standing, was pretty much offering myself up to him. Again, I felt the heat of his gaze, this time licking down over my lower back and ass, eating me up. “Christ, Sylvie,” he muttered. “You’re incredible.”

I’d turned my head to the side and was breathing a little fast. There was something about this position that made me—not nervous, exactly, but sort of weak and heady. Something about not being able to see him, about having this big, powerful man right between my spread thighs, with no warning of when he was going to—

Ah!
The silken press of him against my lips, pushing me
in,
and then me opening to him and the hot surge of him right up into me. I let out a high little cry as he went deeper than before, deeper than he’d been up on the roof.
God!
I felt the slap of his balls against me, the press of the thick base of him against my lips, and I realized he was completely buried in me, as deep as a man can be. Instead of pulling back, he stayed there for a second, grinding in slow circles, and it felt amazing. He leaned right over me and bit the back of my neck, just barely nipping the skin with his teeth. I shuddered and moaned.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he said, “since that time you bent over the ropes in the ring.”

I flushed, remembering it.
Me too.

He kissed down my spine, as low as he could reach. Then he took hold of my ass and began to thrust. Almost immediately, I was rocketing up towards another orgasm. The way I was tilted up to meet him meant that, while my ass was in the air, my clit was rocking against the edge of the table. And he could go even harder and faster like this. He began to grunt as he pounded me and I threw my arms out over my head and grabbed for the far edge of the table. I knocked something heavy—a coffee mug, maybe—and it went spinning off the table and I heard it shatter. Then I was clutching, white-knuckled, to the wood. The orgasm was expanding inside me, filling me up, ready to burst. I had my eyes closed but, even if I’d opened them, I wouldn’t have been able to see him. I was bent over and being ravished by some faceless stranger and it was filthy and raw and utterly hot, but at the same time safe. Because I knew it was him, and I knew he’d never hurt me.

“God,” I gasped. “I’m going to. Going—to—”

“Go on,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Come for me, Sylvie. Be mine.”

That pushed me over the edge. I threw my head back and groaned and cursed, pushing myself up with my hands and arching my back like a bow, and his lips found mine and we kissed as he shot and shot inside me and I shuddered around him.