Forbidden Fruit (Shannon Cheney) - By Ann Aguirre Page 0,26
the bed. I bounce once, then he’s on top of me. The sudden shock of his heat and weight on me spikes my urgency, and he feels it. I dig my hands into his back as his lips claim mine. It’s a sirocco of a kiss, all heat and irresistible power. He tastes of lime and I, of mint, so our kisses are like mojitos, savored again and again. When he comes up for air, he studies my swollen mouth…and smiles.
“Here’s how it’s gonna be, Shan. You’re gonna take every stroke, one for every time you teased me, each time I went home hungry.”
“Please,” I whisper.
“And I’m going to make you come until you beg me to stop.”
“Won’t happen.” I manage a hint of bravado. “But you’re welcome to try.”
He’s wild with me, just like I knew he could be. There’s no gentleness at the moment, no good manners. Jesse pulls my panties off and then his own briefs. From his night table, he grabs a condom, and though I’d like to put it on him, he tugs my hands away. Tonight, this is definitely his show. I shiver, hard. For good measure, he lifts my arms above my head.
“Lace your fingers together and don’t let go.”
“I’m not allowed to touch you?”
“I told you how it would be…this time.”
Which tells me he’s open to other things, later, but this must be a fantasy of his, one he’s been afraid to explore with anyone else. So I lock my hands and nod. I think he’ll just take me because we’re both so damn hot, but instead he whispers with his fingertips, gliding, stroking, until I arch up off the bed.
“You want me so bad.”
“Fuck, yes.”
“You’re so pretty and slick. Later, I’ll lick you, right here.” A graze of his fingertips drags a moan from me.
“I’ll enjoy that,” I gasp.
I’m panting, but I don’t beg. Need will surely overwhelm him soon. We’ve been fighting this for weeks.
“You know how many nights I yanked my cock, thinking of you?”
“Tell me.”
Instead, he nuzzles and bites a path down my throat, over my breasts, past my belly and onto my thighs. Yeah, he likes using his teeth. When we’ve been together longer, I can see him wanting to leave marks. God, he’s so close; I can feel the heat of his mouth swirling over my hip. My whole body’s trembling now.
“It can’t be more often than I did,” I whisper in an attempt to break him.
And…it works. His control snaps.
Jesse finally fills me in a long, hard thrust. It’s all I can do not to grab on to him, but the restriction on my movement heightens the heat and tension. I can only work my lower body beneath him, so I wrap my legs around his hips. That makes him growl and push faster. Since he was on the edge earlier, I don’t know how he can keep this up. Then he cheats like a bastard and opens himself to me. His lust hammers through me, along with chaotic impressions of how good this is: so much, more, faster, take, take, claim. My nails bite into my palms as I come.
And Jesse keeps his promise, somehow. The pleasure loops between us, and I swear he gets off too, but he doesn’t soften. He pushes, grinds, until I’m weak and shivering when he arches into me the last time, his teeth sinking into my shoulder. The pain sparks a soft, weak orgasm, just exhausted flutters. That’s the sign for me to unlace my hands and wrap my arms around him, stroke his back. I’d hold him like this forever, only he rolls away to dispose of the sticky condom.
But he comes back. I hope he always does.
Eleven
Sunday morning with Jesse is a new kind of wonderful. We fix breakfast together and then turn on the sports channel. You wouldn’t guess it, but I enjoy watching men celebrate their penises by knocking each other down and tossing things at each other. So I snuggle up with Jesse happily, wearing a white dress shirt that belongs to him instead of the pajamas he made me take off the night before.
Later, I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth when he comes in. He steps up behind me, wraps his arms about my waist and nuzzles my neck. I spit, drop my toothbrush in the sink, and turn into his embrace. Jesse lifts me up and carries me back to bed. We stay there for most of the day, and