The Wicked Pleasures Bundle (Wicked Pleasures: Volume 1/Wicked Pleasures: Volume 2/Wicked Pleasures: Volume 3) (8 page)

He dra
ws back from the kiss, easing back and looks at me—at my body, skin flushes and heats, all but quivering with need, screened by the silk veil of my thong.

I run my hand down his chest and cup him.  He is
fully aroused.  His erection tents the front of his pants.  I lick my lips in the anticipation of unwrapping his package.

One hand on my waist, anchoring me, with
his other he grasps my panties, gathers a handful and rips them down my leg; I can hear the fabric tear in his haste to remove them.  I shift and wriggle letting the remaining material fall to my feet before kicking them away.

Immediately I reach
for my stockings.

He stops
me, catching my hands again in his, moving my arms back and once again locks them in the small of my back.  He draws me full against him.  I look up, eyes wide—struggling to hide the effect of his clothing rasping against my sensitized skin.

“Leave your stockings on.”
  His voice is a bass rumble, coming from deep in his chest.

My skin feels
alive, my nerves aroused by his caressing and now shocked into heightened awareness by the realization that he is still fully clothed while I am …naked but for my black silk stockings.

It isn’t modesty that has me
reeling.

How has he done this?  How has
he—

His mouth swoops down on mine, I can’t even think
. 

I can
only feel as his hands lock on my hips as he half turns me and steers me back a few steps until my legs hit the end of my bed.

It i
s a high four-poster bed; the footboard behind my calves and knees ends lower than the top of the mattress.

His
hands grip and he lifts me, but he doesn’t throw me back on the bed as I expect; he sits me on the edge of the mattress.

He let
s go of me and steps back.

Dazed,
adrift, I blink up at him.   Putting my hands behind me on the cool bedspread I brace my arms to lean back as far as I can.  I notice his lips curving in a smile that is all but arrogant, as all conquering males do.

“Spread your l
egs.”  His eyes trap mine.  “Wide.”

A shiver ru
ns down my spine, but I comply.

Now
I watch as his gaze lowers from my eyes to my lips, to my breasts swollen, peaked, flushed from his earlier ministrations.  Watching his bright blue eyes grow darker, stormier, as they skate down over my ribs, over my waist and belly, to fix on the soft flesh I’ve willingly revealed to him.

I
feel my flesh throb, dampen.  His eyes devour, hungrily, his tongue flicks out and licks his lips.

“Good.”  The word i
s a guttural growl.  He steps closer, between my spread knees, wetness glistens on my thighs, dewy drops glistening in my curls. The bed is high so it is easy for him to lean down and kiss me, drawing me once more into the drugging, enthralling exchange.  Now he sets his hands to my body again.

Reducing
me to gasping, trembling need before he consents to touch me between my thighs, to stroke me, parting my folds, he finally slides a long finger deep into my sheath and gives me the first part of what I want.

Finally he eases
a second finger in alongside the first, to my immense relief, twisting, turning and thrusting.  But then, his hand still working steadily between my thighs, he draws back and studies me once again.

I open
my eyes and look at him.  I watch him watching me.  Seeing myself through his eyes, naked except for my stockings; my legs spread, his hand between, pleasuring me.  He is still fully clothed; he isn’t touching me anywhere else.

What I see in his face has
me shuddering.  Biting my lip against a moan, I close my eyes—and feel the slow scorching burn of passion controlled.  More intense, more powerful, more potent.  With every slow, possessive thrust of his fingers he presses in me.

I feel my flesh swell as he
fills me.  My gasps turn into pants.

He dra
ws back.  Easing his fingers so they are now only just penetrating me, playing at my entrance in the slickness he’s drawn forth.

My whirling sens
es slow; a protest is on my lips as I feel him lean close.  Planting a large hand on the bed beside me, he leans down—and sets his mouth to my breasts.

On a half gasp, half moan, I let my head loll back. 

I want to hold him to me, but my arms are too weak to support myself on just one.

So I have to sit here, propped
on my arms, and letting him do what he wants to me.  Letting him taste me, savor me. He licks, laves and suckles my breasts, my shoulders, and my navel.  He licks the outer curve of my hip, the junction where thigh and hip meet, the long upper sweep of my thigh.

He looks up, desire is apparent on his face.  “Do you want me between your legs, licking your pussy?”

I nod helplessly.

