Long Time Coming Read online

  "Stop," he groaned, pulling at my hair. "No, stop." He jerked my head away and I looked him straight in the eyes. As his arousal grew, so did my confidence. And I didn’t want this to stop. "I don’t want..." Breathless with the effort required for restraint.

  When I licked my lips, I tasted him there.

  "I want to be inside you and you’re getting me so damn close. I want to be inside you when it happens."

  Somehow Leo shed the rest of his clothing. Perhaps I helped. And at last he sat on the edge of my bed, clothing pooled at his feet as if it had melted off him under the heat of lust. He gripped the covers as if needing something with which to steady himself. His chest rose and fell and as he turned to look at me, he licked his lips. Stared. Said not a word. His quietude unnerved me.

  He lifted a hand to my face, gripped my jaw but not to the point of causing pain. A frown flickered across his brow and then his lips were on mine in a violent, passionate kiss. His free hand pulled me onto him as we fell back onto the bed. With nothing to separate us but skin, we clawed at each other, scratched, pulled hair.

  "Oh Jesus!" he cried out and it sounded nothing like the desperation of a man in the throes of desire.

  I froze. "What? What is it?"

  "I left my jacket in the hall," he said, his breath against my face. "Now I’ve got to get up and I’d rather be getting inside you."

  "Huh? Oh..." Enlightenment dawned on me. And I couldn’t resist a smile. "You might want to try the top drawer."

  "The top...?" Now it was his turn for the penny to drop.

  "Of my bedside table."

  A dimpled smile, and he ran his thumb over my bottom lip. "I could kiss you."

  "Please do."

  "I meant, I could kiss you, but I’d rather fuck you first." He turned to my bedside table, pulled open the drawer and rummaged around frantically. He ripped open the packet and looked over his shoulder. "Fancy helping me out here?"

  "Oh no, I’d tear it."

  "Nerves?" Leo raised his eyebrows before seeing to it himself. It took seconds, if that.

  "Yeah, something along those lines." I lay down and he turned to me, hooked my leg over his hip but didn’t push inside, just teased my wetness with the tip of his cock.

  "I really, really want to get inside you but I enjoy the look on your face too much when I do that. Did you know you inhale when I do this? And when I pull away you try not to bite your lip but you do."

  I leaned in but instead of touching his face, I laid my hand on his shoulder and pushed.

  "Oh no you don’t." He shook his head, half-laughed.

  "Yes I do. Don’t want you getting carried away, do we? I mean...you were so close earlier when I-"

  "Do you think I have no self-control?"

  "If I’m on top we won’t have to worry about that, will we?" I continued pushing against him. I knew he could easily overpower me, taller, heavier, stronger, more muscular as he was, but maybe if I resisted he’d give in. There was male brute strength but there were also feminine wiles.

  I straddled him, knelt directly above his cock and he looked as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands. First they were on my hips, then round my waist and then thrown above his head as I took all of him inside me.

  Leo’s eyes closed as his lips parted. As I circled my hips he craned his neck, arched his back, forced himself in deeper. "Fucking hell woman, you’re... you’re so tight. And. Jesus." One arm fell across his eyes as if shielding them from a bright light. "I don’t know how you can..." He swallowed. Gulped. "I don’t know how you can not move." He grabbed my wrists and pulled me down but instead of rocking backwards and pulling back, I threw my weight forward at just the right moment to catch him by surprise, pinning him to the bed.

  His eyes widened in shock at being bested even momentarily and still more when I wriggled my hips back so my pussy barely touched the tip of his cock. "This time I’m going to fuck you."

  A snarl painted his face with anger. "The feck y’are," he slurred, sliding into a heavier accent the more he surrendered control... or the more I took it from him.

  I tried to untangle myself from his hands while still maintaining the high ground but as we struggled he gained the advantage and used his body weight to unbalance me.

  "You’re forgetting one thing," he said, and I didn’t bother asking. I needed all my strength to stay upright. One slip and he’d be on top and this was one fight I was determined to win. "I’m a bloke. I’m stronger than you."

