When I go limp, he is still hard within me. I am nothing but nerves and skin, swollen breasts and throbbing pussy, and the only thing keeping me from dissolving through the sheet, into the mattress, is the rigid length of his cock and the purely feminine urge to cling to his hard body.
Jack finds a gentlemanly impulse somewhere and lets me rest for a minute, but the scrape of his teeth along the sensitive tendon in my neck lets me know we are not done.
“I can’t,” I whisper in protest, my voice a raspy husk in the cool room. Sunlight streams through the window, a weak imitation of the light and heat radiating from our bodies.
“Feel that?” he asks, and thrusts again.
My legs found their way around the small of his back when he entered me. I let them down, the muscles trembling sporadically. I have no answer. I’m open and under him, completely at his command. Of course I can feel it.
He slides his palm along the back of my thigh and lifts it to press into his hip. Another slow stroke as he growls, “You’re gonna take care of that.”
In a move that looks like denial but is simply another stage in the surrender he demands, I turn my head to the side. He responds by blowing gently into the shell of my ear, nuzzling my neck, then licking and nibbling at the sensitive, delicate juncture of neck and shoulder. He doesn’t move, doesn’t use my body, which is thoroughly his right now, simply takes his weight onto his elbows, and makes love to my collarbone.
I breathe in slow, deep inhales redolent of sweat, Jack’s own unique scent, the musky tang of sex, my delicate perfume, a faint hint of Heineken. The smells are seduction in their own right, even without his deft ability to find and exploit every nerve. He could be banging away; God knows he’s hard and thick, ready to drive nails. Instead, he acts with the self-control of a man with a purpose.
There is another session coming. I can feel that in the air as surely as I feel the soreness in my thighs, so I take the respite he’s giving me. I breathe deeply, soften a little from the heat and weight of his body, stroke my hands over his curve of his ass. I rest in the colors flowing in discrete streams through my empty mind.
Moments pass, minutes or an hour, I cannot tell. But eventually he has marked the skin over my shoulders and the base of my neck with nips, soothed it with licks, and the weight of his pelvis against mine rekindles the heat in my pussy. His mouth settles over mine for long, languid open-mouthed kisses, the ones I wanted so intensely before he went down on me. I arch into him, feel our damp skin sliding as we shift. In this room, kissing like that means a lengthy fucking; when this is over, I will feel the ache in my thighs for days. Jack doesn’t hesitate to use me hard.
He slides one arm under the small of my back, lifts me with him as he sits upright and swings his legs over the foot of the bed to place his feet flat on the floor. I straddle him, my hair hanging in sweaty strands in my face, and grip his forearms as I orient myself.
“I like this,” he says. “You do all the work, and I watch.” He looks over my shoulder as he says this, cupping my bottom in his hands and moving me up and down on his cock. I risk a quick glance over my shoulder and see we’re visible in the mirror above the low dresser. His hands are dark, curved around the pale cheeks of my ass marked by my bikini tan line just below the twin dimples at the base of my spine. He moves me again, and his cock, flushed a deep red and slick with my juices, appears as I rise on my knees, and disappears as I take him inside me, deeper than before. The sensitive skin of my lower cheeks brushes his balls.
The sight makes me moan. I turn back to face him, mightily embarrassed. Experience has taught me Jack can last a good long time in this position, without the primitive thrill of pounding into me. His hips still under my movements mean I’ll get the penetration I crave, the repeated action of his cock spreading open my pussy to seat itself deep inside me, without him losing control. And he’ll talk to me, that wicked, wicked voice ordering me to move to please him. He’ll watch my breasts bounce, my cleft spread wide to take him again and again and again.
I smooth my hands up his arms, feel a surprising quiver in his biceps before coming to rest on his shoulders, for balance. I’m entirely open to him, my breasts, belly, clit, and ass available. Vulnerable. The same slashing excuse for a smile flashes in his face as he cups my breasts, then slides his hands down over my hips.
