“It smells amazing in here.” I enter the kitchen and pause by the island. You’ve thrown out the roses, and the sea breeze, assisted by whatever you’re cooking, has fully eradicated their cloying scent.
You’re at the stove, wearing old jeans that are both comfortably loose and molded to the shape of your body. Your feet and chest are bare, your back muscles rippling as you stir whatever is in the big pot on the burner. Your phone lies on the counter by the spoon rest, steam rises from the vents of a rice cooker and Billy Joel sings “She’s Always a Woman” through the surround sound speakers – a song you once said reminds you of me.
“It’s gumbo,” you say over your shoulder, your attention on cooking.
“I love gumbo.” I rest my hand against the doorjamb with practiced nonchalance. I want to be seductive. Confident. I feign both. “But you should be wearing an apron.”
This easy, settled domesticity is very you, down to your soul. All you ever wanted was Lily as your wife and the creature comforts of a proper home.
“And miss an opportunity to entice you with my body?” You adjust your position to keep me in your sights and wink. You’ve already shaved again.
You seem relaxed and serene at the moment, and your smile lights up the room. It’s like you’ve completely wiped the flower delivery from your mind. Erasing the day isn’t so easy for me. I know I’m the source of your deepest stress and worry. It’s a cruel trick of the universe that I’m also your comfort and haven.
“I’m enticed.” You’ve trained my body to associate yours with pleasure, and addiction to that dopamine rush stirs an immediate physical reaction. On every level, I’m aware of what you can do to me and how well. My nipples strain against the black satin of my dress, visibly aroused. They’re tender from your frequent suckling, as is my mouth and sex. Previously underused muscles are sore. I’m never unaware of how your hedonistic pursuit of erotic gluttony is tailoring my body to your specific needs.
You grow very still as you register my obvious response to you, your glorious physique tense and breathless. Every muscle is defined by its tautness, turning you into a sensual work of art. Your body readies to provide the stud servicing you’ve conditioned me to crave.
“I thought you might want to return to the penthouse tonight,” I say quietly.
Setting down the long-handled spoon, you face me. “Are you afraid?”
“No.”
“Good.” You lean back against the edge of the counter and fold your arms, showing off the beauty of your thick biceps and hard pectorals. Your jeans barely restrain a prominent erection. The top button is undone, allowing the denim to ride low on your hips. You’re noticeably wearing nothing underneath.
You are, quite simply, the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Erotic and boldly virile. I’m so grateful you’re mine, and I get to have you whenever I need you. The raking glance you give me is a caress of its own – hot, appreciative and possessive. You always look at me that way, as if I’m both priceless art and titillating pornography.
Do you see me clearly, or does the fog of old sentiment blur your vision? Which would benefit me more: acceptance as I am or the forgiveness of nostalgia?
I shift my stance, frustrated and restless. My hunger for you is sharp and urgent. I want so much more from you. I want it all. And that ungratified greed drives me to take you any way I can get you, as often as possible.
You straighten, turn off the burner and cover the pot with a lid. “If we leave now, our last memory here will be that damned flower delivery. I’m not letting anyone or anything change what this place means to us. We don’t have to run. I’m fully capable of protecting you.”
As always, your passionate heart moves me. Who would have thought a woman raised to be contemptuous of love would fall so deeply for a romantic?
You make me want to be a better person so fiercely I can’t imagine not transforming. Larva to butterfly. Sinner to saint.
You prowl toward me, a sleek panther, big and fluidly graceful. I find myself taking an involuntary step back as adrenaline surges through me.
“I’ll catch you,” you warn softly.
My pulse races, and my chin lifts. “I’m not running.”
Your hands encircle my upper arms as if, despite my assurance, you expect me to bolt. Your grip flexes, tightening then releasing. Desire smolders in your eyes, but it’s fury that burns brightest.
“Do you do it on purpose?” you murmur, your gaze on my mouth. “Everything about you makes me want to fuck. The look of you, the way you smell. Just the thought of you makes me hard. You’re a compulsion, Setareh.”
