Girls Playing With Fire 3 Page 3

  “Want you inside me,” I said.

  My voice sounded hoarse. I hadn’t even realized I’d been screaming. Fortunately, the movie was still on, and the surround sound system was phenomenal.

  “Anything you want.”

  I ran my fingers over the obvious bulge at the front of his trousers, earning a groan and a thrust of his hips. The fabric was so taught over his massive cock I wondered if it could take the strain without ripping. I undid his zipper and, to my delight, I didn’t have to deal with any pesky underwear. He sprung forward, thick and heavy. His hardening cock bounced off my sopping wet pussy.

  “Condom?” he asked.

  “I don’t have any. You?”

  He shook his head.

  “No. I didn’t expect to need any.”

  That was good to know. He didn’t expect to get laid in the middle of the day at work. If I worked with him, I’d want to have sex with him every day. We’d lock ourselves in his office and have sex on the desk during the lunch hour.

  He rubbed the swollen tip of his cock over my clit, then slid it up and down my lips, shallowly probing my entrance. I could feel him wanting to sink the whole length of it in me. What would be so bad about it? I wrapped my hand around his growing erection, and raised my hips, to take him in. He groaned. He bucked forward, sliding in a little more. He pulled out with a loud squelching that sounded obscene and delicious at the same time.

  “Closest place is the gas station,” he said in a strained voice. “I can be back in twenty minutes.”

  I tried to close my fist over his impressive girth.

  “You can’t leave the house like this,” I said, sliding my hand up and down his rigid flesh.

  “It’s not going to go away if you keep touching me,” he said in a voice thick with desire.

  “What if I do more than touch you?”

  “Sarah.”

  I shivered at the sound of my name, spoken with such passion. In one word he was able to express desire and rebuke. He knew we shouldn’t but he didn’t want to stop either. I sat up and started kissing him. He leaned in, pressing me back into the couch. He was moving on top of me, and I could feel his scruples about unsafe sex melting away like my own.

  “Turnabout is fair play,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  I took advantage of his confusion to push him off me. We were both on our knees in front of the couch. His back was pressed against the cushions and I was pasted on top of him.

  “Get on the couch,” I said.

  He didn’t put up a fight, understanding what I wanted. He sat on the couch, and lifted his hips when I pulled down his trousers. We both wished I’d climb up and impale myself on his hard shaft, but we had to settle for another kind of treat. I licked my lips at the sight of his thick cock. A bead of precum oozed on the swollen mushroom tip. I swiped my tongue over it, collecting it greedily.

  “Take off your shirt,” I said.

  “Dress,” he said, looking at my little summer dress while he unbuttoned his shirt.

  “Later,” I whispered, encircling the base of his cock in my palm.

  He wanted to retort, but the words turned into a moan when I started to lick his cock like a lollipop. He stopped with one arm out of the shirt watching me hungrily.

  “Shirt,” I whispered again, then opened my mouth, pressed my tongue against the thick tip and looked at him, without closing my mouth around it.

  It took him a second to process what I wanted. He removed his other arm from the shirt and threw it on the far side of the couch.

  In my limited experience, guys came quickly this way. The upside of that was that they usually lasted much longer in the second round. Trouble was, I wanted to savor him. Not in my wildest fantasies I imagined I’d get to suck his cock on our living room couch. In my teenage fantasies, we had to be on a deserted island for him to even consider having any kind of sex with me. Probably that was why I got so crazy brave in the Bahamas. It didn’t feel real.

  It felt real now, when I had to force my mouth wide enough to take him in. Unlike the brutal way in which my hands had fisted in his hair earlier, his touch was almost gentle, gathering it away from my face. I explored how much of him I could take in. I bobbed my head up and down, without applying much suction, merely trying to find my limit. I had hoped that my limit would be with my lips pressed against his pubic bone but that didn’t seem physically possible. He was too thick and too long.

