to the man for passing his big scary certification test for work. I was teasing him the other day that it sounded as daunting as The Bar Exam. I hope I sounded like I was teasing...because I was sort of serious. But he passed (as I knew he would) so that particular stress is off. Yay, the man, go you!
And I have been up to my earlobes in a new short story for an antho sub, wrapping up the current book and editing this little ditty that...*gasp*...no lie, I cannot wait for it's release. (This is from final edits so forgive any boo-boos)
From RESTLESS SPIRIT by Sommer Marsden
Xcite April 2012
He shook his head. ‘Never mind. You’d have to live here to get it.’
His eyes were riveted to my red tee and I was starting to feel naked. ‘I do live here,’ I whispered.
I touched his beard. I couldn’t resist. Normally I despised facial hair but with him it fit so well. It was so aggressive and yet seemed like something he hid behind. I petted it with the tops of my fingers feeling its wiry yet soft texture against my skin.
‘Just for a while,’ he said. He caught my hand, stilling it.
I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. ‘I’d like to live here a long time.’
‘Maybe you should go,’ he said.
‘Why’s that? You don’t like me any more?’
‘I do. I like you too much. And I’m not a good pick for someone like you.’
‘What kind of someone am I?’
I tried to pull my hands free but he wouldn’t release them so I played the sneaky card and pressed my body tight to his. I rocked my hips and felt the press of his erection to the split of my sex.
‘A nice person.’
‘You’re nice too. What you did earlier was nice. And I want to be nice with you again.’
His eyes were so fucking dark. Impossibly dark. And full of lust so staggering I felt it run along my skin like an electrical current.
‘Take your clothes off.’
I stood up straight and did my best to meet him eye to eye. ‘You take them off,’ I said.
He bully-walked me back, trapping my hands between his much bigger ones at my chest. He nudged me along until the backs of my thighs met the lip of his table. In front of one of those big blind-eye windows. I wondered if people could see our silhouettes outside. I wondered if they could see what we were doing.
The possibility that they could sent a thrill through me and my pussy clenched up tight, wanting him, wanting this so damn bad I could taste it.
Shepherd pushed me back – rough enough to make me break out in goose bumps. He tugged my red tee over my head and dropped it in my dinner chair. He worked my button and zipper with ease, shocking for such big fingers, and tugged them down.
‘Black,’ he said.
‘What?’ My head was buzzing. From him, not wine. I stared up at him, relishing the feel of his palm sliding along my belly just above my panties.
‘Your panties are black.’ He stroked them. From waistband to gusset making sure to scrape along my clit. I arched up mindlessly, holding my breath and feeling my heart in my temples. ‘And silk.’
‘Satin,’ I laughed.
‘Same thing basically.’
He tugged them free and I was aware of every inch that scrap of soft fabric slid. Shepherd dropped those on top of my jeans and slid his hands under my ass. I felt shy and bold and so fucking light headed I feared I’d lose consciousness.
‘Open your legs for me, Tuesday.’ His eyes were already penetrating me. A wave of pleasure flooded through me at just his eyes on me. It felt like he was touching me when he stared that way.
I let my thighs fall open and his eyes were there. Between my legs. On a place I rarely even looked – but he was studying me the way I’d seen people study rare flowers or beautiful butterflies. I wriggled under his gaze.
‘Stay still,’ he said. His hands pinned my thighs wide and stilled my restless movement. ‘I want to look at you. Before I suck you.’
I moaned then. Just as if he’d touched me. I made that noise and waited to feel ashamed, instead I felt honest.
A man had never said that to me before. It was always lick or kiss or God help me one time suckle. But suckle made me think of distinctly non-sexy things. And all of that ran through my head as I tried so hard to stay so still but continued to undulate and sway like sea grass in a stormy lake.
His hands were huge, spanning my hipbones, anchoring me to the rough wood table. He dropped to his knees, so tall he still almost looked like he was standing from my angle. His head dipped, beard scratching my inner thighs and he took my clit in his mouth and sucked.
My fingers tangled in the placemats. My hair swished under my head as I moved it back and forth to try and find some kind of equilibrium. ‘Jesus,’ was the only brilliant thing I could think to say.
He sucked softly and then harder when his fingers, unimpeded by panties this time, slipped into me and began fucking me. Deep thrusts that he curled up perfectly on the upward motion. My hips tried to rise up and he used his forearm to shut me down.