Your thumb lifts to my lower lip, rubbing it. I lick the pad, then suck your thumb into my mouth. The suction is firm as my tongue strokes the calloused pad. You growl, pressing against me, your erection growing with every circle of my tongue.
I release you, and your arm falls to your side. “You’re angry,” I say, and it’s not a question.
“I’m way beyond angry.” You rest your forehead against mine. “Six years, Setareh. Six years of being so desperate for you that I thought I’d go insane. And now someone’s threatened you when I’ve just gotten you back. Even rage doesn’t begin to touch what I feel.”
Your love never lessened. I think of the canvas on your wall; you’ve tortured yourself to keep Lily close.
Leaning forward, I press a kiss over your heart. Somehow, I will take that hurt away and replace it with love. Your last memory of us in this house will be of joy, even if it’s a recollection made hazy by mind-numbing pleasure. It’s the least I can do, considering all the pain I’ll be causing you in the future.
You groan as I move my mouth to the flat brown disk of your nipple and kiss it, too. While my tongue flickers over the tight point, I release the steel buttons of your fly one by one.
Your jeans slide to the floor. You step out of them and kick them aside, brazenly naked. I take your penis in my hands, my lips curving when a hard tremor wracks your big body. There is undeniable power in taking control of an authoritative man like you. It’s exhilarating having you in my palms – satin-smooth, thick and feverishly hot.
It’s been strange and wonderful to touch you intimately, yet I can’t shake the odd sense of interloping. It’s maddening, unsettling and dreadful. I want to believe that what we ignore will simply disappear, but I know only honesty can set us free.
And separate us.
I begin a gliding tug from root to tip. I’ve got both hands wrapped around you, one atop the other, but the head of your penis extends past my grasp. I give you a two-fisted stroke, knowing the pressure you like. Your serrated moan rewards me. I brush my lips across your chest to find your other nipple.
Sliding my right hand between your legs, I cup the heavy weight of your sac, freeing my left hand to move faster over your thickly veined length.
“I’ve never been this hard,” you bite out, jaw clenching.
“Not even our first time?”
“I want you more now.” Your hips begin to rock into my grip.
“Kiss me,” I order, touched by your confession that I affect you as no other ever has. When you lower your head to mine, I capture your lips in a breathless melding, indulging in your honeyed flavor. My hold on you tightens, just enough to increase the friction. You weren’t lying – you’re hard as steel, engorged with need. It’s heady. You’re a man who could have anyone but who wants only me, and while I’m always yours for the taking, even total surrender fails to assuage your craving.
As my tongue traces your parted lips, your moan pours upward from somewhere deep and dark inside you. Your extreme reaction makes me slick between the thighs, but this moment is yours, just as you are mine.
I want to take my time with you and savor this rare opportunity to focus minutely on your pleasure, but you grip my wrists and force me to release you. Before I can protest, you spin us around and propel me into the cool glass of the refrigerator door.
Your body radiates the primal heat of a healthy male at his apex. At night, you warm our bed. When we make love, you nearly singe my skin. You’ve trapped me between hot and cold, pinned. The only part of my body I can move is my arms, and I reach down to your muscular buttocks, pulling you closer and squeezing.
Our open-mouthed kiss is frenzied. It’s wet and covetous. Your hands shove into my hair, gripping my scalp to hold me still as you take command with a deep, harsh growl. A frisson of fear slides through me, even as my toes curl. Your greedy lust is delicious and edged with roughness.
“Please …” My hunger for you overwhelms me.
The groan that escapes you rewards my desire, while the masterful stroking of your tongue against mine reminds me of how well you pleasure my sex with it.
