Ellie

 

Jack was so dreamy.

 

He was beautiful, and tall, and strong, and he smelled sooo good. I loved watching his face when he laughed—he didn’t do that often enough. His smile was a mile wide, and his eyes sparkled, and his whole being just lit up. Standing next to him, dancing with him, sitting on his lap—apparently this was de rigeur for ‘old ladies’—a set to which I could now claim membership. Not sure how I felt about that, but the ladies in it were cool, so my first impression of the concept might have been wrong—all of this proximity to Jack had me more wet in my panties than I had ever been in my life. It was all I could do not to jump his bones.

 

I blamed him. He had started it this morning, leaving me high and…not dry at the coffeemaker. Then all throughout the ceremony, when I was so nervous, he held my hand and smiled at me, looking appreciative and strong and so handsome. And that kiss! And then he carried me down the aisle! I mean, come on. All night, I just wanted to crawl all over him, suck on his lips and tongue, kiss and breathe in his neck, touch him all over…. It was ridiculous. I was ridiculous.

 

By some unknowable holy power, I had managed to restrain myself from acting on any of my baser instincts. I was doing my best to respect the lines we had drawn in the sand regarding the marriage contract and the no-more-sex-ever clause.

 

I had darned well better be earning top points in karma for all of my incredibly difficult work on this Herculean task. And those points, I decided, would all be put into Peter’s health box. It would all be worth it, for Peter.

 

Speaking of, Peter was being treated to a night of best-ever babysitting and extreme mama love from all of the old ladies who were mommies themselves.

 

Lena—who was partnered with Shooter, a veteran badass who had a prosthetic leg and a fiercely awesome sense of humor—had brought along her family’s favorite babysitter, Nell, to oversee all the loving, and to protect my little one from any overzealous handling. She guarded him while he slept, and kept him company in an upstairs room far enough away from the party to keep him safe and sound.

 

The mommies in the house were taking turns going up there, loving the opportunity to cuddle with my little bean, and they reassured me over and over again that I was not to worry about him until I was sober.

 

That meant that I could get my drink on and have a real night out, enjoy the party and all that went with it, and know that my baby boy was in fabulously loving hands. I hadn’t felt this free since…I don’t even know when. Maybe the night that Peter was conceived. Huh. That was significant, but I couldn’t really pinpoint exactly why, in my current state of semi-inebriation.

 

I wasn’t drunk. But I was certainly buzzed, and feeling high on life. I felt amazing: happy, light, and …around Jack? Jack was making me feel beautiful. Damn, I wanted to kiss that man.

 

# # #

 

As a wedding gift and to welcome me to the club, they had all pitched in to get me my very own kutte to match Jack’s, who they all called Jack-o—I still did not know why. It was a minor point, I figured, even though I now had a black leather road vest that read, “Property of Jack-o” on the back. Seeing as it was given to me with the expectation that I would be moved and honored and actually thrilled by such an appellation, I had smiled at all of them, and looked quizzically at Jack when I tried it on.

 

He started laughing so hard he almost squirted beer out his nose.

 

I decided now was probably not the best time for us to have a little come-to-Jesus about this patriarchal macho crap that the MC was apparently all about. Still, I said my thank yous to everybody with a genuine smile at their obvious intention of generosity and welcome. After all, they had rolled out quite the red carpet for me. I was deeply moved, and grateful. I wore the vest the rest of the night, right over the bridal gown. And—truth, here—I started to love the feel of it on me.

 

At some point in the night, after several hours of great times, Jack looked at me with some level of determination in his eyes, and indicated that it was time for us to begin saying our thanks and goodnights.

 

He made quick work of it, actually—just lifted his chin and called out a general, “Iron Bandits,” raised his fist in the air for a second or two, then grabbed my hand and pulled me behind him toward his bike.

 

I didn’t even get a chance to say goodnight to Peter—or anyone else, for that matter—but since I was less-than-sober, he probably wasn’t missing out on much.

 

Considering the near-full length of the mermaid-style silk hugging my legs, Jack deposited me on the back of his bike side-saddle style, lifting the bottom of the skirt so it wouldn’t get caught in anything and stuffing it between my thighs and the seat. Then he climbed on in front of me, grunted, “Hold on to me tight, babe,” and we were off.

 

This was new to me, and all I could think about during that ride was that there was nothing like feeling the air and the freedom of the road from the back of a bike, in a wedding gown and a kutte, with the hottest man in the world attached to my front side. My cheek pressed against his back, and I could not have stopped the smile that took over my face, even if someone had offered me a million bucks.

 

When we arrived back at his place—officially, for now, our place—we were both quiet in our thoughts. I was suddenly feeling shy again, not sure of what happened next. I guessed we might just separate into our two bedrooms, and call it a night.

 

But that didn’t feel right. Tonight was a big night. It meant something. And I didn’t want to say goodnight, not yet.

 

We were still standing out by the bike, just facing each other for a minute, and I spontaneously put my hands on either side of his neck and pulled his face down to mine, intending just to kiss his lips, in acknowledgement of the moment—well, that seemed as good an excuse as any.

