Wild Man
Page 52
“I think I need to spend some time perusing myself in the mirror,” I told him and his body started shaking with laughter as his arms separated, one went low, one went high so his hand could sift into my hair then pull my face closer to his.
“How ‘bout you peruse yourself in the mirror later,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to my lips.
“Later?” I whispered, knowing what his eyes dropping to my lips meant because that had happened before but also the hum in the room changed to warm and close and I knew what was on his mind.
“Yeah,” his eyes came to mine then his hand pushed my head closer to his but veered it to the side so at my ear, he whispered, “I had maple buttermilk pie at dinner and chocolate cake during football but I still have a taste for somethin’ sweet and the sweet I wanna eat right now is my Tess.”
I felt tingles at my scalp, along my skin and about three other places besides.
“Okay,” I whispered, sliding my hands out from between us to wrap my arms around him and press my torso close to his.
His lips slid down my neck then back up making me roll my h*ps in his lap involuntarily and, back at my ear, he growled, “Fuckin’ love goin’ down on you, baby.”
I shivered and I did this because I loved it too but almost (not quite) better was him growling it in my ear.
“Brock,” I whispered.
His arm slid up my back, wrapped around tight and his fingers stroked light as a feather against the side of my breast as he went on, “Never had a sweeter cunt than yours, Tess, not in my whole f**kin’ life.”
I made a noise in my throat and pressed my lips against his neck right where his hair curled as my h*ps rolled against his lap again.
“You wet for me?” he murmured against my neck.
Oh yeah. Definitely.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Good, then you’re ready.”
Then he moved his head and mine, crushed my lips down on his, invaded my mouth with his tongue and surged up off the couch, taking me with him.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, my arm around his shoulders and slid the fingers of my other hand in his hair as he kissed me while he carried me to my bedroom.
Then I gave Brock something sweet.
Then he gave me something sweeter.
Then we both gave each other something even sweeter.
Then he tugged his tee and jeans back on, I pulled on a nightie, warm socks and dug in his exploded bag that now had a permanent place in the corner of my bedroom and pulled on one of his flannels. He got a beer and poured me some red wine while I took out my contacts and slipped on my glasses. Then we curled on my couch in the basement and watched football.
I zonked out with my head against his thigh and his fingers sifting through my hair.
I reawakened when he set me in bed and only stayed that way until he pulled me deep into his body and tangled his legs with mine.
My last thought before drifting back to sleep was that Thanksgiving, as with anything with Brock’s family, was interesting, to say the least.
But Thanksgiving night with just Brock and me was fabulous.
The best Thanksgiving night I ever had.
Ever.
Chapter Thirteen
Errol Fucking Flynn
One arm wrapped around my back, one hand on my ass, Brock surged out then back inside me and I stifled my moan against his neck as my fingers fisted in his hair and the nails of my other hand dragged down his back.
He growled in my ear because my man liked my nails on his back and then he surged out and thrust in again.
And again.
And again.
I lifted my head and yanked his up by his hair, maneuvering his mouth to mine; I kissed him hard as he pounded inside.
Then my nails dug in his back and my legs spasmed around his h*ps as my head jerked back and I whimpered, “Oh my God, honey, I’m gonna –”
I didn’t finish, my eyes closed, my head fell back, he drove in faster and harder and I gasped and held him tight to me as I came.
“Eyes,” he growled and my eyes fluttered open and focused hazily on him. “I want your eyes when I come,” he ordered.
“Okay, baby,” I whispered and held his eyes, held him tense in three limbs as one hand roamed, gliding across his skin, up his back, around his side, my thumb rubbing his nipple hard then down his chest, his abs until it was at our wet connection and I was feeling him taking me from outside as well as in. “God, that’s beautiful.”
“Tess,” he groaned.
I touched my lips to his, held his eyes and whispered, “Fucking beautiful, baby.”
He slanted his head, took my mouth and planted his cock, his grunt of release driving down my throat.
Yeah. Beautiful.
Since his mouth was on mine, when he recovered, he started gliding in and out as he kissed me, deep but soft and sweet and I wrapped him tight and kissed him back.
Then his mouth released mine, he buried himself to the root as his lips glided down my cheek to my ear, his arms curved around me squeezed and he whispered in my ear as his h*ps pushed deep, “Sweetest f**kin’ cunt I ever had.”
I shivered in his arms.
Then he pulled out and pulled me off the vanity in his bathroom where he’d walked in when he heard me turn off the faucet after I brushed my teeth, closed the door and instigated operation maximum physical contact in the only room in the house (possibly and hopefully) his sons couldn’t hear us having sex. Thus, me ending up with my ass to the vanity, my arms and legs wrapped around Brock and my first-ever orgasm in a bathroom.
It was sublime.
But when he dropped me to my feet, he surprised me when he stayed close and turned me to facing the mirror then he pressed forward and fenced me in against the vanity, his hands moving slowly around my ribs, my belly, crossing over to go down to my hips. My surprised eyes went to the mirror and I saw his were already there following the trail of his hands. Then I saw my hair was a mess, my cheeks pink, my eyes still hazy and his hands were still moving over the amethyst-colored, simple, short silk nightie (another Neiman’s purchase, not the splurge of the first I got at Nordstrom’s, but also not cheap either) he’d f**ked me in.
I could tell looking at his face he liked it.
Actually, I already knew this considering I could tell by his face (and actions) last night when he first saw it that he liked it.
Suffice it to say we’d broken the seal on ha**ng s*x with his sons in the house. Last night, it was late, the boys definitely asleep but Brock still took care to muffle my noises with his mouth and his own with mine or my neck.
This morning, the bathroom.
