Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Wanderlust part 43 "some precious thing"
I would like to say good morning but it would be lies. All lies! I was up until 2ish and then had to get up at 6. The man was tossing and turning and tossing and at points it felt like turning the bed damn near OVER. But he has a super big important day at work today, so I didn't say a word. Just laid there and plotted out my next three hundred books because I couldn't sleep.
At about 1:45 or so I had a panic attack. LOL.
Right now I have coffee. Later I might have a damn Ativan. But since I usually have to be hog tied and coerced in order to do that, that's probably me being dramatic :D
Anyway, happy...what day is it? Tuesday. Right. Happy Tuesday. On to part um...43!
by Sommer Marsden
“So dark brown it is. Damn near black,” I said. My voice clogging up my throat at first. There is something supremely intimate about the sound of metal with the potential for maliciousness sliding over vulnerable skin.
I could feel my pulse between my leg, feel myself growing wetter with each slide of the blade.
“Your hair,” I whispered, giving his scalp another go with my new toy.
“Yep. Almost black. Not quite.”
“Why do you shave it?” I could tell by his stubble that it wasn’t because he was losing it.
His shoulders twitched like he was about to shrug and I gasped. He stilled. “Don’t know. I just do.”
“Is it like…a monastic thing?” I asked.
He laughed softly. “I’ve never thought about it, Really. Everything okay?”
“What do you mean?” I curved my stroke around his ear, holding my breath, praying not to cut him.
“Your heart is pounding a mile a minute. I can feel it all through my back and my own chest,” he said softly. A fat drop of water fell from the faucet with a resounding plop as if accenting his words.
“Yours isn’t exactly creeping, son,” I said, reaching around to press my palm flat to his damp chest.
I smiled. “Stay still, I’m almost done.”
On the final swipe there was a nick. A small drop of blood bloomed from his scalp. A crimson gem that made me feel very lightheaded and very turned on. No idea why. Just, there it was—the blood and the arousal.
“Stay still, I cut you,” I said, my voice a million miles away to my own ears.
I pressed my fingertip to that drop and brushed it away. Then I pushed my finger to his skin to staunch the barely existent flow.
“It’s fine. I do it all the time. More than you.”
I didn’t trust my words. I let the razor fall to the floor and sat there, pressing my finger to his scalp. “Sorry.”
“Really, it’s one little nick. Nicks happen,” he said, laughing.
My belly clenched—my pussy too—my heart followed suit. I lifted my finger and the blood had stopped. He cocked his head back to reassure me and without thinking at all, I pushed my finger to my lips and sucked my fingertip the way I do when I cut myself. He blinked.
I caught myself when it was too late—realized what I had done. Looked away. “It’s done bleeding,” I said, scrambling to stand. But he was on me and blocking me and I could do nothing but move my arms and some of my legs like a bug that had been flipped on its back. Pathetic and weak and once again at the mercy of something bigger.
Johnny moved and let me up. “You just—“
“I know! Be quiet. I didn’t think about it. I just did it. And besides,” I rushed on in a sweeping arc of words, “you said you were clean—didn’t you? I mean you are, right?”
He nodded, still silent as I rushed on, “And it’s just a little blood and I trust you and—“
We both went still on that word. I was telling him, that I trusted him, that much after last night. It was like a punch in the gut to me and from the looks of him, he felt pretty damn similar. But the fact of the matter was…it was true. Every stupid word of it.
I barely made a sound when he grabbed me and hefted me like a light suitcase. Or when he climbed out of the tub splashing water the way a bear will when it snags a fish in a stream. I barely said boo when he stepped past the razor and a little forgotten blob of shaving gel slid off his scalp to hit the floor.
But I did say, “Oh, yes, please, yes,” when he dropped me on the bed, pried my legs wide and put his mouth on me.
He climbed up to hover over me, his big strong legs by my head as he buried his face between my thighs where I was the wettest. Where I was the neediest. His tongue branding me with broad strokes and then small flickers.
I grabbed his leg, trying to get him to swing his leg over me, straddle me. So I could get at him. So I could take him into my mouth and give back just a little of what he was giving me.
Trying to move Johnny was like trying to move a tree. Finally, I caved and grabbed his leg saying, “Move, please, please. Move. Let me.” Like a chant.
He moved. I craned my neck, bowing my body—pelvis up to meet his seeking mouth, my mouth seeking to take his straining cock. I sucked the tip of him in and felt his exhalation on my pussy lips. Hot air rushed out of him and I sucked him in deeper, moving my head up more. His hands had my hips pinned and he licked me with a frenzied kind of laziness. Like he couldn’t do it fast enough. Or slow enough.
My head was spinning with pleasure, the room moved slowly around me and when I came, I came with his cock pressed firmly in my mouth. I did not move to stroke up and down, I simply held the length of him in my mouth, pressing my tongue to his hardness. I came and by body fought his with the force of my orgasm.
I tried to move, I tried to do a proper job of sucking his cock, put he had his body low over mine, not giving me the room I needed. He had me pinned there, until suddenly he didn’t.
Johnny moved fast, always to my amazement. I never got over how a big man like that could move with such ease. We were on the free bed. The bed that was still clean. The bed that was untainted by the night before, if you asked me. And he grabbed a pillow from the pile, murmuring to himself, words I could not hear or make out but seemed important to him.
Johnny said, “Hips up, Really.”
And I obeyed. He shoved the pillow under my ass, pushed my legs high and wide and drove into me. My body still working out the orgasm I has just had. When he filled me with himself it was intense and blissful and kissed that razor’s edge of painful until he was seated deep. His cock in me to the base, his eyes staring at me.
When he started to move, when he started to rock against me, I came again, my mouth open, my eyes wide until he kissed me quiet. One big hand holding my arm down, one big hand holding the crown of my head. As if I were some precious thing.
My mouth let loose a stream of words. I wasn’t sure what I was saying, just that I was saying it and it was sincere. Right there, oh yes, I need it…oh god, don’t stop baby…
I heard it all and then some and the big machine sound of his breathing in my ear as he watched me. His eyes never left, never wavered, never shut. He watched me and when I got close—so close again—he pushed my legs down and together some. The friction changed, the movement changed, it all changed but the pace increased and his pelvic bone banged my tender clit in just the right way and my hands were free and I grabbed his biceps and curled my fingernails to warm flesh and came again.
He watched me, kissed me, buried his face in my neck for the first time. All of him trembling, all of him shuddering as he pushed his hands between the pillow and my flesh. Cupping my bottom, pounding into me. All of him trembled like an oak as it is felled and he came.
“Really,” he said in my ear.
I waited, not breathing, on the verge of tears. Terrified. But this time—this time—he kissed me again, brushed my long bangs free of my eyes. And he didn’t fucking leave. He stayed.