  "Well I’m the one on top aren’t I?"

  "Not for long."

  I gave a half-smile, probably closer to a smirk, as I moved back and his cock twitched under me. I circled my hips, allowing an inch, just an inch, inside. With each gasp he surrendered, I allowed him in a little further and he again arched his back, trying to control the speed of my movements.

  "Lie back," I whispered. "Just give me... give me..."

  Give me what? Time? Give me this, a chance to control you and decide how we move together?

  He exhaled one long sigh as I moved, sitting up so I could ride him more comfortably. He held onto my hips, tried to move me but what I did felt too good to allow him to change the angle or rhythm or speed. My clit rubbed against him and set off sparks inside me, like miniature explosions leading to the greater one I knew would happen soon.

  "I know you’re getting close. I feel it. Your breathing," he said, his own coming in short gasps. "And no, I’m not going to let you..." He struggled to sit up as I moved, my hips moving faster but, propping himself up on one hand, he used the other to pull me closer, his hand so tight against the small of my back that it, combined with the angle of our bodies, made it difficult for me to move.

  "Don’t," I said. Pleaded.

  "Don’t what?" His hand slid up my back and my skin quivered under his touch. My arms went round his neck and he gripped my shoulder, made it clear who was the physically stronger.

  "Don’t..." I took a deep breath and touched my forehead to his. Our perspiration mingled. I drew back and something in his eyes asked my permission. "Please." The word was out before I knew what I’d said.

  "Look, darlin’, I can’t stand it. I can’t let you ride me. Not now." His finger played over my nipple then over the rest of my breast. "See, what I want more than anything right at this minute..." His hand snaked up my chest, around my neck, to my hair. "I want to see you under me because..." His voice dropped to a husky murmur. "Because even though your breasts are fucking glorious and even though the sight of you arching your back above me makes me want to ram my cock into you even deeper, there is nothing—nothing—in this world I would rather see right now than you, underneath me, taking however much of my cock I see fit to fuck you with."

  I gulped. Started to shake.

  "...Begging for one more inch..."

  I whimpered.

  "Straining up to meet me at every stroke, until you’re so close to coming that you pull me in even deeper and tell me how much you want me to fuck you."

  Even after he stopped speaking, his words hung in the air between us but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him or at anything. I couldn’t stand the thought of any more sensory stimulation so had to keep my eyes closed as we sat entwined, my cheek resting against his, as I struggled to get my breath back. Every time my lungs stopped aching a word of his, a phrase, sprang to mind and adrenaline shot through my system again.

  "Hey," Leo whispered, and my eyes flew open. "Gimme something. A word at least." He nudged me with his jaw, pulled his own face away from mine to get a better look at me.

  "Please." Please stop looking at me like that. Please stop making me look at you.

  His finger ran along my jaw as his thumb traced the outline of my lips. As I parted them to speak, his thumb darted in and out. His gaze never left my face and when I said "Yes," partly out of surrender and partly out of desperation for him to move inside me, he smiled. Inclined his head a touch. A mutual yet unspoken yes.

  We lowered o
urselves onto the bed, slowly.

  "Ah..." He exhaled, a controlled breath. "That’s it." He paused for a moment. "That’s it." We rolled onto our sides. And then he was on top of me. Not moving. And now moving.

  He breathed his words into my hair as he inched out and, from the hips, pushed himself back into me. "Oh Jesus, you’ve got the tightest little pussy I’ve ever fucked." He sounded helpless and yet was still able to control his movements, keep them slow. Painfully slow. "It feels..." He touched his forehead to mine and it was hard to work out which of ours was more slick with sweat. "Warm. And... and..." He shuddered. "I can’t do this. I can’t move slowly. Jesus, when your cunt’s gripping me that tightly I don’t know how much of this I can take."

  Startled by his use of that word, I knew. Realization rippled through me, from the base of my spine to the nape of my neck and my eyes watered. His quest for control wasn’t anything to do with mastery of me. Rather, his desperation was for mastery of self. He put his own body to the test, pushed himself to the very limits and then tried to hold back, stop himself losing the control he’d worked so hard to gain from me.