  Inch by inch, I got him deeper in my mouth. I sped up, gaining confidence. His hand was now fisted in my hair, but he wasn’t imposing any rhythm or forcing me to take him deeper. My ears buzzed with the thrum of my own blood coursing faster through my veins. I think he was cursing under his breath, but I couldn’t understand any words. His silken voice had become husky, his usual eloquence turned to inarticulate exclamations and the cadence of his curses poured fire in my veins.

  My plans of postponing his orgasm faded away. I wanted him to come, to come hard, to explode in my mouth, to spill his seed down my throat the way he never did in my pussy. Despite my change of heart, I thwarted his incoming orgasm when I gagged. When the tip of his cock reached my throat, I coughed and pulled my head away, tears flowing from my eyes. It was a strange sensation, closer to physical pain than I ever felt during sex and my first thought was that I wanted more.

  “Are you ok?” he started to ask, but I couldn’t answer.

  I went down again, taking in most of his cock in one movement. I slid as far down his cock as I could, then I forced myself up to the gagging point and withdrew just before I would cough again. I went on bobbing my head, sucking at his delicious cock, and soon he took control. With his hand fisted in my hair, he enforced the rhythm he wanted. It was disconcerting to be at his disposal like that.

  “Fuck, Sarah, I’m coming,” he said, and tried to pull my head back.

  I looked up into his eyes without letting go, and sucked harder. He must have been on the very edge because his cock pulsated and erupted, filling my mouth. I did my best to swallow everything without letting him slip out of my mouth until he was done.

  “Come here,” he said, pulling me up on the couch next to him.

  We were both sweaty and breathing hard. He held me close, and kissed me. I could still taste myself on his tongue, and surely he tasted himself on mine.

  He threaded his fingers through my hair and looked at me with all too serious eyes. It seemed that he wanted to say something, and not about how much he had enjoyed what we just did. As promised, I didn’t run away this time. He sighed, and leaned in to kiss me again.

  “The movie ended,” he said, nuzzling at my neck.

  “Did you know Hitchcock wanted to have no music in the shower scene? Can you imagine that scene without the theme?”

  “I didn’t hear it. Was that scene cut from the Blu-ray version?”

  I pulled away from him to check if he was serious. He wasn’t. He was wearing one of my favorite smiles, the one that said he was amused by a small thing. For a man who saw people at their worst, who had to defend people who had killed or raped, enjoying the small things in life was his own defense.

  “So,” he said. “Condoms?”

  “Yes, please.”

  It was hard to watch him get dressed. A tight ball of fear rose in the pit of my chest. He was leaving. Would he come back?

  Chapter 5 – On the Hood of the Car

  When Paul left, I tried to keep myself busy in an attempt to hold back the dread that he would not return. My own mind was clearer now, post orgasm. His would be back to its usual crystal clarity.

  I glanced at the phone on the table. He was going to call from his car, to tell me he wasn’t coming back, I just knew it. He was old-fashioned enough to call and tell me it would be better if he didn’t come back. Or maybe he would be paranoid about leaving a message that I might keep. I shook my head. I was the one getting paranoid. He wasn’t going to text me that he enjoyed the blow
job I gave him in our living room but he didn’t want seconds. He would easily find a neutral way to tell me it was over.

  The phone rang.

  The standard ringtone. Paul Sinclair didn’t have a special ringtone assigned, but maybe it wasn’t him. My breathing stopped when I went to pick it up. His name flashed in the middle of the screen. Just his name. I hadn’t even dared to have his photo.

  I was tempted to reject the call. I didn’t. I put the phone to my ear, but I couldn’t speak.

  “Sarah? Are you there?”

  He sounded normal.

  “Yes,” I managed to say.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, with a touch of concern.

  “Nothing. Why did you call?”

  I didn’t want to drag out the situation. If he didn’t want to come back, I had to know and make my peace with it.

  The pause at the other end of the line sent my heart racing. I sat down hard on the couch, dizzy with fear.

