Mikalo's Grace Page 4

  He arched his back and moaned, his body quickly on mine, his lips suddenly on mine, his need feverish, his kiss hungry. His mouth inhaling me as he forced his tongue deep, one hand having lifted me, the other slipping off my pants.

  His fingers ventured below to discover my warmth, easily parting the delicate folds and slipping deep into my wetness.

  I gasped again, grabbing him by the hair and bringing him from my breast, where he was now sucking my other nipple, and back to my mouth, the taste of him now obsessing me.

  We kissed deep, long, our tongues dueling, our breath hot, our desire desperate and unapologetic.

  Pulling away, his mouth ran over my neck, my chest, skirting briefly to one nipple and then the other before landing on my stomach.

  He paused, inhaling deeply as his fingers remained buried inside me, slowly, insistently moving, finding their rhythm, my rhythm, my juices most surely dripping past his palm and onto the couch beneath.

  I didn't care.

  I felt no shame.

  I glanced down.

  His eyes found mine.

  And then, his eyes holding me, he moved lower, his lips finding me, his tongue at once tasting me, licking me, moving inside and immediately striking gold.

  I arched my back, my lungs expanding as I breathed before exhaling in a very loud moan.

  Goddamn.

  His hands grabbed mine, the fingers intertwining, as he continued his oral assault, his tongue dancing and licking, teasing and nudging, diving deep and then retracting to taste and lick. His lips moving up and then down, the pressure of that beautiful strong Greek nose of his grazing my flesh, teasing my most sensitive spot, absolutely driving me crazy.

  I writhed and bucked, heaved and sighed. Panted and begged and moaned and cried. But he was relentless, his hair damp with sweat, his hands still holding mine, his face glistening with my desire.

  And then it happened.

  The thump-thump-thump.

  The wave building. Only this was huge. This was an ocean. This, this was almost too much.

  I tried to move away, push him away. His tongue, his lips, his breath, his teeth, the tip of that damn perfect nose, all of it too much, too overwhelming. The intensity of his need for me and mine for him suddenly frightening as the storm, this hurricane of destined desire and release, rolled forward.

  But I was trapped. His hands on mine, my position on the couch too low to rise, my body betraying me as it shivered and shook, bucked and heaved, his mouth on me too insistent, too demanding.

  "Please, stop," I whispered.

  He removed his mouth, his fingers taking its place as they lightly rubbed and tickled and then eased in, moving deep.

  "Yes?" he asked. "It is no good?"

  "No," I panted, my hips, now with a mind of their own, rising to meet his fingers as they moved in and out, "It's good. Very good."

  "Then why stop?" he asked, the sincerity in his voice catching me off-guard.

  "It's, it's too good," I managed to say, his fingers still driving my hips into the air.

  "But too good is good," he answered.

  And then his mouth was on me again, his wet fingers now rising to my nipples as I leaned back, closed my eyes, and surrendered.

  Surrendered to his tongue, his lips. His dark eyes and smooth skin. His gentle heart and insistent desire. Surrendered my shame. Let the ghosts lie where they belong. Relinquished control and let this man, this handsome, wonderful man, have his way with me.

  The thump-thump-thump grew as the wave built and then crested before crashing in one jerking spasm after another, my body releasing my desire onto Mikalos' face, his lips, down his throat.

  He groaned as he accepted my gift, his tongue still licking and rubbing, nudging and loving me, my wetness exciting him as another wave hit, my back arching as, his hand still in mine, I gripped until my knuckles grew white, another groan filling the room.

  And, again, a third wave, this one too hard, too much. I gasped, my legs now shaking uncontrollably as my body twisted and bucked.

  "Mikalo," I said, my voice now a whimper.

  Moving his mouth away, he rubbed me and then, somehow knowing my secret desires, my longing for that special sting, he slapped the folds. Once. Twice.

  Oh, this boy was good. Too good.

  And then, his mouth on me again, he pushed his tongue deeper, his fingers now teasing me further as they stroked my inner thighs, my calves, my thighs again.