I whimpered, frustrated but so, so turned on.
His tongue speared my wet hole and then his fingers slid back home, filling me and nudging me into a slow sweet orgasm that took all the noise from my throat and all the air from my lungs.
Shepherd stood, eyes glazed and darker than I’d ever seen them. The low ethereal light from his sconces backlit the bits of silver in his beard and his hair. He licked his lips and I reached for him.
He took a step back. ‘Don’t move.’
He unbuttoned his jeans and shucked his dark boxer briefs. His cock was big. I don’t know why that surprised me. He was big. All over. Easily six foot six, two hundred and thirty pounds, give or take.
Surely he could palm a basketball or someone’s skull if he was in the cage. And yet, I was still surprised at the size of him. The length and the girth. When he took himself in hand and stroked, my whole body rippled with desire. I became kinetic.
He toed off his socks and opened a door in the sideboard and pulled out his wallet. I watched him rip the foil packet and roll the condom on and all the time, his fingers on his own flesh was a mesmerising sight to me.
I spread my legs, baring my sex for him as he advanced – shameless, needy, restless, like I might die if he didn’t touch me.
‘Stop moving,’ he said.
I froze. It took all of my energy to keep myself still as he traced my labia with his warm fingers. He tested me then, thrusting deep, my pussy so wet we both heard the accepting noise it made when he fingered me.
My cheeks flared hot but I kept my gaze steady.
Shepherd pushed the head of his cock to my slit and gripped my hips. ‘Do you want this?’
‘I want this.’
‘It’s not too soon?’ he asked, looking both aggressive and sincerely concerned.
‘I’m learning there’s no such thing as too soon.’ I let my legs fall open just a bit more and he made a noise deep in his chest.
Shepherd didn’t drive into me. He inched into me. Slowly. The rough pad of his thumb pressed my clit as he slid home and I watched him. How his stomach muscles flexed and his biceps moved and his jaw clenched tight. He gripped my breast with his right hand and lightly plucked the nipple until it stood up straight. Then he bent his bulk over me and took the nub in between his sweetly sharp teeth and nipped me.
When I gasped and moved he slid all the way in, forcing his cock deep into my body. Making my cunt adjust and grip up around him. We froze that way, sprawled over the wooden table – face to face. His breath hot on my face, his hands rough on my skin.
‘Move,’ I whispered. ‘Oh God, Shepherd, please move.’
He started to rock into me. Languid even thrusts that inched me across the table top until he gripped me tight and held me still. I couldn’t remember being that boldly honest before. Not naked, not face to face, not fucking.
I had needed him to move, to quench the need inside of me, and I had asked for it in a raw and honest voice. It startled me.
His thumb pressed and rolled, spreading my own fluids over the hard knot of my clit. Shepherd drove deep, watching me as I watched him. His hips pistoning so the small cut muscles along his flanks stood out and danced.
He grabbed my ankles, bringing them up to rest on his shoulders before returning his thumb to rub me some more. I arched up some, using his broad shoulders for leverage and he never batted an eye. His cock slammed my G-spot repeatedly, brushing all the sweet spots along the way and he gave me one final press and rub and I was coming, trying so hard not to drum my ankles against his skin.
He didn’t care. ‘You ripple when you come. Like tight warm water on my cock.’ He laughed softly when he said it and then pulled free. Offering me a hand he said, ‘Up.’
I stood, holding his hand – and glad I was, because my knees felt weak and watery.
He turned me, bending me over the table, spread between our still present placemats: my body lying down the centre between the two colourful swatches of fabric. Shepherd kneed my legs apart a bit more and then leaned over me again. Placing my left wrist as far as it would go and then my right. ‘Grip the table,’ he said and I did. I curled my fingers around the rough wood and realised I was panting.
I was terrified, mortified and entirely turned on. I was being studied like some girl-specimen and normally that would make me run. For whatever reason, with Shepherd, it made me stay just as he’d placed me. I could feel his eyes on me and my heartbeat sped up to the point of dizziness.
Fingers pushed into me and thrust in and out so that I could hear the soaking wet evidence of my want between my thighs. He drove a finger gently but effortlessly into my ass and I bucked then. Not from pain, from surprise.
I pressed my face to the wood and waited to see what he would do to me. What I would let him do to me. The thought of that cock of his trying to fit into me there was enough to make my stomach buzz with anxiety. The realisation that I would let him try was enough to send an army of goose bumps marching up my spine.