My eyes flutter closed as I focus on how he wants me to move. The rhythm is slow, a little pause at the top so I can feel the head of his cock caress my pussy lips, then back down to seat him fully inside me. His hard abdomen grinds against my clit on each down stroke. As I catch on, his hands lose their proprietary grip on my hips and begin to roam. I look down to see his tanned fingers, the hair dusting the backs of his knuckles bleached a pale blonde, stroke over my breasts, along my ribs, over the swell of my hips and ass, then reverse course and move back. He loves the softness of my body, and when I am with him like this, I feel truly beautiful.
I’m watching him, but his eyes are focused on the mirror. The image of my pale skin against his darker body, the sheer eroticism of what I’m doing, is burned into my memory so I don’t need to look over my shoulder again. I do anyway, catch his eyes in the mirror, my darker hair falling in tousled waves over my face. A hot red flush stains his cheekbones. His hands clench on my bottom, and I feel him throb inside me.
“Fuck. The look in your eyes.”
I don’t recognize myself. The body is mine. I see my hair, the shape of my shoulders, the nip of my waist, but the woman I usually see when I look in the mirror is gone. In her place is a succubus, her eyes incandescent with lust. When our eyes meet Jack shifts a little under me, groans and clenches his fingers into my ass, lifts his hips to get a little closer, a little deeper. My breasts chafe against his chest and the tug of my nipples against his skin makes me ripple around him.
Each slow thrust is now torture for both of us.
With every prolonged withdrawal and penetration the burn heightens, grows, pushes everything else aside. Jack is thick, so thick, inside me. I rest my forehead on his, my breath easing from me in soft little pants. His tongue flickers over mine, retreats, then returns. All worries about appearing needy or clingy disappear and I slant my open mouth across his.
He groans again and tightens one arm around my hips. Because I love the restraint I resist this, fighting to rise to the top of his cock. As I rise he struggles to force me back down onto his cock, but I have his number now. When he would keep me snugged up against his pelvis, I force myself back up, rising despite the iron strength of his arm, merely clasping the tip of his cock when he would have me hot and slick around his aching shaft. His legs spread wider and he pushes off with his powerful thighs. His tongue is dancing in my mouth, harsh grunts ripping from his throat as I tease him. I have brought him to the point of orgasm, and the heady power makes me laugh.
His hands grip my hips to pull me down hard against him, so deep inside his balls press against my ass. I expect to feel his release pulse into me, marking me. I’m hovering on the edge of my own orgasm and I twitch in anticipation of the moment his hands relax, intending to sneak a couple of thrusts, heighten his release and send myself over the edge. But his fingers remain firmly clamped around my hips, and I let out a soft groan as I swivel on him, trying to rub my clit against him. When I find I cannot move, I open my eyes.
“Did you think that would work, baby?”
I go utterly still at his smile-that-isn’t-a-smile, the dark power in his eyes, the sweat gleaming on his chest and darkening his hair at his temples. I tried to play him, but he won. My cunt spasms around his cock. I don’t answer, but he doesn’t push. He knows.
“Take your claws out of my shoulders and hand me that case.” He nods behind me.
Oh, God. I’ve actually embedded my short, blunt nails into smooth skin and hard muscle. When I lift my fingers he shrugs then rolls his head on his neck, and I realize he’s used the mild sting to focus on holding back…the better to torture me. Slightly off-balance I look over my shoulder again and for the first time notice a black leather shaving kit, the one he uses when he travels, on the low dresser.
I have a fairly good idea what’s in it.
I brace one hand on his knee and reach for the kit with the other. The movement seats him even more deeply inside me and I gasp as my outstretched fingers grab the kit. He slides one hand up my back to help me upright again, and I offer him the case.
As casually as if we were seated at a table in a fancy restaurant, not naked and sweating and engaged in a power play in an anonymous hotel room, he sets the black bag between our stomachs and unzips it. He removes lube and a dildo, not nearly his girth but big enough to my widening eyes.
We’ve played those games before, but only with fingers, never with toys, and certainly not with these dark undercurrents ebbing and flowing in the room. While I’m much the same person in this room and outside of it, he’s different here. Harder. Less likely to give quarter. Over the past few months he’s taken me places I hadn’t acknowledged I wanted to go. I never asked him to orchestrate elaborate evenings at an expensive hotel. Somehow he knew, just as he knew this lay in the back of my clouded mind.
But that’s why I’m here. The colors coalesce for one brilliant, shattering moment.