H
e lazily and unhurriedly claims me with his mouth, his fingers continue to stroke between my thighs.   Until I think I might go mad.

A
t last he kneels between my knees.  By now I am so heated, so tense, so desperate as he draws his fingers from me.  He slides his hands beneath my bottom and grips, holding me and shifting me, then replacing his fingers with his mouth, with his tongue.

Tasting
me here as he has elsewhere, licking, laving, and suckling.

Slowly.  Thoroughly.  Unhurriedly.

I think I might die.

“Damn, you taste good.”

Utterly and completely helpless, more alive than I’ve ever been, more aware of the intimacy of the act than I’ve ever thought possible, I have to lie back and let him do as he wants.

Let
ting him overwhelm my senses, that reduces me to a mindless animal craving that reaches all the way to my bones.

I need
to feel him inside me so desperately that it hurts.  I ache wanting to feel the pressure of his cock sliding into my wet channel.

I find myself thrashing, sobbing and
pleading.

As he ho
lds me down and takes me with his tongue, probing my opening, possessing me utterly.  His wet tongue rasps around my opening before his tongue spears me, opening me with his mouth. 

I hear
myself scream, luckily breathlessly.  A massive wave of heat rises then breaks over me and drags me down into a whirlpool of fire that leaps and roars.  The fragile furnace within me can’t contain the inferno.  It shatters, shards of heat fly down every nerve, eventually slowing and now sinking into my flesh, melting and warming.  It is amazing.

As reality, still
heats and flushes, returns, I feel battered and racked by the intensity of the release—the explosion.

I open
my eyes, and see him through the shadows moving back toward me.

He quickly removes
his clothes.

He stands in front of me
totally naked.  His cock jutting thick and full, magnificently aroused the broad head slick with pre-come.  He swirls the pearly drop over the head, slowly stroking his own cock as he walks towards the bed.  

I am
too wrung out to move.  I find myself laying here while watching him come to me.  His large, tanned, muscular body bunches and flexes with each step.  He is still beautiful. 

He reaches
the end of the bed, looms over me and sinks both fists into the bedspread on either side of me and leans nearer to look into my face with heavy-lidded eyes.  He searches my eyes, and says, “Don’t say a word.  Don’t try to do anything.”

I
blink, whimper, and attempt to hold my tongue.

He eyes
me suspiciously, but then draws back.  Pressing his hands beneath me, he lifts me.  Kneeling on the bed, he moves up it, laying me back down with my head on the plump pillows.

He follows me down, and covers
me as his cock rests against my thigh.

I moan as he finds
my lips and covers them with his.

As his hands find
my body they stroke.  He runs a hand along the center of my body, from my throat, between my breasts, swirling in my navel and trails lower until he cups my mound with his fingertip against my clit.

I
arch into him, inviting his touch—begging for it.  He languidly traces, caressing, effortlessly possessing, and I sigh. 

I
writhe beneath him, helpless and yearning, soothed by his hands, by his lips, by the slow build of heat that wraps around us, that cocoons us.

Th
e moments roll together as we tangle on my bed; I am no longer interested in rushing ahead.  This enveloping, caressing warmth is new, precious; it holds passion and desire, but also something deeper.  Something finer.

I
’ve always been passionate, but this is a passion on a different plane, a deeper desire, a stronger yearning than I have experienced before.

M
y hands spread on his back, I hold him to me, shifting beneath him as I kiss him back—only to be overwhelmed by the kiss he returns, only to fall back and let him surge in and fill my mouth.  Letting him take it, mimicking the way he will take my body soon…

We’ll hold off as long as we can
; I suddenly know it—sense he does, too.  With his thighs, he spreads mine wider, settles between; I feel the blunt head of his hard cock at my entrance.

I
expect him to simply thrust in and fill me.  Instead, he breaks from the kiss.

His breathing as
ragged as mine, he reaches around, catching my hands, one in each of his, and drags them up, anchoring them in the pillows above my head, locking them there in one hand.

Our gazes me
et.  Across the few inches of heated shadows between them, our eyes lock, held.

With his free han
d he reaches down, grips my hip and tilts my hips beneath him.

And enters
me.

Slowly. 

He eases into me as though he wants this to take all night.

His eyes on mine, holding me, his weight pinning me
beneath him, he presses into my body relentless inch by inch…so slowly I feel every second of his possession.  Every tiny nuance as he penetrates me, stretching my sheath, filling me.

He
won’t stop until he’s filled me to the hilt.

