NICK
I fucked her through moans and toe curls, through writhes and roars. I fucked her as she bit my shoulder, as her Nick-Nick-Nicks turned into yeses turned to pleases and back again. I fucked her as she clawed at my back and only eased up when her pussy loosened its grip on my cock.
“Oh my God,” she said against my shoulder. “I’ve never . . . it’s never . . . how did you . . .”
I adored her like that, with her half sentences and unfinished thoughts, so overcome with pleasure that she forgot how to speak. Her wetness had thickened, and I felt the primal need to keep at her, to take her to orgasm again and come with her. But she’d come so hard, I knew she needed to catch her breath. So I held her close, my fingers tangled in the straps of her dress, and then rolled over so that she was on top.
“Breathe,” I told her, keeping her chest pressed against mine. I felt every pant against my pecs, her rib cage rising and falling, expanding and contracting. She was relaxed and helpless in my arms; her breathing slowed, and she rested her chin on my shoulder. I was still inside her, still rock solid, and I knew that wasn’t going to change, no matter how long we lay there. Her post-orgasm wetness trickled steadily down onto my balls. Her skirt pooled over us. In the mirror behind her, I watched her position her feet with the tops to my thighs, her toes peeking out from beneath the polka dots.
I breathed with her; when she inhaled, I’d exhale, so that we stayed as close as possible. Her pants slowly got more regular, and the pulses inside her pussy eased up. With my finger on her jaw, I lifted her chin.
“You’re a fucking goddess, you know that?” I said, tracing the line of her cheekbone.
She shook her head like she was embarrassed. It was fucking adorable, the way she got shy and modest. But shy or not, she needed to know how beautiful she was. She perched her chin on my chest, and I cupped her jaw so she couldn’t turn away. “A fucking goddess. Say it.”
“I’m . . .” She trailed off. “No, stop.” She looked up at the ceiling, all blushes.
“Say it.”
“Nick!” Now she set her teeth, like she was irritated. Like she didn’t know what to do with all this attention.
But I was damn well going to get her used to it, because this was just the beginning. “Stella. Say it.”
She pressed her lips together and made an irritated moan, and I felt her toes leave my thighs. “You’re killing me.”
Holding her jaw, I made her nod. “Say it. It’s not that difficult. ‘I’m Stella Peretti, and I’m a fucking goddess.’ See?” I put a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Easy peasy. Your turn.”
Looking away again, she suddenly seemed very interested in the sheets. And the window, and her bookcase. She made some helpless groans, and her eyelashes brushed her beautiful pink cheeks. Then, very, very quietly, barely louder than the sound of her breath itself, she whispered, “I’m . . . a . . . goddess,” and pressed her chin into her shoulder, embarrassed all over again.
The way she said it, it had a question mark at the end. I’m . . . a . . . goddess? It absolutely slayed me. Her, with all her moxie and confidence, shy with me right now. “Close. Except it’s not a question, and it’s fucking goddess.”
Very slowly, as we locked eyes, her shyness faded away. She was getting genuinely annoyed, I could tell, and I loved that shit. Because hell yeah, I wanted to push her. Push her all the way into seeing what I saw. I waited for her to repeat it and lifted my eyebrow to say, C’mon. Do it.
And then she lifted her chin and pursed her lips and said, “I’m a fucking goddess.”
“Atta girl,” I said, and gave her a nice solid slap on her ass. She exploded in giggles and buried her face in my chest. I put her knees on either side of me, holding her tight to keep her face right next to mine. Very slowly I started driving into her again—not a primal fuck, but a loving one. She tried to come up on her knees so she was riding me, but I didn’t let her. “I need you close. I need you just like this.”
I put one hand on the small of her back and the other on her upper back, in that depression between her shoulder blades. And just like that, I drove into her. Slow, measured, careful. With every drive, more of her wetness trickled from her pussy and down onto me. I pulled her face to mine and gave her an intense, teeth-clashing kiss. I sucked her tongue hard into my mouth, and she did the same to me. She wasn’t going to take control—not now, not tonight. Tonight I was going to show her that yeah, she might have my heart in her hand. Yeah, she might know everything about me. But I was Nick Norton, and I was going to own this goddess tonight.
I ran my left hand down her hourglass, keeping the pressure on so her hips stayed firmly against mine. And then I slid my middle finger between her ass cheeks, pressing against the tight O to show her I owned that too. I was just way too into her pussy to take it. She groaned into the kiss. I fingered her ass more fully, and she groaned some more. It was a lurid porn-star moan, so wild and rude that it made a pulse of cum fill my shaft. Very gently I slid my other hand around and pressed on her throat. I wanted her sweet. I wanted her dirty. I wanted everything she had.
Driving into her from below, I paced myself. I tried to think about boring shit, about fixing my motorcycle, about grocery shopping and taxes and all those thoughts that should have staved off the orgasm that was coming. But fuck, it was coming hard, and it was coming soon. There was no fighting the tide. I didn’t ask permission, and I didn’t warn her. I cursed that motherfucking condom, grabbed hold of her hips, and went for it, fucking went for it. I put my cum inside that pussy, imagining the day when she’d let me do it for real. When she’d trust me enough to take her like I needed to take her. When she’d let me make her fucking mine for keeps.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I ground out between clenched teeth. She was everything I never knew I needed. I knew then that I didn’t own her body, hell no. That perfect pussy of hers, it owned me.
Into my ear she growled, “Keep going. Never stop. Ever.”
I sat up with her on top of me and planted my knees to get her on her back, her head nearly off the edge of the bed, her hair spilling nearly to the carpet. On top of her, I doubled down to push myself into back-to-back orgasms; the first one was barely over when the second one started. She felt that good, and I needed her that bad. The first load had felt great, but the second felt even better. In the mirror I saw myself, powering into her with every ounce of brutal passion I had. Every ounce belonged to her, and I didn’t stop until I felt my own cum dripping out of the condom onto my balls.
When I finally collapsed on top of her, her legs hooked together around my hips and she ran her fingers lightly through my hair. She put small, tender kisses all over my cheeks. I’d finally found it. Total bliss.
But the flurry of kisses tapered off. She turned her face slightly, and her chest rose and fell, shallowly and rapidly. Like a pant, but quicker. Her breasts compressed against my chest. “Ummm . . . Nick?”
Jesus. I didn’t even know if I could talk. I was so breathless and so spent . . . but I did manage to answer, with a deep, “Yeah, gorgeous.”
“Did you actually turn off the oven, or . . .” she asked, followed by a few sniffs.
As I pulled my face out of her silky dark hair, I smelled it. I smelled it past the warmth of her perfume and past the crazy-making scent of her pussy still on my face. What I smelled wasn’t a Stella smell. It wasn’t a heaven-sent smell. It was more of . . .
A burning smell.
Suddenly, a piercing squeal filled the air—one of those insane, mind-bending, hundred-decibel alarms that make your brain freeze. Stella jammed her fingers into her ears and said, “Smoke alarm!”
In that instant, I realized what I’d done. “Holy shit, don’t tell me I left the oven on.”
And she dissolved into helpless, overpowering, full-body laughter in my arms, nodding against my chest.