Page 9 of Black Lies

He leaned forward, a gentle hand pulling on the back of my neck until his mouth was against my ear. “Ways that will make your legs tremble around my neck. Ways that have me so hard and ready that I may not make it all the way there. Ways that will have you screaming my name and—”

“Let’s go.” I jerked to standing, the legs of my chair squeaking as they slid across the floor. Pulling on his hand, I bee-lined for the door.

Chapter 8

Brant’s downtown condo was his sex den, the place where high-class hookers had entertained my man and satisfied every carnal desire he’d had over the last two decades. Yes, I was now standing in a room where other women had moaned his name, serviced his cock. I could care less. Because the man standing before me, his eyes dark, body clenched, fingers stripping the clothes from my body… I could see into his soul. He didn’t have eyes for anyone else in the world. He wasn’t thinking, picturing, wanting, anything but what I had to offer. He lifted me, setting me on the bar top, his hands sliding my shorts off my legs, removing my sandals, caressing the skin as his hands journeyed back. He knelt on the floor, looked up into my eyes, and pushed on the inside of my knees, spreading my legs until I was open, his eyes dropping, the new height of him at a perfect level.

“Brant,” I moaned, the exposure too much, the open stance causing air to hit places that were typically hidden.

“Be quiet, baby.” He slid his hands up my inner thighs, my hands finding their way to his full head of hair the same time his right hand brushed over me. I inhaled, opening my legs further, and he groaned slightly as he ran a finger over the lips of my sex, outlining the folds with a whisper soft touch, the teasing brush causing my body to react, to cry for him in the only way it knew, moisture collecting, his breath hissing as he pushed a finger partially in. He looked up, his head moving beneath my hand, his eyes coming up to mine, the eye contact held as he pulled his finger out and tasted my juices, his eyes closing briefly. “God, you taste so sweet. I want to bury my face in you, Lana.” He reestablished eye contact, his finger returning, teasing the outside of me, soft strokes breaking me apart as he caressed every bit of me, the pad of his fingers exploring, testing, circling, and pushing, my back arching, mouth dropping as I stared at him, unable to pull my eyes from the scene of his touch.

I pulled at his head when I couldn’t take it anymore, pulled his mouth to my sex, my body starting when the hot touch enveloped me, his tongue dipping inside me before covering my clit and starting a wet suction of stimulation that had me gasping into the air, my hands frantic on his head, my eyes catching in the faint reflection of us in the window, the picture it showed one of desperate need. I clutched the counter and pushed at his head, unable to… I bucked underneath his mouth… “Brant—I…” then I screamed, unable to stop myself, my hips grinding a frantic pace against his mouth, his hands gripping my hips, pinning me down, holding me to him as I broke apart.

He relaxed his mouth as I came down, his tongue keeping the movement but softening it, the orgasm stretched out beneath his tongue, my breath coming hard, and my arms giving out. I collapsed on the bar, my legs going limp, his hands finally letting my legs close. I opened my eyes when he lifted me up.

He carried me to the bedroom, my limbs struggling to reawaken, his deposit on the bed gentle, his hands moving my arms and legs into place, the drop of his pants revealing how ready he was. “Wow.” My arms worked enough to prop me up, my eyes flicking from his arousal to his eyes, catching on the half smile that tugged at his lips.

“You are so beautiful right now,” he said, ripping open a condom and sliding it over his shaft, the bob of his sheathed c**k tempting, the level of his erection mouth-watering. I bent my knees and spread my legs, giving him the carnal view I knew he wanted, a low swear emitting from his mouth as he kneeled on the bed, running his hands along my legs before preparing himself for entrance. “Tell me if it hurts,” he murmured, moving forward, the head of him pushing inside, the girth causing a sigh to slip from my lips, my eyes dropping to drink in the gorgeous sight of my pu**y’s lips wrapped around his cock.

He was thick. Cut. Groomed. Beautiful. He pushed slightly in, then out, several more inches left, the condom wet with my arousal, the sparse hair of my cunt wet and matted, framing his c**k as he took his time, letting me adjust, the slow drag of him so… everything. I lost intelligent thought, broke from my view of us and looked up to him, his eyes on mine, and the look on his face so vulnerable, so raw. He stared down at me as if I was his world, as if our month-long courtship was so much more, as if I already had his heart and he had mine. He worshipped my face with his stare, and the only movement was the rise and fall of his face as he thrust and pulled at my self-composure. The moment when he fully pushed, when he broke past the sweet and moved to the painful, the moment when my body fully adjusted to his length and girth, the need as great as the satisfaction… I saw it. We said it through our eyes, the words unnecessary, our bond completed as he lowered his mouth to mine and stole a piece of my soul.

I was falling for him.

Chapter 9

I rolled against his chest, my touch finding its way over his stomach, the lines of his body, his abs jumping beneath my fingers as he exhaled. My hand moved lower, sliding under the sheet, a growl coming from his throat as I closed my hand around him, the thick muscle awakening underneath my touch. “Don’t start unless you want more.”

“Of that?” I teased. “I’ll always want more.” I gave him a final squeeze and then released, dragging my hand back up to his chest, wanting a few more minutes of this. Brant was relaxed, his intensity subdued to a level that was adorable, his eyes currently closed against the pillow, the only movement the rise and fall of his chest underneath my hand.

We lay there in silence for a bit, after-sex pleasures still shooting the occasional synapsis in my limbs. I closed my eyes and replayed the sex. I didn’t enter this relationship a virgin. I’d had my share of lovers, seven or eight if I had to guess. I’d had orgasms. A few freaky nights where I’d walked on the wilder side of the sheets. But I’d never had the sex I’d had with Brant. A full session with a man where the focus was on one thing: my pleasure. His orgasm came, it was always included, the final act, but it was a side effect, not the goal. Brant’s goal, each and every time, was to leave me sated, every possible orgasm pulled, tugged, and yanked from my body with his greedy hands, mouth, and cock.

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