  I almost sobbed, my body no longer my own as my flesh burned, every inch of me now sensitive, so sensitive. My wetness ruling me with the beating of its own heart and its own mind, Mikalo and it bonded and wed forever, their secrets whispered and now shared.

  My body shook again, another wave cresting and then crashing, my emotions raw and my heart now on the verge of tears. The release, this release, it was too much. Too intense. Too loving and tender and harsh and honest. It's blessed brutality ripping the veil from my heart and soul, exposing their wounds.

  The tongue stopped, the lips now gently kissing me, a cool breath quieting my fever, the whispers of thanks grazing lightly over my inner thighs, my waist, my stomach. My juices wiping clean from his face as he inched his way up my body toward my lips.

  We kissed. Deeply. My taste on his tongue, my wetness, my scent, branding him.

  Then he stood, shirtless and gleaming, his obvious desire aching, the length of him stretching the denim from his crotch to mid-thigh.

  I reached for it, feeling the hardness, the thickness, the heat.

  His fingers snapped open the top button on his jeans.

  "You'd like more, yes?" he asked, a grin teasing his moist lips.

  Oh god yes.

  Chapter Eleven

  He was on top of me, his face close, but not close enough to kiss. His dark eyes looking into mine.

  Moving, he inched deeper inside me.

  I gasped, my eyes closing.

  "Open," he whispered, his lips grazing my cheek. "Open."

  I opened my eyes.

  He watched me.

  His hands held my wrists above my head as, teasing, he slowly withdrew, paused, and then slowly slid back in.

  "Oh god," I breathed.

  His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare, soaking in my lust, my hunger, my growing desperation and need.

  Again he withdrew, slowly, very slowly, only to, again, pause, teasing me, making me wait for it, taunting me, before slowly, so very slowly, sliding back in.

  I moaned, my wrists fighting against his.

  "I want to touch you," I said.

  He shook his head, his eyes still on mine.

  In a sudden movement, he plunged deep.

  "Fuck!"

  My eyes closed.

  "Open," came the order, his breath hot on my lips.

  I opened my eyes.

  My god he was gorgeous.

  Even in the dark of my bedroom, the shades drawn, my comfort found in the safety of shadow, the day having been spent veering between sex and sleep, there was no masking the man's beauty. Or the intense longing he felt as he watched me exquisitely suffer.

  Or how excited that made him.

  He shifted position, moving closer.

  I grunted as the weight of him pushed him even deeper.

  Pausing, he leaned forward, his lips barely touching mine, his eyes still on mine as he started to gyrate. In and then out, to the side and back again, deeper and deeper still, withdrawing only to slip back in, the dance continuing, unstoppable.

  It was driving me crazy.

  I panted, my breath coming in gasps and quiet groans, my body trembling.

  And he watched me, his eyes narrow with lust, sweat rolling down his temples and onto his cheeks, his lips moist as his breathed, slowly, steadily, controlling his passion.

  My legs started to shake.

  "Oh my god," I said, my wrists fighting his.

  "Wait," he whispered as he slowed his pace. "Wait."

  I bit my lip and whimpered.
I wouldn't cum. Not yet.

  I focused on my breath. Ignored the blessed chaos he was causing. Ignored the juices rolling from me like a fountain. Or the intoxicating scent of our sex filling the air.

  He was moving slowly now. Almost not moving at all, in fact, his hardness throbbing deep within me, hot and wet and thick.

  I caught my breath and relaxed. Tried to ignore my heart racing or my body still trembling. Or the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.

  Moving closer, he rubbed his nose against mine. Briefly. Our lips still not touching as he continued to watch me.

  He plunged deep.

  "Yes!" I almost screamed, my head back and my eyes closed.

  Grabbing my hair, he jerked my head forward to face him.

  "Open," he said, his voice almost sharp.

  He quickly moved, gathering my wrists in one hand, his large fist easily gripping me, my arms now above my head, as with his other hand, he held my hair, his eyes on mine.

  "Do not close."

  I nodded.

