Aedan
To say I’ve been with a few women in my life would be a damn understatement, it’s true, but when I look at Livia, leaning against the glass and smiling at me with those begging-to-be-kissed lips, I know for a fact being with her would make the others seem like nothing. Here’s a real lady, glamorous and sexy, with her hair falling playfully around her shoulders and her long legs making my mind crazy thinking about where they end. She gives me her address, a fancy place in a fancy neighborhood, and I drive her there. When she tells me she doesn’t live with her Mom, I’m so glad I almost honk the horn.
The women before, let’s face it…they were just a way for me to try and fill a hole which can only ever be filled with my parents approval—Dad’s, now that Mom’s dead. That’s the truth, but I’d never say it aloud. Just a pathetic attempt to try and feel something in between jobs, to try and pretend I’m a person, all that shit.
But right now, the heat of Livia’s lust rising like perfume in the air, it’s nothing to do with that. It’s lust, plain and simple. I want the taste of her cunt on my tongue, I want to feel the warmth of it. I want to look into her eyes and see the shock and pleasure as I fill her up with my huge cock. We’re going to fuck like crazy, I think. Like fucking crazy.
The women I usually fuck are Irish and pale, and whilst there’s nothing wrong with this, being so close to an obviously willing woman whose skin is creamy, with cute dimples, and perfect bronze legs, is driving me mad.
I screech to a halt outside her apartment building and jump out of the car so quick I almost slam my head into the roof. I laugh at myself, and then go around to Livia’s side and open the door for her. She thrusts her handbag into my hand, and dammit if that in itself isn’t hot, like she’s a little madam, a real princess, and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to slide the golden slipper on her foot, and then just keep sliding my hand all the way up her leg.
I help her to her feet, and then she takes the handbag from me.
“Are you coming up?” she says, her eyes hungry, a look I know well, only with her the hunger is matched in my own eyes.
We can barely refrain from touching each other as we go into the hallway, a carpeted, well-lit room with a security guard. Livia swipes her card through and we step into an elevator. As it lurches up, she grips my arm, digging her nails in, and then turns and faces me. Her cheeks are red and her pupils are dilated and there’s an animal smell coming from her, only partially masked by her perfume, which tells me she wants to fuck.
The elevator stops, and then Livia glances at the buttons. “Wrong floor.” She jams another button. “I’m floor seven.”
She’s pressed number eight and nine, but not seven. I step around her and press the button for the seventh floor.
Is she too drunk? I wonder, and when that seed of doubt is planted, it’s damn hard to uproot.
“Are you alright?” I ask. “I mean, are you too drunk?”
“No!” she cries, stumbling into me. I have no choice but to catch her, and when our bodies press together, her breasts squashing against my chest, I forget about my question. She’s soft and yet taut, full and yet bouncy, with an ass that is perfectly captured in that beautiful fucking dress.
Finally, we arrive at her apartment. She hands me the keys and I unlock the door. The place is just as glitzy and glamorous as Livia herself, with silver faux-candles set in scones in the walls, trendy, modern furniture, and a mini-chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Livia walks over to the couch and throws herself down, and then does something that makes my cock so hard I’m sure it’s going to burst. She just opens her legs, wide, giving me a full view of her pink lace underwear, underwear which is tangled up near her pussy. I can see one lip, and her clit through the thin material, and before I know it I’m across the room and standing over her.
“Come here,” she says. “Come here, you sexy fucking dog. Come here and show me how fucking bad you really are.”
She opens are arms, beckoning me, and I fall atop her, propping my arms either side of her head. She presses her lips against mine, moaning through the kiss, and I return it just as hungrily. She moves her hands down my back, squeezing my muscles, digging her fingernails into my skin. I don’t give a damn. She can dig all day, all she wants. I move my hand down her front, and—man, fuck, these are beyond perfect—and grab her breast. I slide under her dress, her bra, and touch her nipple. It’s hard, harder than my cock, and when I stroke it, she shivers like there’s a wave moving through her. I press my cock into her groin and then—
She goes limp beneath me. I stop at once, stand up.
Her eyes are half-lidded and her body lolls. When I get off her, though, she bolts upright, eyes opening.
“Come here,” she says, but she’s shifting from side to side.