His eyes still on me
, he draws back—slowly, totally controlled—holding back for an instant, then surges slowly in again.

The friction is
intense.

The
sensations fill my mind.  He stretches me as I have to bite back a groan.

I close
my eyes, arching beneath him as white-hot flashes of pleasure shoot through me.

He continues
to fill me, to command my body and me, to swamp my senses with pleasure and delight until my fingertips burn.

M
y body is on fire beneath his—and I can feel his burning, too.

More powerful, more intense, more all-consuming.

It surges from deep within us—finally wrenching all control from him.

In the
last moments we are together again, helpless again, at the mercy of what, together, we’ve evoked.

It racked us, wrecked us,
broke us with its glory.  Flung us into that never-ending void.

Drained us.

We float back to earth in each other’s arms.  I have no idea how long it has been since I’d led him to my room, into my bed and given myself into his arms.

All that I know is that
beyond thought, beyond doubt, I belong here.

As satiation drags
me down, my only thought is a wish of what the future might bring.

THE LOFT

“You know it’s going to rain,” I observed looking up at the darkening sky.  My ponytail whipped my face almost painfully due to the strong winds.

Jake glanced up, “I can see that.”   He grimaced.  “There goes my plans.  I was hoping this would be a really enjoyable day for you, Tillie.”

“I’ve been having a great time with you.”  I slanted my eyes towards him, with a huge grin on my face.  “Maybe we should head to that barn over there.”  The barn in the distance is exactly how I always pictured one in my head:  big and red with a black roof and a big white X across the front.  Perfect.

“I’ll race ya,” Jake called as he was galloped ahead.

“No fair,” I hollered, digging my heels into my mounts sides.  I started racing after him and as I began passing him, I yelled, “Loser stables the horses!”  Laughing, I raced to the barn and leapt from my horse just as rain started pouring from the sky.  I quickly walked into the barn, leading my horse behind me and waited for him.  I stood with a smirk across my face and my arms crossed smugly over my chest, boastfully yes and also to still the shivering caused by my wet clothes.

Jake dashed into the barn a few minutes later, grabbed me around the waist and planted a big, wet kiss on my mouth.  “Give me a minute to stable the horses—” He wriggled his eyebrows comically. “—then I’ll come find you.”

“Ooh, sounds promising.  I’ll look around for a comfortable place to wait out the storm, while you do all the hard work,” I attempt to smooth my wind ruffled hair.

Finally I find a ladder leading up to the loft.  Glancing back at Jake; he’s still busy with the horses so I decided to climb on up, carefully checking each rung.  The ladder is sound.  The barn is definitely well-maintained even though it seems to be in the middle of nowhere.

From the top of the ladder, I survey the loft.  A wide chamber built over most of the barn, it houses a quantity of hay, some baled, some loose.  The floor is made of sound timber.  Stepping up, I brush my hands down my jean clad legs, then cross to where the hay doors are fastened against the weather.

Lifting the latch, I peek out.  The hay doors face away from the storm.  Satisfied no rain will drive in, I open the doors, admitting soft grey light into the loft.  The wind cools off the inside of the barn almost immediately.  The view now reveals the gently sloping meadows we had just ridden over, now all is seen through a grey screen of rain.  It is very soothing.  I feel cocooned with Jake from the rest of the world for the afternoon. 

Glancing around, I lift a brow.  I can’t wait to get Jake alone.  It is long overdue.  With plenty of hay, there is no reason we can’t be comfortable, even if I would prefer a soft bed somewhere, instead of rough, itchy hay. 

In the barn below, I looked to see Jake still tending the horses.  The rain shows no sign of stopping.  Not that I’d expect it to; having seen the extent of the clouds, I know we might be trapped for hours, which is exactly what I hope for.

Turning my head and smiling, as his head cleared the loft floor, washed by the soft light falling through the open hay doors, I sit in the midst of a huge pile of hay, my expression welcoming,
my body radiating a sensual tug to which I am sure he is already vulnerable.  My body softening into the thick pile of hay, my eyes close, as a toasty, warm feeling radiates through the barn and the soft patter of rain makes relaxing music on the roof. 

I hear Jake draw in a deep breath, and I open my eyes.  Watching as he climbs the last rungs and steps onto the loft floor.  With every evidence of his customary cool command, he strolls towards me.  Jake is gorgeous.  Big and broad and strong, he stands six foot three with jet black hair and always a mischievous twinkle in his eye.  That’s what drew me to him the very first day we met.  He always looks as if he is up to something and I have wanted to find out what. 