“How many cupcakes you gotta sell to give me this, darlin’?” he asked and my eyes shifted from his hands moving on me to his in the mirror.
“How ‘bout you peruse yourself in the mirror later,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to my lips.
“Later?” I whispered, knowing what his eyes dropping to my lips meant because that had happened before but also the hum in the room changed to warm and close and I knew what was on his mind.
“Yeah,” his eyes came to mine then his hand pushed my head closer to his but veered it to the side so at my ear, he whispered, “I had maple buttermilk pie at dinner and chocolate cake during football but I still have a taste for somethin’ sweet and the sweet I wanna eat right now is my Tess.”
I felt tingles at my scalp, along my skin and about three other places besides.
“Okay,” I whispered, sliding my hands out from between us to wrap my arms around him and press my torso close to his.
His lips slid down my neck then back up making me roll my h*ps in his lap involuntarily and, back at my ear, he growled, “Fuckin’ love goin’ down on you, baby.”
I shivered and I did this because I loved it too but almost (not quite) better was him growling it in my ear.
“Brock,” I whispered.
His arm slid up my back, wrapped around tight and his fingers stroked light as a feather against the side of my breast as he went on, “Never had a sweeter cunt than yours, Tess, not in my whole f**kin’ life.”
I made a noise in my throat and pressed my lips against his neck right where his hair curled as my h*ps rolled against his lap again.
“You wet for me?” he murmured against my neck.
Oh yeah. Definitely.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Good, then you’re ready.”
Then he moved his head and mine, crushed my lips down on his, invaded my mouth with his tongue and surged up off the couch, taking me with him.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, my arm around his shoulders and slid the fingers of my other hand in his hair as he kissed me while he carried me to my bedroom.
Then I gave Brock something sweet.
Then he gave me something sweeter.
Then we both gave each other something even sweeter.
Then he tugged his tee and jeans back on, I pulled on a nightie, warm socks and dug in his exploded bag that now had a permanent place in the corner of my bedroom and pulled on one of his flannels. He got a beer and poured me some red wine while I took out my contacts and slipped on my glasses. Then we curled on my couch in the basement and watched football.
I zonked out with my head against his thigh and his fingers sifting through my hair.
I reawakened when he set me in bed and only stayed that way until he pulled me deep into his body and tangled his legs with mine.
My last thought before drifting back to sleep was that Thanksgiving, as with anything with Brock’s family, was interesting, to say the least.
But Thanksgiving night with just Brock and me was fabulous.
The best Thanksgiving night I ever had.
Ever.
Chapter Thirteen
Errol Fucking Flynn
One arm wrapped around my back, one hand on my ass, Brock surged out then back inside me and I stifled my moan against his neck as my fingers fisted in his hair and the nails of my other hand dragged down his back.
He growled in my ear because my man liked my nails on his back and then he surged out and thrust in again.
And again.
And again.
I lifted my head and yanked his up by his hair, maneuvering his mouth to mine; I kissed him hard as he pounded inside.
Then my nails dug in his back and my legs spasmed around his h*ps as my head jerked back and I whimpered, “Oh my God, honey, I’m gonna –”
I didn’t finish, my eyes closed, my head fell back, he drove in faster and harder and I gasped and held him tight to me as I came.
“Eyes,” he growled and my eyes fluttered open and focused hazily on him. “I want your eyes when I come,” he ordered.
“Okay, baby,” I whispered and held his eyes, held him tense in three limbs as one hand roamed, gliding across his skin, up his back, around his side, my thumb rubbing his nipple hard then down his chest, his abs until it was at our wet connection and I was feeling him taking me from outside as well as in. “God, that’s beautiful.”
“Tess,” he groaned.
I touched my lips to his, held his eyes and whispered, “Fucking beautiful, baby.”
He slanted his head, took my mouth and planted his cock, his grunt of release driving down my throat.
Yeah. Beautiful.
Since his mouth was on mine, when he recovered, he started gliding in and out as he kissed me, deep but soft and sweet and I wrapped him tight and kissed him back.
Then his mouth released mine, he buried himself to the root as his lips glided down my cheek to my ear, his arms curved around me squeezed and he whispered in my ear as his h*ps pushed deep, “Sweetest f**kin’ cunt I ever had.”
I shivered in his arms.
Then he pulled out and pulled me off the vanity in his bathroom where he’d walked in when he heard me turn off the faucet after I brushed my teeth, closed the door and instigated operation maximum physical contact in the only room in the house (possibly and hopefully) his sons couldn’t hear us having sex. Thus, me ending up with my ass to the vanity, my arms and legs wrapped around Brock and my first-ever orgasm in a bathroom.
It was sublime.
But when he dropped me to my feet, he surprised me when he stayed close and turned me to facing the mirror then he pressed forward and fenced me in against the vanity, his hands moving slowly around my ribs, my belly, crossing over to go down to my hips. My surprised eyes went to the mirror and I saw his were already there following the trail of his hands. Then I saw my hair was a mess, my cheeks pink, my eyes still hazy and his hands were still moving over the amethyst-colored, simple, short silk nightie (another Neiman’s purchase, not the splurge of the first I got at Nordstrom’s, but also not cheap either) he’d f**ked me in.
I could tell looking at his face he liked it.
Actually, I already knew this considering I could tell by his face (and actions) last night when he first saw it that he liked it.
Suffice it to say we’d broken the seal on ha**ng s*x with his sons in the house. Last night, it was late, the boys definitely asleep but Brock still took care to muffle my noises with his mouth and his own with mine or my neck.
This morning, the bathroom.
“How many cupcakes you gotta sell to give me this, darlin’?” he asked and my eyes shifted from his hands moving on me to his in the mirror.