You grab fistfuls of my dress, pulling it up to my waist. Then you drop to your haunches and lick through the seam of my cleft. I shiver violently, the direct stimulation just what I need. You hold my dress up with one hand while the other catches my leg behind the knee and drapes it over your shoulder, opening me to your tongue’s delicate flickering over my clitoris. I’m swollen and tender, and you’re gentle and attentive, using the flat of your tongue to soothe in long licks and the stiffened tip to work my clit. My core clenches in protest at its emptiness, needing you inside me.
“Kane …”
All of your tight, determined focus is on the center of my pleasure, and your consummate skill unravels me thread by thread. You’re all I see or hear or feel; the heat of your palm splayed flat against my buttock to angle my sex to your talented mouth, the soft suction, your undeniable pleasure …
Your tongue pushes into my channel, and heat blooms across my skin. I’m panting, my legs trembling. The teasing thrusts are destructive. They’re not enough yet too much. I never knew this need was inside me, how voracious it is or that only you can satisfy it.
My sex tightens around your thrusting tongue, and you make a purely animal sound. I gasp in protest as you pull away, steadying me on my feet before straightening to tower over me. Your dark eyes are bright and hot as you lick the taste of me from your lips.
“I’ll feel you come around my cock,” you say darkly, bending to grip the backs of my thighs and lifting me so that I sit in your arms. You are a solid column of strength, and I cling to you, so grateful to hold you.
Raising me higher, you take my nipple into your mouth, your tongue teasing through the satin.
The intense pleasure borders on pain. Sensation radiates from that sensitive tip. The rhythmic pull tugs at places lower in my body. My fingers tangle in your hair. Your scent and your barely controlled desire inflame me.
“Don’t make me wait,” I gasp, near frantic as you lower me to take my mouth in a profoundly erotic kiss.
A slight shift of my hips aligns my clitoris with your length. I begin to massage that bundle of nerves by undulating against you, rubbing up and down. I’m slippery with arousal. Anguished sounds begin to rumble from your chest, your control slipping. You hold me with unshakeable strength, allowing me to use you. I am in control of the pace, the pressure.
“You’re killing me.” You pull on my lower lip with your teeth. “You’re fucking killing me.”
Tightening my legs, I lift enough to position my sex against the wide, heavy crest of your penis. You’re so stiff, and I’m so wet you slip effortlessly inside me. I shiver at the delicious pressure of your shaft stretching my sheath. Your fingers grip my thighs hard enough to bruise.
Your hips begin to churn, moving in short, hunched thrusts that provide friction while driving you deeper. Your biceps bunch and release as you bear my weight and circle my hips into your sleek, deep thrusts. You snarl with savage pleasure when I take you to the root, the sound so animalistic and erotic that my core clenches with arousal.
The sight of you unravels me. Muscles ripple and flex beneath perspiration-sheened golden skin. A rivulet of sweat courses down your chest, dipping and rising over the tight lacing of your abs. Your penis, so long and thick, so brutishly masculine, drives powerfully in and out of my sex. You hammer into me, stroking that broad, flared head over nerve-laden tissues. My body unlocks from my mind, serving only you.
My climax builds with frightening intensity. Your hips roll with every pump and withdrawal in that practiced, powerful way that speaks of your prowess. Your rage is a firestorm, like a whip crack driving you, every hard and fast plunge a declaration of possession. Your rhythmic stroking spurs violent quivering. My entire body is tight and steaming. Blood roars in my ears.
Nothing else exists. There is only you, only me, only our ravening need.
“I can’t,” I tell you urgently, wild with desire and afraid my emotions are too fraught. The approaching climax seems too vast, a heated wave that will take me under. “I can’t … Please.”
“You can. You will.”
You shift me, lowering me further so that my shoulder blades bear my weight and my thighs open to their widest point. Nothing impedes your furious fucking, your penis withdrawing to the tip and sinking to the hilt with every rapid-fire thrust. I watch, arrested by your body’s vigor and power harnessed solely for mindless carnality.
I cry out when the orgasm takes me, moaning your name in an agony of release that seems never-ending. You don’t stop, prolonging my pleasure until my core seizes again, clenching around you.