“Jack?” I barely hear the word, almost inaudible over the hum of the air conditioner.
He looks me straight in the eye. I’ve always loved that about him; he doesn’t dissemble or cajole or shy away from his demands. He makes me stand toe to toe with him and either face my own desires, or back down.
“You can take this.”
As he says the blunt words, he’s looking in my eyes; I don’t know what he sees there because I don’t have words for whatever I’m feeling. Colors, perhaps, a deep, intense violet swirled with velvety chocolate brown. A blue the hue of twilight. When I don’t protest, don’t even respond, he matter-of-factly works the lube into my pucker, smears a bit more on the dildo, then positions it, his eyes intent on our reflection in the mirror.
Heat flashes through my aching pussy.
“Spread, baby,” he says, but he’s not asking and that makes me even hotter. He widens his legs. My bent knees rest beside his hips, the tops of my feet braced on his thighs, my nails once again digging into his shoulders. He cannot sink any deeper into my swollen channel and I’m now totally vulnerable to him.
He’s still looking at my face, unapologetic, and there is no hint of quarter in his dark eyes. If I can’t handle his demands I am the one who must halt our play. My implicit, unquestioned trust in Jack stems from the fact that from our first time together I’ve been able to say no, always. I simply don’t.
The pressure increases slowly, patiently. Jack never rushes, not even on the night fifteen years ago when he took my virginity in the more conventional sense. The head of the dildo expects entrance to my ass, but without meaning to I’m resisting. His free hand leaves my hip and slides into my damp curls to find my clit. Three liquid strokes, a shocking counterpoint to the insistent push against my ass, and I quiver, sensation leaping through me. I soften, relax and the head slides in, just a bit, just enough to make my eyes widen.
I clench my fingers into his shoulders and while the tip of his finger continues to caress my clit with a feather-light touch, the dildo’s progress ceases immediately. Sensation, however, does not, but rather beats under my skin. My heart is thundering in all my pulse points, the rhythm a deep violet, and my nipples are throbbing caps on my breasts. Heavy electricity is collecting in my groin, sparks firing in my clit, in the stretched nerves of my passage and in the tight ring of muscle about to be unquestionably breached for the first time. Between the rhythmic stroke of his finger, the unceasing demand of his thick cock in my pussy and the heated promise of the dildo, tendrils of pleasure are weaving a net, dragging me into a whirlpool of desire.
I want this. He’s given me a taste. Now I want it all.
“Please,” I say, and while he makes no noise, I see his lips form the word
fuck.
Jack is eloquent. Fluent in Latin and French. My surrender has reduced him to single syllables of Anglo-Saxon origin.
The pressure against my pucker is now a demand, and I wince as the head pops past the ring of muscle. At the same time, however, my cunt spasms from his wickedly knowledgeable attentions to my clit, and the line between pleasure and pain blurs, then disappears. I arch into his finger, inadvertently clasping the dildo, and oh, it feels so good. He works it in and out, shallow, easy thrusts that glide over astonished nerve endings and send pleasure expanding through me. And while his cock is stationary in my pussy, the dildo creates a heightened sense of fullness, each stroke contracting me around his shaft.
“Look,” he says, his normally smooth, even voice a harsh rasp. “Look in the mirror.”
I peer over my shoulder to watch him fuck me in the ass with a sex toy. My dark hair hangs in sweaty tangles around my flushed face, and the length of my spine reminds me of a string of pearls. The curves of my ass, round and even and perfectly matched are far less pure than pearls, though, as is the carnal image of the lifelike shaft working me over. I stare in shock, then my eyes meet Jack’s in the mirror. Connection arcs electric and visceral between us and suddenly need sears me. I can’t keep still anymore. I rise and fall, impaling myself on both his hard flesh and the dildo.
He’s got one hand on my clit and the other on the toy; I’m balanced on his lap but using the strength in his shoulders to keep myself upright as I gyrate under his fierce gaze, back arched, reaching for it. The ache balloons, bursts, then collapses in on itself. I come in a wild surge of colors so sharp and jagged I envision only the shattering of an intricate, sunlit window.
“Fucking amazing,” he growls when my shudders cease. “So goddamn tight. The friction…”