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Becky
Trust me, I know this is wrong.
To kiss a man while I’m on a date withanotherman? Yeah, that’s not something a nice lady should be doing. Then again, I’m not exactly a nice lady, am I?
I’m Becky ‘Not a Nice Lady’ Brash.
That might not make me immune to judgement, but at least it gives me enough fire to do this. In fact, you can scratch the ‘enough’ out of that sentence—the fire that’s burning inside me is powerful enough to torch the entirety of New York City.
Not that I want to do that. As fun as it might be to set things on fire, what I want to do is more...carnal.
“What are you thinking of?” Darian whispers, his deep rumble of a voice turning into a whisper. He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, and I notice he has a fire of his own, tall flames of lust dancing in his dark eyes.
“Does it matter?” I move the hand I have on his chest down to between his legs. I turn my wrist around, splay my fingers over the hard shape hiding his pants, and give it a hard squeeze. “This thing here doesn’t seem to care about my thoughts. It seems more interested in other things.”
I’m deflecting, but that’s because I’m more interested inhisthoughts than he is in mine. What secrets does he hide behind these rakish dark eyes of his? What’s his connection to Max Kleeberger? I hope there’s no connection between Max, Peter and Darian, aside from the plot of land Wiggle Jiggle has been built on.
Like I said before, it’d be a shame to put handcuffs on two men like that. Unless it’s all part of a kinky game and my bed posts are involved. If that’s the case, then I don’t mind whipping out the handcuffs.
“Agreed.” Darian places a hand on my knee, and his long fingers slide up to the hem of my dress. “I’m sure your thoughts are lovely, but right now…” Without a moment’s hesitation, his fingers dive underneath the fabric and make for my thighs, his eager fingertips caressing my flesh.
When he pushes the palm of his hand against my drenched thong, there’s little I can do but moan. My eyes roll in their orbits, pleasure cracks its whip at every single one of my nerve endings, and I get lost in the fog of lust.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve hooked my fingers on his shirt. I drag him across the deserted lounge and toward one of the couches by the corner. Darian stops me halfway and a lazy grin dances across his face.
“Gimme a second,” he says, and then he grabs a small couch and drags it toward the door. He jams the headrest under the handle, locking the door in place, and then walks up to me. “Done. No one’s going to bother us now.”
“What?” Now’s my turn to grin. “You don’t want an audience?”
“The things I’m about to do don’t require an audience,” he throws back, and then his mouth is back on mine. We kiss in a desperate manner, and soon enough we find ourselves on a long couch, our eager bodies laying over plush cushions.
“Fuck, you’re delicious,” Darian whispers as he peppers my neck with kisses. His hands are busy too. His right one has returned to between my legs, where the slightest movement of his fingers is enough to make me gasp, and his right one goes from my right breast to my left.
“Am I delicious?” I laugh, and then grab his hardness as viciously as I can. That makes him groan, but that groan comes brimming with pleasure. “What about you? Are you delicious too?”
“You’re more than welcome to have a taste,” he whispers again, and his hand goes from my breasts to my hair, his long fingers losing themselves there. When he grabs a handful of hair and pulls my head back, I offer him a savage grin as I look into his eyes.
“Maybe I’ll do just that.” I free myself from his grasp fast. I turn my hips, slam my hands down on his chest, and force him to sit down on the couch. When I slide down from the cushions and kneel between his legs, I can’t help but notice Darian’s cock throbbing under his pants.
I tear the clothes off his body as fast as I can, and his hard cock springs free to salute me. One lustful gaze into Darian’s eyes and then I go on the offensive, rolling my lips down the length of his cock. I only stop when I feel it pressed against the back of my throat.
“Fucking hell,” he breathes out, his fingers threaded in my hair. He guides my movements for a while, but it isn’t long before I take back the reins, my mouth and hand working in tandem.
“I need you,” Darian growls, hands on my wrists. He pulls me up and into him, and I’m out of my dress in the blink of an eye. It’s a miracle he didn’t tear the fabric apart.
What he didn’t do with my dress, though, he does with my underwear. As soon as I’m out of my bra, my breasts spilling free, he hooks his fingers on my thong and pulls it against my thigh. There’s a ripping sound, and my drenched underwear is soon laying on the ground in tatters.
“You’ve ruined it,” I say. “I might have to punish you for that.”
“And how exactly are you—?”
His words die in my throat as I lower my weight over him, easing his cock inside me. He’s impossibly thick, and that thickness pushes against my inner walls, stretching them back, but there’s no pain here. Instead, there’s only ecstasy, bright fire spreading from my aching pussy to the rest of my body.
I ride him as if my life depends on it, and Darian thrusts upward just as passionately. Driven by lust, he soon turns me around and has me on all fours, my knees sinking into the padded cushions. He slams his cock back into me, his powerful thighs slapping my ass over and over again, and the sound of flesh on flesh explodes in the empty lounge.
“Harder,” I moan, but I don’t even know where these words are coming from. All I know is that I want more of Darian, and I want that ‘more’ served as hard as possible.
Instead of obliging, he pulls back from me. When I look back at him over one shoulder, there’s a devilish grin on his face. “Harder?” He repeats, and then his fingers are brushing against my wetness...and then up to my ass.