  "Please," I begged. "Please."

  A small smile graced his lips.

  He picked up the pace. My legs trembled. He stopped. I writhed beneath him. He smiled. He gyrated slowly. My breath grew ragged. He stopped again. I begged. Again.

  And all the while he watched me, our eyes locked.

  "Now, yes?" he then whispered.

  I nodded.

  Oh god yes, please.

  He moved in me. No longer teasing or calm or gentle, these movements were impatient, quick, desperate. His need to fill me now stronger than his desire to torture.

  "Wait," he said, the word thick with desire as my legs shook.

  I bit my lip. Again. Counted backwards from one hundred as I watched the ceiling. Anything I could think of to not cum. To wait.

  And then he groaned, his eyes on mine, helpless and needy and powerless as he buried himself deep, spilling inside me. His hardness now impossibly hard and thick and hot. His body tensing as his muscles jerked and twitched, his own wave rolling through him once, twice, three, four times, the pants and gasps and sighs hot against my skin as they filled the dark room.

  I pushed my hips against him, now desperate for my own release, the thump-thump-thump reaching from my toes all the way to the top of my head.

  "Wait," he said again as he rested, catching his breath.

  "Mikalo," I whispered. "Please, let me --"

  My hips moved against him again.

  He quickly moved from me, withdrawing completely and, flipping onto his back, brought me to lie on top of him, this gorgeous god now beneath me.

  Drawing me close, he looked deep into my eyes.

  "Now I am yours," he said. "Do what you will."

  Chapter Twelve

  I rocked slowly, his length filling me as I sat, my hands resting on his chest.

  His fingers gently toyed with my nipples, the large, soft palms occasionally skirting down my torso to my hips to grip and guide before returning to tease the sensitive flesh.

  "Behind your head," I whispered.

  Reluctantly he put his hands behind his head, his biceps large and sculpted and shining with sweat in the dark of the room, the round nipples dark, the muscles of his chest firm.

  He started to speak.

  "Quiet," I said.

  He bit his lip, his brows knitting in frustration.

  I continued to move, shifting position and changing pace, my body gently overwhelmed with the coming of the storm. A storm still on the horizon, if I chose. And I did. I was in no rush.

  I wanted this to last forever.

  He was desperate to cum.

  Again.

  He moved his hips.

  My nails quickly moved down his chest, lightly scratching him.

  He gasped.

  "Be still," I said.

  I stopped.

  Mental note to thank Deni for the manicure.

  And the Brazilian.

  "I am bigger than you," he then said.

  Putting a finger to his lips, I shushed him.

  "That you are," I said, picking up the pace again.

  "Do you want to cum?" I then asked, my eyes on his.

  He nodded.

  "Yes."

  "Is that what you want?" I asked again, my movements growing quick.

  He nodded again, his hands moving from behind his head to guide me.

  I moved off him.

  He groaned, his hardness slapping against his stomach, thick and hot and dripping wet. Even in the dark, I could see him throbbing.

  "Hands."

  Slowly, he puts his hands behind his head.

  I stood, moving to the end of the bed.

  He waited before me, lying quietly, his legs spread, his arms behind his head. All tanned skin and rippling muscle and eager, desperate desire.

  My hand ventured below, the fingers finding the familiar folds as I rubbed the wetness and then, his eyes on me, dipped my fingers inside.

  A shiver ran through me.

  His breathing grew heavy.

  He moved a hand from behind his head.

  "No," I said.

  I know he wanted to touch himself. To grip and stroke and tease.

  But no.

  He would watch.

  And then he would fuck me.

  Hard.

  Bending low, my fingers still dancing along my folds, I moved between his legs, my tongue lightly licking his knee.

  He gasped.

  Traveling slowly, I tasted his inner thigh. Little licks. Lapping at the flesh, the beads of sweat in the fine hair. And then lower, to his muscled calf, before moving north again, to his knee, his thigh, the scent of his throbbing desire in my nose.