  "I want to see you moving under me, you know?" His mouth was on my forehead, jaw, shoulder. I could have sworn he was desperately trying to hold back from biting. He bared his teeth against my skin and licked instead, tasting me with the tip of his tongue. "But if I start moving any faster I’ll lose it."

  Sparks ran up my spine every time his hips moved, his cock jarring against my G-spot. "That..." I stopped. "That feels..."

  "I want to make you come so hard you can’t see straight."

  Tears of lust, insane desire, welled up and as I blinked them back, explosions of light went off on the insides of my eyelids. "Don’t. Don’t stop."

  A single breath cooled my forehead before he pulled back and with a moan bordering on a roar he rammed himself all the way inside.

  I grunted in shock but he took no note, carried on fucking me at his own speed, sliding out easily, slick with perspiration and the juices he worked out of me.

  I wanted to hold on just for the pleasure of touching him but didn’t know which part to hold on to. Nothing I could say or do would swerve him but the clammy, hot and cold perspiration was irresistible. All at once my hands were on his back, gripping his shoulders, pulling, but he was already there, pounding into me.

  He panted into my ear, against my neck, jaw line, forehead, even my mouth when he tried – and failed – to kiss me. Every time he brought his lips to mine, his constant, hard, deep fucking wrought a groan from his mouth, or a moan, or sometimes, as he got closer to coming, a whimper. And his whimpers were more than those of a helpless man. They were the sounds of someone who, like me, was coming undone.

  I tried to put my hand up to his face, to touch his parted lips or his brow furrowed in concentration, but our bodies juddered too much, connected in only one place while our hands, arms, legs, made futile attempts to entwine, gain some sort of purchase.

  "I couldn’t stop now if I tried," he panted. "Jesus Christ, where did you learn to move like that?" He yelped as I brought my knees up almost to my chest and he propped himself up on both fists, then grabbed my hands, pinned me down onto the bed and drove into me harder still. His head dropped and through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw he asked, "Is that good? Is that how you like it? You like the way I fuck you—"

  Nearly there myself, the constant friction between his thick cock and my swollen G-spot had me desperate for release from the growing tension, like I was going to burst or explode like a firework at any moment.

  But I knew...I just knew that if I started speaking while he fucked me this hard, this deep, this fast, this close to orgasm, I’d get carried away, unleash a tirade of filth that wouldn’t end until the last quiver had died away. "Oh...oh fuck yes—"

  "Again. Say it again, baby."

  The tingling, the rippling began and I grabbed him round the waist, begged him not to stop. From the crescendo to nearly at the peak so rapidly, and I came, and I screamed at him to come inside me.

  And his hands were in my hair again, his skin gliding over mine as we moved in the same rhythm, gathering speed, losing what little vestiges of control we had left.

  "Don’t... oh God, please don’t stop...oh fuck, Leo, I—"

  And when he asked if he could let go, from somewhere outside my own body I heard myself scream yes, and yes, and yes.

  Ten

  As I wrapped the towel around myself I caught sight of a mark on my shoulder; not too dark, only a slight discoloration, but a bruise nonetheless.

  Prodding with the tip of one finger to see how much it hurt, I discovered it wasn’t too bad. Discomfort, not pain. He’d been enthusiastic, not brutal.

  Pale yellow, not livid black or red. Barely noticeable. Only my post-sex scrutiny had caught it and as it was on my shoulder, it would be masked by whatever clothing I chose to wear as long as it wasn’t a vest or strapless top.

  I wondered if I had marks anywhere else; bruises or bites perhaps, but the only real evidence of the previous night I truly felt was a rawness between my legs.

  "Hey, gorgeous, you done in there?" Leo asked when I emerged from the bathroom. He wore nothing but shorts and a handsome display of tattoos. Leaning against the wall outside my bathroom with his arms crossed, his biceps bulged ever so slightly and gave me pause.