 

He let me, and for several seconds it was a sweet, light, gentle kiss.

 

Then he groaned.

 

And we both immediately opened our mouths, our tongues came out lashing, and we were suddenly in a mad clasp of need and desire.

 

He tasted like whiskey and beer and heaven. His arms pulled me tight to his body so I could feel his hardness press against my belly. I grasped his hair and the back of his neck, trying to crawl up him for a better angle—the man was tall!

 

He read my need, and swung me up in his arms again, not even breaking the kiss. I don’t think I would have let him, had he tried. The next thing I knew, he had brought me inside and to his bedroom and set me down by the bed. It was then that he broke our delicious tongue-play.

 

“Are you okay…”

 

I smirked at him, dropped my new kutte to the floor, loosened the gown by the side zipper, and shimmied it down my body. I was left in a beautiful panty-and-bra set of white lace, and a kick-ass pair of white cowboy boots that Lena had lent me.

 

His jaw dropped, his pupils dilated, and he said, “Fuuuck.”

 

I took it as a compliment.

 

His hands roamed my body, from my collarbones down my arms to my hands, from my waist up to my breasts. I took the opportunity to peel his kutte off as well, and to unbutton his dress shirt and divest him of it. He spent some time appreciating my breasts and nipples through my bra; I spent some time tasting his neck, his chest, whatever I could reach.

 

He pulled himself away from me a few inches and unclasped my bra, peeled it off of me, and tossed it aside. Then with a growl he grasped my ass in both hands and dove for a nipple, sucking and nipping it, pinching and twisting the other for fair play. I gasped and writhed and threw my head back, wanting more.

 

“Tell me what you need,” he said.

 

“More. I need more, Jack.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Everything.”

 

The conversation brought me back to some level of consciousness, and I put my hands to work undoing his belt buckle and button-fly. Finally I got them open, and pushed both his jeans and boxers down over his hips, feeling the definition of his abs and that incredibly sexy V as I went. He allowed it for a minute, then took over again, lifting and lowering me onto the bed so he could rid himself of the last of his clothes, me of my boots, and he joined me on the bed. I watched, appreciative of the show, then as soon as he was about to settle himself on top of me I pushed him over and straddled his middle.

 

He grinned a little and raised an eyebrow. “You want something specific, Ellie?”

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

“Show me.”

 

I did.

 

I slid down his body, leading with my hands and following with my mouth, from his pecs to his nipples, giving them a fair amount of attention. He groaned, so I figured he liked that. His hands were still full with my breasts, which I liked.

 

Eventually I remembered to move along, sinking further down across his eight-pack—eight-pack!—to his belly button, to that phenomenal V of muscles on either side, and trailing my fingers through the sexy line of soft hairs that led to the glory that was his amazing, beautiful cock. He stood at full mast, long and thick, and if I hadn’t already had him inside of me once before, I would have begun to worry.

 

As it was, I knew I could take him, and I marveled at the phenomenon that was his entire body. I was practically giddy, but also too turned on to lose track of my goal.

 

I wanted to taste him. I wanted to explore the feel of him with my tongue and mouth and hands. I wanted to know what made him groan, or grunt, or push for more.

 

I wrapped my hand around his base as well as I could and pulled up to the head, watching his face as I did so. His eyes were closed and he tipped his head back. “Yeah. More.”

 

I happily complied. Rolling my thumb across the slit at the top of his cock, I spread the drop of pre-cum around, then rolled my hand back down to the base. My mouth finally descended and I licked the slit, then used the tip and the flat of my tongue to play with the head, explore the soft, silky texture of his skin, taste his cum, feel his size with my mouth.

 

He pushed his hips up, signaling me to accept more of him in my mouth, and I obliged. I took as much as I could, sucking and lathing, and he groaned his approval. There was no way I was going to be able to fit all of him in my mouth, so I kept my hands busy with the lower part of his shaft and played gently with his balls as well. He put a hand into my hair and pumped himself up and down with his hips while I worked him as best I could.

 

I could feel myself dripping down my thighs—he tasted amazing. I was in pure response mode. I hummed my own pleasure, and I could sense him re-adjusting a pillow behind his head. I peeked up, and sure enough, he was watching me work him over, his face fierce with desire, lips apart, lids lowered.

 

“Fuck, Ellie, yeah, baby.”

 

I smiled briefly and continued my attentions. By this time, I also had one hand down in my own panties. I don’t know when it got there, but he noticed.

 

He did a half sit-up, reached down to my side, and pulled my lower half until I had turned direction and he had my pussy over his face. “Fuck. I love your scent.”

 

Then he ripped my panties! Right off my body! And—praise God and all that exists—he suckled my clit. I threw my head back and gasped.

 

After a moment, he chuckled. “Focus, babe. Keep going.”

 

Oh, yeah. I had a toy, too.

 

We went at each other for…I had no idea for how long. It was amazing. It was the best thing outside of normal intercourse I had ever experienced. I had my mouth and senses filled with him, he had his with me. Our combined scents and groans and whimpers filled the air. My nerve center in his mouth was shooting off sparks that filled my whole body, and having his gorgeous cock to suck on only intensified the pleasure.