He shatters my calm with just his smile.  I swallow hard.  My breath comes faster, and my heart races in my chest.  I want to do more than sit together and look out at the rain and he looks the same.  My eyes are instantly drawn to the bulge pressing insistently against the zipper of his jeans that he doesn’t bother to hide; my tongue instinctively flicks out to wet my dry lips.

I hold out my hand.  He takes it, fingers closing firmly.  He looks down at my face; I look into his eyes, bright green, warm and alluring. 

I give him no time to think about anything—I tug; he sighs and sinks down to the straw beside me.

He must have a trick or two up his sleeve.  Before I can turn to him, he wraps his arms around me and draws me back, settling the curve of my back against his side, so we can study the scenery together.

I relax against his hard, warm muscles, my softness, my curves, fitting against him. 

I slide my hands over his arms that are currently wrapped around my waist; they come to rest on his hands, my palms curve over the backs of his hands pressing them against my quivering belly.  Outside, the rain continues; inside, heat rises. 

I turn to him.  My head turns first—and my lips are mere inches from his, hovering hotly over his mouth.  My body follows, sliding sensuously around in his arms; he tightens his grip, sinking his fingers into my soft flesh.

My gaze fixes on his lips and then I touch my mouth to his.  His muscles tense, I can tell he strains to not crush me to him.  We sink back into the hay, the pile compressed under our combined weights.  Within seconds, we are close to horizontal, with me stretching against him, half-atop him.  I feel him groan.

His lips part, and I kiss him—and he kisses me.  His firm lips taking control.  I moan, opening my mouth wider, kissing him deeply. 

Jake rolls and presses me into the hay.  I accept the change readily, clinging to our kiss.  Jake deepens it, plundering my mouth, framing my face and drinking deeply; I meet him, sliding my hands under his T-shirt, spreading them, sending them questing over his thick, muscular chest, around his sides and back, his skin burns as I pull him closer and feel his chest press into me.

My hands, my lips, my body, arches lightly beneath him, urging him on.  As he lifts my T-shirt and closes one hand over my satin covered breast, I sigh and kiss him more urgently.

Under his hand, my breast swells; my nipple is a tight bud under his palm.  I gasp as he squeezes, arching as he strokes.  Moaning as he kneads, pressing more firmly into his hands. 

I feel his other hand sliding behind my back, and he expertly undoes the hooks of my bra, pushing it out of the way, setting my breasts free.  My softness fills his calloused hand as if he is testing the weight as I whimper against his mouth and open my mouth wider, kissing him more deeply.  His rough hands scrape over my soft skin inflaming me, arousing me further.   

As he breaks our kiss to raise his head, I watch from under heavy lids as his eyes brighten in approval as he looks down at me.  Watching as his head descends to take my nipple into his mouth and moans against me.  I arch my back, the erotic sensation of his tongue rasping against my hard, puckered pink nipple, I lean my head back, he suckles, and my eyes close as he nips, and bites, his teeth scrape against my tender flesh, I moan, as his tongue sooths my marred flesh, flicking against it.

I want more, and he gives it, drawing my soft T-shirt over my head, he removes my bra, in one expert tug, to bare my body fully to the soft grey light, the gentle coolness of the air, and his heated attention.

I burn, running my hands everywhere, desperately searching as I lift his shirt and greedily reach and caress frantically. 

I now realize that control is far beyond me.  I don’t have a shred left—he’s stolen it from me and thrown it away.  This is abundantly clear, panting; I draw his face to mine and kiss him greedily. 

Half-beneath him, I lift, my body caressing his in flagrant appeal—the oldest method of beckoning known to woman.  I want him—and I know he wants me.  Now.

His body is rigid with need beneath mine, tense and heavy with it.  I want him to claim me, to slide into my body and find release.  His fingers are already on the button unfastening my jeans. 

With a groan, Jake pulls back from our kiss.  On his elbows above me, I can sense he is waiting for me to open my eyes.  I draw in a huge breath, my lashes flicker.  I feel his sharp intake of breath—and my hard nipples brush his expanding chest which makes me shiver.  He shudders—I shiver again, quivers ripple through my stomach to my trembling thighs where his impressive hardened cock is pressing into my leg.  

Jake’s eyes shut.

