Livia
Aedan tears his clothes off, literally tears them off so they pile around him in heaps, and then walks to the edge of the bed completely naked, his cock rock-hard and pointing straight at my face. I feel free, way freer than I do in day-to-day life, and suddenly the phantoms of Mom and Luca, usually so prominent in my mind, drift away. It doesn’t matter; the only thing that matters it the lust which coils around me and directs my movements.
‘You said you could take it hard,’ he says, and his accent is thick Irish now, not Irish-American. I wonder if he’s doing a voice but then I realize I don’t care, not one bit. Voice or not, it drives me wild. I kneel up, and only then I realize that I’m naked, too, my shaved pussy a triangle between my legs, inviting him in, and my breasts pert, my nipples hard.
‘I can,’ I assure him, body aching with longing for it. I’m going to fuck an Irishman. That’s bad; that’s beyond bad. I shouldn’t do this. He’s a goddamn Irishman! Mom will kill me. But Mom can’t control me every single second of my life and right now I want this. I want to feel that cock; I want him to trail it along my boobs. I want to feel his come spray all over me. I want to bend over and reach back and grab his hips and drive him deep into my pussy, tight and wet and ready and aching for him.
I lean forward and take his dick in my mouth, having to open my mouth wide to take all of him. He’s huge, far bigger than any cock I’ve ever seen in person, and so hard it feels like he could explode at any second. But he doesn’t explode, just reaches down and strokes my hair from my eyes as I suck, bobbing up and down. I look up at him and the look in his dark eyes drives me on.
Then—what happened? I wonder—I’m bent over and he’s behind me, his cock trailing up and down my lips. I gasp as the tip of his cock touches my hole, widens it a fraction, teasing me. I gasp again when he pushes—pushes—pushes…
No, I want it! No! What! No!
I fall through the bed, sinking through the mattress and the frame as though it’s made from smoke. I look up and there’s Aedan, alone and naked, searching the room for me. From this angle, he looks like a man carved from marble, every muscle poised, his cock impossibly hard. I claw at the space around me, trying to wrench myself back into the room. I have never wanted a man so badly in my life. My pussy is aching so badly it’s like there’s a creature down there, tickling my lips, taunting me.
As I watch, Aedan starts to touch himself, stroking his hand up and down his massive cock. No, that’s my job! I think. I want it. Fuck, come back!
He strokes up and down slowly, starting from the base and ending at the tip, and when he opens his mouth and starts moaning, I claw at the space around me with such force I should shoot through the ceiling. But I don’t. I just hover down here, in this no-space, watching as the man who should be buried deep inside of me touches himself.
Then, without warning, I fly up, up, up, and then I’m hovering in the room, watching from above. A woman walks in—no, not a woman, me! I walk in, naked, and bend over. Is that what I look like? I wonder. What is happening right now?
I watch, jealous and aching, as—
I touch myself, hands between my legs, moaning in my sleep. I run my hands over my clit and then down, hungry, to my wet hole. I slide my middle finger inside of my pussy and push it all the way up into my tender spot, and then I make small circular patterns with my finger, stroking. Lust surges through me like a natural force.
Then I open my eyes, panting, and slide my finger out of my pussy. I roll over and over, mouth dry, head pounding, getting tangled up in the sheets. Sunlight, vindictive and purposeful, glares into the bedroom directly onto my eyes. I slam them shut, but my eyelids glow red all the same.
After a while—it could be minutes or hours, time bending in my hungover state—I sit up in bed. What happened? I wonder, my body begging to sink back into the dream. I want to fuck him, I reflect, and it hits me like buckshot. I want to fuck the Irishman. But I can’t. I can’t. It’s wrong. He’s a member of an enemy crime family…but not anymore. But Luca! But Mom!
I groan, wishing this feeling of lust would just fall away, and reach across and take a glass of water from my bedside table. I drain it and when I put the glass back, I see the note. Sexual frustration turns to plain-old frustration inside of me, materializing as a twisting, gnawing in my chest and the flutter of razor-winged butterflies in my belly. It’s written in big, efficient script.
I read it: ‘Last night could’ve been fun, baby, but I don’t take advantage of drunk women. If you still want to fuck, I’m game.’
That cocky bastard, I think, standing up and wobbling on still-drunk legs to the bathroom. As if I want to fuck. I don’t want anything to do with him. Maybe my body does, but I don’t. He thinks the Irish can kill Luca and then I’ll still fuck him? Ha! He’s living in a dreamland. No, I’ll be strong now. Thank God we didn’t do anything last night. But then…it would’ve felt good, damn good.
‘Stop it,’ I hiss at myself, as I sit on the toilet. ‘Just stop it.’
When that business is taken care of, I return to the bedroom and collapse, closing my eyes. Sleep wraps me in its cuddly arms before I can even start fighting it off, and when sleep comes, it brings Aedan with it.
We’re both naked again. This time, when I bend over, the dream doesn’t end. I stay exactly where I am, pussy bared, his huge cock spreading me wide, moaning louder and with more abandon than I’ve ever moaned before.
I don’t want him.
I want him.
I hate him.
I desire him.
I’m happy alone.
I’d be happier with him.
He’s just a cocky asshole.
Maybe he’s a cocky asshole who could give me the best sex of my life.
Ah! How do things get so complicated so fast?