 

I could feel my body writhing on top of his. I clasped his legs with both hands over my head, bracing myself above him, rising and falling and sucking with my mouth, as his suckled and nipped and swathed my clit and my lower lips, his fingers busy exploring and pumping in and out of my pussy, and suddenly I was on the edge.

 

He intensified his actions even more, somehow, and that was it.

 

I released his cock and threw my head back. I couldn’t refrain from keening and bucking.

 

Then the whole cosmos exploded.

 

He flipped me over onto my back and was on top of me in seconds, allowing me to relax and drift back down in my time. He used it to reacquaint his mouth with my breasts and nipples again, his hands down at my ass and hips, massaging my softness.

 

Damn, that felt good. I drifted back to myself, and when I opened my eyes, I found Jack’s lasers on my face, watching, waiting. He hadn’t come yet, and his intensity was fierce, but he was showing extreme patience.

 

He licked his lips. “More, baby.”

 

“Yeah.” I breathed.

 

He reached over to his bedside table, slipped open the drawer, pulled out a foil square. He made quick work of putting on the glove, and came right back to where I lay. I hadn’t moved a muscle yet, so he resumed his place between my thighs.

 

He stayed on his knees, sat back on his heels, and urged me up. Once there, I propped my arms on top of his shoulders and he guided me down onto his big cock. My juices were running freely, and he eased in slowly, allowing us both fully to feel our joining. Our eyes were locked, our breaths shared, our skin slick with combined perspiration, our scents swirled together.

 

His length and thickness filled me more than any man I’d ever been with, and the initial penetration was a slow process. I loved the feel of him, and it took all my focus for long moments. By the time he finally got in as far as he could go, my head had fallen back again and I mewled. It just felt so incredible.

 

He gave me that moment, then growled, “Move, Ellie.” He wouldn’t let me back down.

 

I lifted my head again and got my legs and hips to work, sliding back up, feeling every inch as he came out slowly, then reversed direction just before we would have disengaged. I refused to go fast, just enjoying the sensation of his big cock losing and then taking up every bit of space inside of me. Our pelvises worked in tandem, and we both turned our eyes down to watch the progress—pumping, taking, merging—over and over again.

 

My breath began to hitch again as my nerves started to wind up. Sounds were escaping me, but I couldn’t control them. He started to go faster, his greater strength guiding my body up and down on his. By this time, my eyes were locked back onto his, my entire being focused on sensation.

 

The position eventually proved unsatisfactory to him, and once again he flipped us to a new one: this time, he was on his back and I was riding him, hard. I braced my hands on his chest, and my breasts were bouncing with every motion, but I couldn’t get enough. He brought a thumb to my clit and pressed it in circles, and I about lost my mind…but not quite enough, yet.

 

“More,” I nearly begged.

 

“Lean back, put your hands on my legs.”

 

Oh. This was new to me. I tried it.

 

Wow.

 

I had a harder time controlling the movement, but Jack must have known this would be the case. He did more of the work now, holding me steady, pumping hard. I could feel him in places I didn’t know were possible—was this that G spot everyone talked about?—and I just wanted it to go on and on and on…

 

I started to really need to come again.

 

“Ja—! Uhn—uhn—hn, Ja—” I couldn’t even say his name.

 

“Come on, baby, get there.”

 

I think I cried out helplessly, needfully. The position was amazing, but my arms were not wanting to support me any longer and I was struggling.

 

“I got you, baby. Hold on.”

 

And he flipped us again. This time, doggie style. I just about cried with relief, collapsing my upper body onto the bed and raising my ass to welcome him in from behind.

 

“Oh, yeah, Ellie. Gorgeous.”

 

He found his way inside again easily, holding my hips in his big hands, and with a more firm sense of control over our motions and the pumping action, he quickly brought me back to the edge of oblivion. He was driving fast and hard, grunting. I was gasping and mewling and desperate for release. Then he gave my clit his fingers again, and that was it.

 

I was gone into the sea of stars and nirvana.

 

As if from far away, I felt him drive only a few times more, and heard his final roar of release. Then he, too, collapsed, his arms on either side of me, his body stretched on top of my back.

 

It took us both several long moments to come back, and when we did, he rolled us both together onto our sides, so that he didn’t have to disengage immediately, but he was no longer putting all his weight on me.

 

After some time had passed, and we were both breathing evenly again, he whispered, “Don’t move” in my ear, disengaged from me, and got up briefly to get rid of the condom.

 

When he came back, he had brought a damp washcloth to clean me up. I don’t know where he picked up that idea, because in my experience, men only did that in romance novels. But he really did that. Could he get any better?

 

Apparently, yes. He climbed back into bed and re-spooned me. We just breathed, for several beautiful, long minutes.

 

And as I drifted off to sleep, I thought, in the back of my mind, that maybe this could be a real marriage. Maybe we were meant to be. Maybe he was my One.

 

When I woke up the next morning, he wasn’t there. But he had left a note on the pillow, and I smiled as I unfolded it, thinking it sweet of him not to wake me when he had to get up early.

 

Then I read the note.

 

Sorry. It won’t happen again. Promise. – J.