  “Do you want me to stay the weekend?”

  The question was so unexpected, I didn’t even understand it at first.

  “What?”

  “It’s ok if you don’t-”

  “Yes,” I said realizing what he had asked. “I would very much want you to spend the weekend here.”

  “Ok,” he said. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Open the garage door for me. It might be better if people don’t see my car here for three days in a row.”

  Three days! Dear God, I would get three days with him? Well, Friday was almost gone, but we had already made it count.

  I ran to the garage, thrumming with anticipation. Almost burning down the house was a fair price for a weekend of hot sex with Paul Sinclair.

  Two days and two nights left. Forty-eight hours. Two thousand eight hundred eighty minutes.

  His car pulled in the garage. He got out while the garage door slid down. I didn’t wait for it to close all the way. I linked my hands behind his neck and pulled him into a kiss.

  Minute one.

  He kissed me back, more gently than I expected. My hungry kiss morphed into an intimate, languid one. The fear receded from my soul. A wave of tenderness washed over me when he held me in his arms.

  “I take it you missed me,” he whispered.

  “Mmm, how can you tell?”

  He didn’t answer. He pushed the strap of my summer dress off my shoulder, and ran his fingers from along my collarbone. In the garage it was much colder than in the house. My nipples puckered and poked through the thin fabric. His hand closed over my breast, and his elegant fingers teased my aching nipple. I moaned and shivered. He lowered his head and kissed the taut pebble reverently. His fingers hooked into the top of my dress. He pulled it slowly down until he exposed my small breasts.

  He cupped my breasts in his big hands. They looked even smaller than they did when I did that in the mirror. It didn’t matter when I heard him whispering so beautiful while he bent over to kiss them.

  The cold in the garage no longer bothered me. His touches made me burn. His mouth was on my breasts and his hand was between my legs. He found me wet and eager. I moaned and clenched around his fingers.

  “Fuck,” he said hoarsely.

  “Please,” I replied.

  “Here?”

  This was crazy. We had the whole house to ourselves and we were about to fuck in the garage.

  “Yesss,” I hissed when he curled his finger inside me, touching a spot that made lights dance in front of my eyes.

  He removed the finger and sucked it greedily, then grabbed my ass in both hands and said one word.

  “Up.”

  With his support, I managed to lock my ankles around his back and he carried me like that, wrapped around him to the front of the car. The hood was still warm from the engine, but it was hard and slippery. He sat me down, with my legs spread, and my tits bared, and he started to unbuckle his belt. I put my feet on the front bumper to stop from sliding down.

  “If there’s one thing,” he said, taking a condom out of his pocket, “I want this weekend,” he went on taking his cock out of his pants, “is to fuck you in a bed,” he ripped open the condom’s wrapping, “and to see you naked,” he finished while he rolled the condom onto his dick.

  “That’s two things,” I said staring mesmerized at the delicious sight of his hard cock pushing against my entrance.

  “Oh, you can still count.”

  There was a dark and playful edge to his voice, somewhere between promise and menace.

  “Yeah, up to two,” I said self-deprecatingly, but when he advanced, sliding relentlessly inside me, leaning over me until I was lying flat on the hood, counting up to two seemed like a feat of high mathematics.

  His body was hovering over mine. I had no idea how he managed to maintain his position and I didn’t care. All I wanted was for him to plunge all the way inside me. I propped my feet into the bumper, to keep from sliding when he pushed into me. The short, frenzied thrusts were bringing me to orgasm in a matter of seconds.

  “Fucking hell,” he cursed, and slowed down the rhythm.

  “Don’t stop,” I begged.

  He rested his forehead on my shoulder for a few moments while he continued to move slowly in and out of me. I ran my hands over his back, exasperated to find him fully dressed. I wanted to feel his skin on mine. I wanted to explore every inch of him with my hands, my eyes, my mouth. He was right. Maybe in two days and two nights we would get around to having sex naked.

