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“Never tried this one, Dirty Girl?” he asks. He presses the second vibe, a small egg-shaped one, against the tight pucker of my ass.
“You did find a fantasy I hadn’t thought up,” I admit. Then I gasp, forgetting about our banter, as he presses the vibrator into me, an inch at a time. I moan aloud at the pleasant, tight stretching sensation. When the egg finally pops into my ass, Caleb flicks it back on, both vibrators going now, and I can hardly catch my breath, the sensation is so intense. My toes curl and my mouth falls open, my hands clenching and unclenching around the cuffs.
But Caleb isn’t done with me yet.
He spins me around and presses me against the wall. I feel the tip of his cock rest against my ass, and I turn to catch his eye, breathing hard, my pussy tight with the thought of what’s coming.
“I haven’t claimed this sexy ass yet,” he murmurs, tracing a palm over the curve of my ass longingly, before he slaps it once, just hard enough to sting.
I moan. It’s hard to concentrate with both vibrators inside me at once, the one in my pussy pressed right against my G-spot.
Then he leans his hips into me, and the tip of his cock presses into my ass, pushing the second vibrator deeper as he does.
“Fuck, Caleb,” I manage to groan.
“God you are so fucking sexy.” He grabs my hips with both hands now, slowly pushes his cock deeper into me. Between the slim vibrators and his thick, rock-hard cock, I already feel like I’m fuller than I’ve ever been.
Caleb reaches up with one hand, cups my chin and pulls me into a hard kiss, his tongue invading my mouth as he thrusts one last time, pushing his cock all the way inside my ass. The vibrations and his dick are enough to push me over the edge. I moan as my orgasm sweeps through me, and he just deepens our kiss, drawing back slightly to thrust into me again, and again.
By the time he starts to fuck my ass in earnest, the vibrator in my pussy pushes me into a second climax. I come screaming his name, and he locks eyes with me, fucking me faster, his muscles taut as his own pleasure starts to build.
I come a third time before he grips my hips with both hands and thrusts into me, his teeth clenched.
“I’m gonna come in your tight, perfect little ass, Dirty Girl.” He bucks harder, grips me tighter, and I thrust back against him, my voice lost. “I’m gonna come, fuck, Carmine…”
A guttural moan escapes his throat as he comes, and I moan again at the hot rush of his cum inside my ass. He flicks off the vibrators and pulls out of me, reaching up to unhook my arms. Before I can move, he’s scooped me into his arms and carried me the few steps to the bed.
We wind up tangled in the sheets, our legs entwined, both of us breathing hard, covered in sweat and sex, unable to wipe the smiles from our faces as we gaze at one another.
“I am definitely falling for more than just your sexy mouth, Carmine,” he murmurs. Then he leans in to kiss me, softer, sweeter this time, even as his arms curl around me possessively.
“I think I might be falling for more than just your accent, Caleb,” I admit. We grin at each other and he pulls me closer.
As we drift off to sleep, I turn to peer up at him: the sexy, incredible man who just a few days ago was no more than an unbelievably hot photo on my computer screen.
Who knew? Sometimes cheating the system and avoiding dating really does work. I grin and curl up against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat drums in my ear as I fall asleep.
This time when I dream, it’s all fantasies that I know I can one day actually live out.
I wake up to the scent of something delicious, mouth-watering. Bacon maybe?
I find the bed beside me still warm, Caleb’s form missing. For a moment, my heart leaps into my throat. Then I hear the soft hum downstairs, his voice perfectly on key, and the soft sizzle of something. Not to mention the smell.
I toss on his T-shirt, the first one I find discarded on the bedroom floor, and pad downstairs. When I reach the kitchen, Caleb has his back to me, dressed only in his boxers. I take a moment to admire him, this hulk of an Adonis who I’m sleeping with. This man’s man, who dominated the hell out of me last night, filled me in every way possible, satiated me in a way I never imagined I could be. He’s the only person who’s ever completely understood my kinks—not only understood, but also reciprocated them, loved them as much as I do.
“Don’t just stand there,” he scolds, his back still turned. “Come get your breakfast.”
I laugh and step into the kitchen. Cross to his side. Before I can see what he’s cooking, he sets down the spatula and grabs my face in both hands, kissing me, long and slow and deep. When we pull apart, I finally recognize the scent.
“Pancakes?”
He grins and turns back to the stove. “You aren’t the only one who can cook, you know.”
“We’ll see about that,” I reply with a grin, nudging his shoulder with mine. “Those still need to stand up to my taste test.”
“Don’t worry.” He casts me a sideways smirk. “I know how particular your tastes are. You’re a hard girl to please, Carmine. But every inch of me is up to the job.”
For once in my life, I actually believe a man who’s telling me that. I grin back at him, and lean over to snatch a piece of bacon from the plate cooling at his elbow. “Oh, I know, Caleb. I’m counting on it.”
Thank you for reading!
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Copyright © 2017 Penny Wylder
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.
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1
I take a deep breath and study myself in the mirror behind the bar. Okay, so he’s 30 minutes late already. That’s not necessarily a deal-breaker. The MTA has been a shitshow lately. Maybe his train got stuck. Maybe he got held up at work. Maybe…
Maybe he’s not like every other asshole you’ve been out with this week?
I sigh and pull out my phone to scroll through his profile again.
“Rich, aka Dick,” I read, scrolling through his photos. There’s the obligatory bathroom mirror selfie, complete with chiseled abs (albeit a really bad choice since you can see the tile mold on the wall behind him from this angle), one of him and some friends, who all have the same buzz cut, so it’s honestly pretty hard to tell which one is even him, and then the usual headshot. In that one, he’s holding a pint of beer and grinning slyly at the camera, like he wants to fuck it.
The profile itself isn’t exactly a winner. Gym, tan, and pay for someone else to do my laundry, it reads, with a little winking face.
So, okay, maybe I only swiped right because of that grin. Sue me. This new app has been bringing in the same undateable guys as all the others I’ve tried—despite the fact that at least four of my coworkers raved about how different this one was, how the guys were such high quality. I figured if I had to go on another bad date, at least it could be with a hottie.
But now karma’s being a bitch, and it looks like I’m about to get stood up. Again.
I slide my drink across the bar and sigh at my reflection as the bartender refills my glass. I look smoking hot tonight. All that effort for nothing.
I review my recent candidates. There was the programmer last month who told me in great detail about how he “games the game.” In this case, what he meant was he hacked the codes behind the app and programmed it to send him pictures of only the most popular chicks. I guess I should be flattered that I was included, but I was mostly creeped out by his obsession with algorithms and finding the hottest (mathematically proven, of course) girlfriend. “It’s why I always end up dating chicks way
out of my league,” he explained with a wink. Then he proceeded to show me photos of his most recent ex.
“She is very hot,” I agreed, silently adding, and how on earth did she decide to sleep with you?
After that date, there was the professional body-builder who spent most of the date trying to sell me into his protein-smoothie pyramid scheme. Did I mention said date was a happy hour for his protein-smoothie business? Then came the insurance salesman who got a little too detailed talking about life insurance schemes—Double Indemnity red flags, much?
There was the finance bro who bought me one drink, then invited me back to his place… And when I declined, he complained so loudly about the expense of the drink he’d bought me that I frog-marched him to the nearest ATM, took out cash, and threw a twenty in his face. I mean, first of all, do I look like a hooker? And second of all, if I were a hooker, I would cost a lot more than one crappy martini at a Wall Street after-work bar.
Which brings me here. Tonight. Waiting on yet another guy who will…