“I want it,” she goes on, and she pulls the front of her dress down. Her breasts spill free, two big, tight, bouncy, hard-nippled breasts which make my balls feel like they’re going to pop. I stare at them for a long time, but I can’t help but notice the way her eyes keep opening and closing, as though she’s a few seconds from sleep.
She stands up unsteadily and lurches at me. I catch her, and she slides her hand down my body, over my belly, and then grabs my cock. Pleasure surges through me, a voice in my brain screaming: She wants you! Take her! Fuck her! She rubs my cock up and down its entire length and then leans in and whispers into my ear: “I want you to do it hard, from behind. I want you to fuck me until I come all over you.” She giggles, as though embarrassed by her words, and then starts kissing my neck. I’m about to start going at it again when she slumps in my arms. I’m holding her up, I realize.
Dammit.
If I let her go, she’d fall.
Dammit.
And what kind of man would I be if I fucked a woman I had to hold up?
Damn. It!
Gently, I pry her hands away from me and lead her to an armchair, where I sit her down.
“What’re you doing?” she demands, panting, her breasts jiggling so seductively it takes every ounce of self-control not to kneel down and start sucking them, just suck and suck until she comes all over her panties and then lay her on her back, legs wide, and fucking pound her until—
Stop it, I tell myself. She’s drunk, man. She’s drunk.
“I’m taking you to bed,” I say, looking into her face, trying like hell to ignore her breasts.
“I know…”
“No, to bed.”
I grab her under the armpits, lift her to her feet, and walk her to the bedroom.
“Are you going?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re too drunk. I don’t want you doing anything you might regret in the morning.”
Tell that to my goddamn cock, though, I think. It’s still hard and begging to be touched, sucked, to feel the tightness and warmth of her pussy around it. But this is the right thing to do, and sometimes even killers have to do the right thing.
I take her to her bed and lay her on the silk sheets. Her eyes flutter as she struggles to stay awake. “Don’t you want it?” she moans, and her voice is so full of desire I almost lose it all over again.
“It’s not a question of if I want it,” I say. “I’m going to get you a bucket, just in case you need to puke, and some water, okay?”
I go into the kitchen, pour the water and find a bucket under the sink, and then return to the bedroom. Livia’s half sat up on the bed, propped up by cushions, but she’s falling sideways and jolting every few seconds, snapping herself awake. It’s a losing battle.
“But—I’m—horny,” she manages.
Yeah. Me, too.
“There’ll be other nights,” I say, setting the water down on the bedside table and the bucket on the floor near the bed.
Then I take a blanket from the end of the bed and drape it over her torso, covering those perfect breasts. Even covered, it’s hard to stay strong, because the fabric clings to them alluringly. My balls are two solid lumps of lead now, heavy and overfull, begging to be released. And here’s a willing woman. A sexy woman. But…the right thing, remember.
“Your cock is huge, Aedan,” she moans, curling into the blanket and closing her eyes. “Why don’t you come here and let me see if I can put it in my mouth?” She says this sleepily, eyes closing, and I know there’s no way she’s up for it now.
“Another time,” I say.
I’m about to leave when I see a paper and pen, a notepad next to the bed. Grinning to myself, I pick up the pen and write her a little note, a treat for her to find in the morning. Then I go to the door and stand there for a few minutes, watching as she falls asleep. Her chest rises and falls, shifting the blanket up and down, and my cock roars at me to go and tug it down, take one last look at her. But, of course, that’d be a scumbag thing to do, and just ’cause I’m a killer, it doesn’t mean I’m a scumbag.
I’m about to leave a second time when I realize she’s on her back and you should never leave a drunk person on their back. I go to her, roll her over—being careful not to shift the blanket too much—and put her in the recovery position, so she’s safe. “Come here, dog,” she mumbles sleepily. “I’ll ride you so hard, baby.”
I swallow, aching all over, longing, hungry, and finally I leave the apartment.
Back in my car, I rest my forehead against the steering wheel, breathing heavily. I close my eyes and try and think of non-sexual things. Chairs and trees and brickwork—whatever. But when I think of chairs, it’s with Livia sitting on them, legs folded, breasts on display, and when I think of trees, it’s with Livia leaning against them, ass pushed out, beckoning, and when I think of brickwork, it’s with Livia splayed across it, legs open, flashing me her panties.
I did the right thing, I assure myself, starting the engine.