  His whole body was shaking with the strain to hold back. I clutched at his clothes frantically. I wanted him naked. I wanted him as out of control as I was.

  “Please,” I whispered between frustrated whimpers. “Make me come.”

  He groaned and straightened up. He palmed my breasts, and squeezed them lightly. He flicked his thumbs over my nipples. I arched my back up, pressing against his palms.

  “Wanna come, huh? You want to come already?”

  “I was so close.”

  “I was close, too,” he said, fondling my breasts. He squeezed them harder. “I’m still close.”

  “Paaaaul,” I whined.

  “What is it, darlin’? What do you want? You want it hard and fast?”

  He was speeding up. His hips followed the cadence of his words.

  “Yes! Yes! God, yes!” I encouraged him.

  He closed his eyes and squeezed my breasts to the point of pain. He pulled out more and slammed into me harder, and faster.

  “Anything you want.”

  The words escaped through his gritted teeth. I didn’t know if he spoke them quietly or the blood raced loudly through my veins.

  I throbbed wildly under his siege, and soon he came, with my name on his lips.

  “If we keep this up, I’ll have to go back out to buy more condoms,” he said while he arranged his clothes.

  “Oh, we’re not leaving this house until Sunday,” I said. “We’ll have to be inventive.”

  “We can watch movies,” he said innocently.

  “Sure, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  I used sarcasm to keep from enumerating some of the things we could do if we ran out of condoms. At the very top of the list was unprotected sex. From the two occasions we nearly did it, I couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like. I had never had unprotected sex. If there was one man for the job, I was staring at his ass.

  Chapter 6 – Finally in Bed

  We went into the house holding hands, in an unusually awkward silence.

  “I’m hungry,” he said.

  My stomach growled as if answering him. In a sing-song voice, I recited the menu on our way to the kitchen.

  “We have cold pizza. Cold and dry turkey breast. Popcorn. And the chef’s special, cereals and soda.”

  “I can sort of cook, if you want something hot.”

  That was sweet of him, but the only hot thing I wanted from him had nothing to do with food.


  “No. Do you want something else?”

  “I’ll try to survive on pizza tonight,” he said.

  That was the easiest and fastest option, which made it the best one.

  “Good choice.”

  I put a glass of water next to the pizza slice, to keep the crust from getting soggy. While the microwave did its magic, I went to the coffee machine. On any other day, I would’ve avoided caffeine so late. Not tonight. The excitement of the day seemed to have expended much of my energy. I wasn’t exactly sleepy, but if I could spend the next forty-eight hours awake, I’d do it.

  “Do you want one?” I asked.

  “No.”

  He came behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to his chest. I closed my eyes and leaned back into him. Was this real? It felt too good to be real.

  A glance at the microwave watch made my heart lurch. Forty-seven hours left. My hand shook when I brought the coffee cup to my lips. Time was flowing fast. Too fast.

  “Why did you lie about the coffee earlier?” he asked when we sat down at the table, across from each other, to eat our reheated pizza.

  “Because I wanted you to be up late,” I admitted. “Why don’t you drink caffeine?”

  “I do. Just not when I’m around you. I’m tense enough as it is.”

  “Still? How much sex does it take for you to relax?”

  He reached across the table and stroked my hair. He tucked a strand behind my ear, then trailed his fingers down my neck. He pushed the dress off one shoulder. The faraway look in his eyes was new to me.

  “We can try to find out.”

  His low, raspy whisper sent a thrill through me. Although he didn’t seem tense, I took his words as a challenge. I hadn’t even touched my pizza, but my hunger had vanished. My hunger for food, anyway.

  I sashayed over to him, swinging my hips. With every step I took, I pushed my dress a little lower, off my shoulders, past my boobs, past my hips. He swiveled on his chair to watch me. When I got to the last step that separated me from him, I stopped and let the dress pool around my feet. I allowed him to take a good look at me, stark-naked in the middle of the kitchen.