“God, yes … You’re squeezing me so hard ...” Your dark head falls back, the cords of your neck stretched tautly. Tension hardens your body, and your muscles strain. Your teeth grind on a ragged groan, and then I feel the spurting of your seed. You grind your hips against mine, filling me at my deepest point. The sounds you release are tormented ecstasy.
When you finally sag heavily against me, I don’t mind. Not at all.
I press my mouth to the hammering pulse in your neck.
“You okay?” you ask in a voice so hoarse it’s foreign to me.
“Not sure how we ended up this way,” I answer breathlessly, “but I’m glad we did.”
Your husky laugh is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. “I know I’m crushing you, but my knees are weak, and I don’t want to drop you. Gimme a minute.”
I wrap my arms around your shoulders and hold on tightly. “There’s no rush.”
Eventually, you regain the strength to straighten and pull me away from the refrigerator. You’re still hard inside me, and I know from experience you are indefatigable. But the edge has smoothed a little, and your dark eyes reveal heartbreaking affection. We’re so often distracted by the sizzling chemistry between us, that irresistible gravitational pull keeping us orbiting one another. Only in these brief moments of satiation do we acknowledge what’s growing between us, the connectedness stemming from acceptance and esteem.
My fingers comb through your sweat-slicked hair. “I love you. The words don’t change, but my feelings do. I love you more each minute. I love you more now than I did this morning or yesterday.”
Your throat works on a hard swallow, and your eyes sheen wetly. The silence stretches, and I think you won’t speak, which is fine. I don’t need words, only you. Then you find your voice.
“You just love me for my body,” you tease, your emotions thickening your speech.
“Well … you do dispense orgasms like a vending machine on the fritz.”
Your smile is wicked. “Hold on tight.”
You turn to the stairs and then take them as if I don’t weigh anything. We spiral upward in shadow, the briskness of your stride bouncing me on you. I don’t know how you manage to keep us connected. It should be awkward or uncomfortable, but you’re so strong I’m secure. Still, when we reach the bedroom, I’m laughing so hard I can barely hold on.
You walk to the bed and lower me to my back. You’re not even short of breath, which flatters me, considering how winded you were from your climax.
Brushing my hair back from my face, you surprise me by saying, “I don’t want you to worry. We’re safe. Cameras are surveilling the house and perimeter, and we monitor motion detectors 24/7. Guards and drones canvass the property line at regular intervals. No one’s getting close without us knowing about it.”
“Oh, Kane.” I sigh and press my hand over your heart. We can hide but ignoring reality won’t be so easy. The world would come between us if we let it. We must choose each other above everything, always.
“We can defend a location,” I agree, “but you won’t always be homebound. You’ll need to move around at some point, and you’re vulnerable at multiple points in your workday. A needle prick on the sidewalk in front of the Crossfire. Poison slipped into your drink at a business lunch. Even a long-range rifle shot, right here on the beach. You can’t live like a prisoner.”
“I could – as long as I’m imprisoned with you.” Your gaze is as somber as your voice. “But you’re going to explain why you reacted to the flowers the way you did, so I have the information I need to deal with it.”
I lie beneath you, rigid with surprise. I recover instantly, forcing my body to relax. “You say that as if I know.”
Such an obvious tell reveals my thoughts, but my guard is down with you. You ensured it would be by keeping me perpetually in a woman’s most vulnerable state. Even now, your thick penis is shoved deep inside me.
Has that been your intent all along? I’m beyond impressed if you can command physical arousal with such calculation and frequency.
Your dark eyes harden into black diamonds. “I’m crazy about you, but I’m not an idiot.”
“I never thought you were.”
“You think I’ve forgotten walking in on you and Ryan? That I’ll ever forget? You were already afraid of someone before we got together, and you think being with me puts me in danger, so you’ve done your damnedest to keep us apart.” The curve of your mouth takes on a cruel edge. “It’s time for you to tell me why.”