Never Let Go: A Collection of Sensual Short Stories Page 3

  “Don’t stop now, baby. Suck me off.” The edge of the demand was softened by his breathlessness. His obvious need. “You don’t know how much I wish the fucking lights would come on right now.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d still want her then. Or if some magic switch would click and he’d suddenly look at her with cool disdain again. But before she could dwell on the thought, his hand was on the back of her head, directing her back to him gently.

  “Fuck yeah. Just the idea of your lips stretched around my fat dick is almost enough to make me come. Hell, that image has gotten me off more times than I can count.”

  “You’ve never seen me like this.” She licked the tip of his cock, tasting salty pre-ejaculate.

  He let out a low moan. “No. But I’ve imagined it. Stroking myself in the shower, I picture you. Sucking me off. Bent over. Every other goddamn position and perversion I can think of. Fuck, baby, I always see your face when I come.”

  Need sent a jolt between her legs. And she was suddenly sucking him hungrily, taking him farther and farther into her throat until she was no longer the one controlling the motion. Hips thrusting, he was helping her, taking her, fucking her mouth.

  Then he was coming. Shooting hot seed into her throat. Crying out her name.

  She swallowed and sucked and pulled every bit of pleasure she could from him. He shuddered one last time and she released him gently, then leaned into him, resting her head against his hip.

  Instead of pulling her to her feet, he slid down to join her on the floor of the shower. As if she would break if he were too rough, he tucked her into his arms with such care that a lump formed in her throat and she blinked back sudden tears.

  “That was amazing,” he murmured into her wet hair.

  “Are you cold?” she asked, now that he was barely getting any of the shower’s spray suddenly hitting her. She tried to get up but he held her firm.

  “Nope.” One arm still wrapped around her, holding her close, he moved the other between them. He massaged her breast, and she gasped, mouth open against his throat.

  “Still need to take care of you.”

  “I think you took care of me enough in the living room,” she managed, but her body was so achy and tight, she couldn’t keep the need out of her voice.

  “Are you saying sucking me off didn’t turn you on?” His hand slid down from her breast to slide between her legs. There was just enough room for his hand between her sex and the tiled floor where she’d collapsed on her knees.

  His rough finger caressed her clit briefly before sliding inside of her pussy.

  “Feels like it turned you on,” he said, voice rough and low. “I could fuck you right now and I’d slide right in, wouldn’t I?”

  A moan was her only response, but he seemed to understand her perfectly.

  Using only his hand, he rubbed and pinched and penetrated her. Touching her just long enough in one way for her to get close to the edge before he changed his pace, the way he touched her. She squirmed against him, wanted to move, needing to eliminate the pressure building in her body. Pressure that he wasn’t alleviating fast enough. But he held her firm, tucked against his body as if they were only cuddling as she moaned.

  “Come for me again, baby.” He slid two fingers inside of her and rubbed her clit relentlessly with his thumb.

  Crying out almost soundlessly, she broke.

  He held her against him, stroking every last aftershock from her body, taking her to new heights. When she came back down, he kissed her forehead softly.

  This is too perfect.

  The thought startled her and she sucked in a quick breath.

  Tenderly, he tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong?”

  The darkness that seemed to give them the honesty to admit their attraction let the words slip out. “I’m afraid this will be over the second the lights come back on.”

  He didn’t mock her like he might have once. “Me too.”

  For some reason, the fact that he was scared too stifled some of her own fear. She kissed his lips softly.

  Cupping her face in his hands, he deepened the kiss until she couldn’t seem to get enough air. Her breasts were heavy and her pussy ached. How could she want again him already? The man was going to turn her into a sex addict.

  “You think you can take me again tonight?” he murmured against her lips.

  At least he wasn’t delusional about his size. She’d be sore—she was already sore—but she wanted him so badly that she didn’t care. “Awfully impressed with ourselves, aren’t we?”

  A soft laugh. “I think you’re impressed, too.”

  “You wish, fratboy.”

  His body shook with laughter and soon she couldn’t help joining him. After their laughter faded, he tipped her chin up so she would be looking at him if she could see farther than her nose.

  “You know I wasn’t actually a fratboy, right?”

  “You totally should have been. You have that preppy vibe. I think it’s the fact that your clothes all look ironed.”

  “It’s shocking you know what ironed clothes look like. I’m fairly certain you don’t even own an iron.”

  “Only fratboys own irons,” she said, voice serious. She couldn’t keep a straight face while saying it, but at least in the dark he couldn’t see her spoiling her own joke. “Besides, clothes look better wrinkled.”

  “Just on you,” he said, tenderly. “You think there’s any food in this place?”

  She laughed—probably inappropriately long and hard—at the comment, and he helped her stand while she was still snickering to herself.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You and food. It never fails.”

  “What can I say, you whet my appetite. Must be all this ironing talk.”

  A smile touched his lips when they pressed against hers for a quick kiss, and a slight thrill ran through her at the touch. A small part of her had wondered if his affection would disappear entirely after they had sex, let alone after she gave him a blowjob.