  No, Piper. You need to get dressed. And he wants to have a shower.

  "Bathroom’s free. I’ve left plenty of spare towels in there."

  As I walked past him—or tried to—he caught my arm and whispered, "You know, you really should have waited. We could have showered together."

  "Now that would have wasted a lot of time, wouldn’t it?" I smirked over my shoulder, not shaking him off.

  "Wasted?" His eyebrows lifted. "I can’t think of a better way to spend my time."

  "I’ll be in the kitchen. What would you like for breakfast?"

  "Look." He stepped closer and the way he whispered in my ear made his breath tickle the bare skin of my neck, the towel around my head leaving it exposed. "When I said I wanted to eat something, I didn’t mean... food." He drew back and looked at me for no more than a split second and vanished into the bathroom. For that split second I’d believed he might have pulled me in with him.

  Leaning against the kitchen countertop waiting for the kettle to boil, I rummaged through my handbag. Leo had seen me without makeup first thing in the morning and had still made his intentions clear so the sight of my lip gloss, concealer and mascara didn’t make me feel as naked as I usually did the morning after the night before.

  He’d seen me completely naked and acted on his intentions several times. Including first thing this morning. Total? I’d lost count.

  Sighing with contentment though still with some residual desire as yet unfulfilled, I checked my mobile for messages.

  And messages came there many.

  My heart dropped through the floor of my stomach. A number of texts from a variety of people, but three from Andrew.

  No doubt he’d never heard the saying never drink and dial. Or in this case, never tipple and text.

  I read the first one and deleted it. The second, or at least the first line of it, and deleted that too. The third started with a profanity which grabbed my attention.

  Andrew had sworn before; I’d sworn back. So it wasn’t so much the use of the word ‘fuck’ that shocked me as its random appearance after a couple of fairly bland messages. From that, to this.

  Fuck, Piper. What’s with not answering the phone? Do I have to come 'round there to make you speak to me?

  I dropped the phone on the countertop as if he’d just appeared in the room, even looking over my shoulder as if I expected him to materialize in the doorway.

  Nothing. Of course there was nothing. I was alone. Apart from Leo in my bathroom, using up what was left of the hot water, scrubbing away the depravity from his tattooed frame.

  Biting my lip, I looked down at t
he phone and jumped, startled, when something clicked. Only the kettle coming to the boil.

  It had been the word ‘alone’ that increased my feelings of guilt as if Andrew would somehow know I was with someone and had the right to make me feel bad about this.

  Guilt rippled the pit of my stomach and evolved into fear, for some unknown reason. It wasn’t as if Leo was even the first person I’d slept with since the split.

  I worried at my bottom lip with my tooth, wondering whether I should reply to any of those messages, though there was the possibility Andrew would take any form of communication as encouragement.

  The first message had been sent a few hours before, so he’d probably been drunk, restless, unable to sleep and angry at something. Having failed to pull, perhaps? The second, around half an hour later. Obviously still stewing over my lack of reply. The third, an hour and a half before. He’d either stayed up all night thinking about how much I’d pissed him off by failing to reply instantly to his overtures, or fallen asleep and woken up still annoyed.

  I clicked reply then exited the text message menu before thinking again. If he’d sent his last message the night before I wouldn’t have thought twice about ignoring it and would have just assumed he’d slept off his ire, but the fact it had lasted all night, up until a time when I’d been screwing Leo for the umpteenth time, made me wonder if he really was serious about speaking to me this time.

  What to say? Stay away? Would that work?

  The main reason I hesitated was concern about Andrew replying while I was still with... him.

  Then I realized; I was never going to see ‘him’ again so it didn’t really matter what he thought of me or any dramas going on in my life. Sure, I could switch the phone off but I wanted to monitor Andrew’s state of mind as best I could through his messages, if he sent any in reply. Petulance I could cope with; anger wasn’t good. Not that I worried about what he might do to me any more; he wasn’t that scary. I’d just get frustrated if he showed up at my home or continued to pester me every bloody weekend.