I want him—with every ounce of my body, every ounce of my blood.  And he wants me.  And I glorify in it—in the hardness of his hands that possess my breasts, in the hardness of his lips as they return to mine.  I cling tightly, hands clutching, now kneading the broad muscles of his back, a moment later I find myself sliding around hungrily exploring his chest. 

I can’t bear to wait, to drag out the frustration.  I arch lightly, responding to the demand in his hands, in his lips, in the steady plundering of his tongue.

He is all heat and shockingly hot hardness.  I want to draw him into me, to take his heat in and quench it, to release the fevered tension driving him—the same tension slowly suffusing me.  I want to give myself to him—I want to take him into my body.

I will give myself up to it gladly—to the shiver of excitement as he pulls my jeans down, rolling me over he spreads them out, to make a soft blanket, beneath me. 

Sharp delight is what I learn as his hands, hard and knowing, possess me, tracing every curve, every soft mound.  One hand is sliding beneath my waist, the other sliding lower to cup my bottom.  Strong fingers kneading, caressing, the sweet fever spreads, pooling in my belly, dewing my skin.  His hand slides lower, tracing the long curve of the back of my thigh all the
way to my knee, then slides to the front reversing direction.  He makes his way now to my hip, to that sensitive join where thigh meets torso.  One finger gently, insistently, strokes downward along the crease—I shudder, suddenly desperate for breath.

As he parts my thighs, he gently but firmly spreads them with lavish soothing caresses along the sensitive inner faces.  His lips are gentle on mine, allowing me to focus on each touch, each searing response.  On the excitement, the frantic, barely reined passion that has both of us in its grip, I throw my head back as his hand reaches the end of his last caress and drifts higher, stroking my clit.

The shudders that rack me are pure excitement—pure sensual anticipation.  Sinking into the soft hay, I gasp and spread my thighs wider—and feel the caresses grow firmer, more deliberate.  More intimate, more evocative.

My soft folds are slick; he parts them. 

I moan aloud as his knowing fingers find my throbbing clit, and bolts of delight lance through me.  Fiery delight, hot and urgent, it strikes deep inside me, catches hold and grows.  Pressing my head back, I break from his kiss. He lets me go as he continues to play in the softness between my thighs; I haul in a too-shallow breath and fight to lift my lids.

I see him, his face a mask of concentration etched with passion, watching his fingers as they stroke and twirl.  Then one probes.

The sound that escapes me is more of a gasp than a moan, more scream than anything. He glances at my face; his eyes lock on mine. I feel his hand pressing between my thighs—and feel the intrusion of his finger, gently but insistently penetrating.

I gasp again, and close my eyes as he presses farther, deeper.

Then he strokes me—inside—deep within, where I am all slick and hot and so full of desire.  So full of molten passion.  A passion he has been stirring, deliberately inciting, stoking that inner furnace.

On a shuddering moan, I feel myself melt, causing my senses to soar.

He gives me more, slowly he drives me upward, turning the wheel of the rack of sensual excitement with practiced ease.

Still, I don’t break.  I gasp, moan, and arch—and my eager body begs for more.

He looks at me—at my face lightly flushed with desire, at my eyes, glinting from beneath heavy lids.  And I feel him holding his breathe.

From sheer lust—from sheer need.  The need to be inside me.

With a soft oath, he draws his hands from me.

“Fuck me, Jake.”  I barely whisper, my fingers slide down, gliding over the deep ridges of his stomach, then gently close about his cock.  He jumps, my touch, tentative at first has him locking his jaw.  I can feel him locking every other muscle as well, before moving away.  

He pulls off his T-shirt.  His boots taking an impatient minute to get off, he stands to strip off his jeans.  He must feel my gaze on him, trailing down his back, because he glances over his shoulder.  He flings his jeans aside.  I lay naked, sprawled in the hay, calmly waiting, simmering. My right hand moves over my breast pinching my nipple, down my stomach to delve into the wet heat between my legs.  I find my aching clit as I watch him and moan.  I move my fingers lightly over the turgid nub between my spread legs, my breathing shallows as my eyes roam over his wide shoulders, down his back to his firm ass.    

My breasts rise and fall rapidly; my skin gently flushed.

Finally naked, his cock juts straight up, fully aroused as he turns to me.

His brow rises as he sees my hand moving between my legs and there is a definite wicked glint in his eye.  “Starting without me?”  His voice is a growl, his hand fists around his hard dick, stroking his thick erection.