  “Stacy’s dad was up here a couple of days ago, I think. He usually keeps the fridge stocked this time of year. If the power doesn’t come on soon, it’ll all go bad anyway,” she said.

  They felt around the walls of the bathroom until he triumphantly announced he’d found a towel. After a quick scuffle over the towel, he helped got her dry before drying himself. Then they stumbled back into the living room.

  They dressed as quickly as they could, given the darkness. And then Bryan was whipping them up turkey sandwiches in the kitchen. At least, it tasted like turkey. It was hard to tell in the moonlight.

  Carrie was halfway through hers in no time flat, thankful that the darkness hid the fact that she was practically shoving the food down her throat. Great sex apparently made for a hefty appetite for her, too.

  “You should let me take you out for a real dinner. After we get out of this blizzard, I mean.”

  She swallowed the large chunk of sandwich that had formed a rock in her throat. “I don’t want you to feel obligated—”

  “I don’t. I…I just want to take you out.”

  The hesitancy in his voice was almost startling. Bryan didn’t hesitate. Never. The man was always so sure of himself. So certain he was right.

  “Look, maybe we shouldn’t try to make this more than it is.” An ache settled into her chest as she spoke, but she didn’t want to go out with someone she could hardly get along with simply because they meshed well—scratch that, amazingly well—in bed.

  “I don’t know if it’s the darkness, or the sex, or the fact that we’re alone for the first time. But I’m feeling very…honest, Carrie. Like I need to get this out there.” He stepped closer and slid his hand down her upper arm until he reached her hand. He took her hand in his, holding her gently. “I think you’re a hell of a girl, even if we don’t always agree on things. You’re bullheaded and you get under my skin in a way no one ever has. But you’r
e also warm and laid back and fun and…maybe I could learn to be a little more fun myself.”

  The risk of embarrassing herself suddenly seemed minor compared to how scary it had to be for him to put himself out there like that. And her face burned at the compliments and his tender tone. She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips.

  The lights flickered on, bathing them and revealing them both with suddenly clarity.

  He blinked, his face as open as she’d ever seen, but his stunning blue eyes never left hers. It was the resolve there that pushed her through, cleared her hesitant feelings and worries. He was telling the truth. And if he could take that kind of a risk on her, why couldn’t she be brave enough to do the same?

  “Dinner,” she said, “would be wonderful.”

  Against the Wall

  When she sees red and blue lights flashing in her rearview mirror, Michelle Thomas fears her day is ruined. Sexy Officer Drake lets her go with a warning, but when she runs into him at a bar later that day, it feels a little like fate.

  Michelle isn’t interested in fate. She has two weeks until she starts grad school so she’s looking for one thing: fun. A no-holds-barred good time. What she doesn’t want is a relationship—that’s a distraction she can’t afford.

  Officer David Drake has never met a woman as sexually adventurous as he is, and when he senses a kindred spirit in Michelle, he isn’t willing to let her go easily. Especially when she proves to be feisty and smart. But will she decide the officer is worth risking her future plans?

  Against the Wall is an erotic romance novelette. It is not intended for young readers due to mature content. Adults only.

  Chapter 1

  Great. Just flipping wonderful. Could her night get any better?

  Michelle Thomas eyed the flashing red and blue lights in her rearview mirror and carefully pulled off to the side of the road. It took all the self-control she could muster and a few deep breaths not to smack the steering wheel to vent some frustration while the motorcycle cop took his sweet time approaching the window of her little Honda. With her luck, she’d hit the horn and he’d take her to jail for being a jerk.

  Tonight just sucked. Not only had her ex-boyfriend Gavin shown up at her apartment—something she was on the edge of getting a restraining order to prevent in the future—but Kristy had called and changed their night out from a club near her house to some dive bar across town. At least, she assumed it was a dive bar. What other kind of bar could it be with a name like Tom’s Tavern?

  Now, not only had Gavin once again creeped her out, she couldn’t even properly drown her sorrows. She’d have to take an expensive cab home if she did. Although the price of a cab might be worth it after her week from hell.

  The cop tapping on her window wasn’t likely to give a crap about any of that. And she wouldn’t to grovel to avoid a ticket—that would just add insult to injury at this point. Begging out of a ticket had never worked for her anyway.

  “Can I help you?” she said in a sickly sweet fake voice.

  “License, registration and proof of insurance, please,” he said in a deep baritone, words so practiced he sounded bored. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

  Yeah, right. Like she was going to offer up ideas and get herself who-knew-how-many tickets. “You had nothing better to do?”

  “I clocked you at seventeen miles per hour over the speed limit.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Excuse me?” He leaned toward her window and pushed down his sunglasses. She caught a glimpse of a strong jaw and blue eyes against a dark head of hair that was mussed from his motorcycle helmet.

  “I said, of course you did. Because that’s just how shitty my day is going.” She knew she shouldn’t mouth off, but she just couldn’t seem to stop the flow of words. Something inside of her had hit a boiling point. “Figures I’d get pulled over, too.”

  Was it her imagination or did his mouth twitch just a bit at her comment?

  “Well, your day is going to get even worse if you don’t find your license, registration and proof of insurance.”