  And then his width beneath my tongue as I licked up, up, up to the top, to where his own juices had collected. And, lovingly taking him deep into my mouth, I licked him clean.

  "My Grace," he whimpered.

  I stood.

  "Turn over," I said, my fingers now moving quicker inside me.

  He paused, unsure. And then he turned over, his face in the pillow, his ass in the air.

  Oh my god, that ass.

  My tongue was on his calves again, the back of his thighs. My hands, the fingers stained with my lust, now running over the firm muscles of his legs, his back, feeling the strength. Massaging and rubbing. The nails gently trailing along the flesh.

  I bit one cheek.

  He gasped.

  And then the other.

  He moaned.

  I kneeled between his open legs, my knees forcing them further apart.

  I bent low, my hands on his cheeks, opening him to me.

  His head moved from the pillow, curious to see, to watch.

  "No," I said.

  He turned his head, his face back into the pillow.

  I licked him, the scent of him now on my face. Of sweat. Of a rare intimacy. Of secrets and shadows. Of a bond now unbreakable.

  His muscles clenched as his body responded, the fists clutching the sheets, his gasps and moans lost in the pillow. He spread his legs further, arched his back, and, pushing back, offered himself to me.

  I licked again. And again. My tongue moving up and then down, my nails grazing the firm cheeks, his breath growing ragged as he gyrated, pushing himself back. My fingertips toyed with him, massaging the firm base of his hardness and then cupping his large, delicate twins, gathering them in my fist and oh so sweetly pulling.

  Another groan.

  My fingers returns to my folds, the heat of my wetness shocking me.

  I needed him.

  Standing again,

  "Turn over."

  He turned over.

  "Hands?" he asked, his hands in midair. Not sure if he would be allowed to touch or if they'd be trapped behind his head.

  "Wait," I said as I straddled him.

  "I want you inside me," I then said. "Please."

  He gripped himself and held it steady as I lowered myself once again, his thickness
once more stretching me to the point of panic. I stopped, rested, allowed my body to adjust.

  Leaning forward, I kissed him. Sweetly.

  His hands tentatively reached for me, moving my hair from my face.

  He returned the kiss.

  "Fuck me," I whispered. "Hard."

  "It will hurt you, no?" he asked.

  "No," I said, shaking my head.

  "But my Grace --" he began.

  Putting my hand over his mouth,

  "Do it," I said. "Now."

  He lunged up into me, his hands suddenly on my hips, trapping me as he thrust again and again, his flesh slapping against mine, my breath robbed from me as his thickness plunged deeper and deeper.

  I fell forward onto him, gasping.

  "Yes," I said, the word repeating itself with each thrust.

  "Yes ... yes ... yes."

  He was lost to me now. His body with a mind of its own. A corner turned where all he cared about was relief. The need for his hardness to pump his seed deep.

  He was an animal, his eyes glazed over as his hands gripped and his hips rose, bouncing off the bed as he drove himself further and further into me.

  "Oh ... my ... god ..."

  The first wave hit.

  I couldn't breathe. I tried to lift myself from him, move away, the power of the storm suddenly frightening.

  But he held me tight, lost in his own world as he fucked me.

  Hard.

  My body trembled and jerked, my muscles contracting as my body came again and again.

  Another wave hit, on the heels of the first, no pause between, Mikalo not slowing his pace, oblivious to the blessed brutality racking my body.

  I gasped, catching my breath, the sheets now clutched in my hand, his breath hot against my neck as he held me tight.

  I couldn't think straight now. I know my heart was racing. I know he lay beneath me, gripping me, his hardness battering and bruising me. And I know I was splashing him with my heated desire, his hips now glistening wet as he thrust.

  And I know I was going to cry.

  My legs continued their trembling as a third wave hit, Mikalo pushing deeper as he grunted and gasped, his own wave rolling near.

  "Uh ... uh ... uh ..."

  He thrust once, twice, and then three times, his body clenching as he wrapped his mouth around my breast, his pearly white teeth cruelly biting the nipple as he came, his warmth flooding me as, again, my body shook, my relief joining his.