  She cursed under her breath and fished through her glove compartment. Three expired proofs of insurance later, she found the correct one. But her registration proved elusive. She handed him what she had and then peeked out the window.

  “I have my registration from”—she scanned the date—”two years ago.”

  “I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the car while I check these.”

  Just her luck. Could the night get any worse?

  She exited the vehicle and then watched the police officer walk back to his motorcycle. The flashing lights to warn oncoming traffic of the potential hazard did nothing to distract her from the tight ass of the man walking away from her, nor from the powerful width of his shoulders. He was tall—over six feet. And built. The officer knew his way around a gym.

  She resisted the urge to lean back against her car while she waited for him to check her information. Dirt coated its surface from the last rainstorm. Washing it this week just hadn’t seemed important. She’d spent the week avoiding Gavin and doing what she could to enjoy her last summer of freedom.

  Two weeks until she started graduate school. Until then, her only responsibilities were entertaining herself and showing up somewhat on time for her part-time barista job that was less than a hop, skip and a jump from her new apartment just off campus. Most of the summer had disappeared far too quickly, sucked away by Gavin and his dramatics.

  What remained would be her one taste of real freedom from the constant stress of classes since she’d started college. Whoever thought you could graduate in four years without summer classes hadn’t double majored. But now she was done—free. For the first time in her twenty-three years. No parents to see on a daily basis. No classes to attend. No boyfriend to worry over or spend time with.

  “Are you aware that your copy of the registration is expired?” His gravelly tone sounded neither sympathetic nor annoyed. He could have been talking about the weather, for crying out loud. She was sick of this. This was her two weeks. Her time. This guy wasn’t taking any more of it, no matter how well his uniform fit and how freaking stunning his features were behind his dark Aviator sunglasses.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” she said. His jaw ticked, and her bravery faltered. “Look at my plates. There’s a sticker there.”

  “Those can be stolen.”

  “Doesn’t your system tell you that my plates are fine?” she bit out, taking a step toward him. She was so sick of bullies. This man wasn’t bullying her, too. Cop or no.

  “Yes.” Was it just her imagination or did a glimmer of amusement touch his lips?

  Her jaw dropped and she poked at his chest without thinking. “Then why are you hassling me?”

  “Have had anything to drink or taken any drugs today, Miss Thomas?”

  “What? Of all the stupid—”

  “Turn around and put your hands on the car.”

  “Bite me.” Half her mind screaming she was being an idiot, but the other refusing to bow down to this guy, she poked at his chest again. Or tried to.

  He grabbed her wrist, his grip hard but not painful. She gasped in surprise and he released her. “I said turn around.”

  Of all the humiliating days. What was next? She wouldn’t be surprised if a hole in the universe opened to suck her into an alternate dimension where she was still in high school on her way home, spitting her out naked in front of the class.

  “Are you carrying any weapons? Anything sharp in your pockets?”

  In the pockets of the pocket-less form-fitting dress she wore? It fit her like a second skin. Was he kidding?

  “Where do you think I’d hide—” She sighed, exasperated. “No. I’m not hiding any weapons or sharp things in my tight-ass dress.”

  Her breath caught at the soft touch of his hands on her sides, and he hesitated. As if some shock passed between them, she was suddenly very aware of his body behind her.
How his size made her feel small. And the busyness of the traffic rolling behind them. Her breast felt heavy, and her stomach tight. Jesus. What the hell was wrong with her? Since when did getting frisked turn her on?

  Then again, she’d never been frisked before.

  After a brief pause, he moved his hands over her body quickly. A brush of fingers against her sides and along her spine. When he slid his hands up the back of her neck under her hair, she had to bite her lip to avoid another hiss of air that would too easily draw attention to her strange, unwanted feelings.

  “All right, you can turn back around.” She was almost disappointed at the swift, professional search. Not that she wanted the guy to grope her. How unprofessional and gross would that be—a man so obviously abusing his power? But the thought of it made her squirm, and not with disgust.

  Suddenly she wondered what it could have been like if he’d pulled her over on a dark country road instead of a busy highway, where someone could come by but weren’t likely to. It was as if she could feel his hand—rough, they’d definitely be a little rough—sliding up her bare legs. He’d explain that he hand to make sure she wasn’t carrying any weapons or drugs. But his voice would be heavy with need. His hands would slip under her skirt, brush up against her damp g-string and—

  “Are you stoned, Miss Thomas?”

  His gaze was locked on her, and she could practically see the gears turning in his mind while he evaluated what he saw. God, she’d been staring off in the distance, living in her little fantasy. No wonder he thought she was on drugs.

  “What? Of course not. I don’t do drugs.” She blinked, face flushing with heat from the fantasy. The man’s blue eyes narrowed, and for a moment she felt naked. Like he could look into her eyes and discover her thoughts. She looked down and stared intently at a deep scuff mark on the toe of his boot.

  “Do you have any drugs in the car, Miss Thomas?”

  Dammit. She probably looked guilty as hell. He must think her an embarrassed druggie. And she felt a little embarrassed too, but it certainly wasn’t because of drugs.