Susan Johnson: Again and Again

“Bitch.”

“But fortunately for you, available right now,” she replied, silkily.

“I suppose I should count my blessings,” he murmured, his voice once again suave. Who better than he understood that sex was just sex.

“You should. I’ve learned a few things in five years.”

“I’m intrigued. Should I put in my order?”

“I expect you’re still well ahead of me in expertise. Why don’t you surprise me instead.”

Her voice was low, teasing, irritably coy, and five years of lurid possibilities flashed through his mind.

He knew what she was like in bed; she’d been one of the best. And apparently, she’d been gaining additional experience abroad. It shouldn’t matter, but it did.

She wanted a surprise. How convenient. Because he felt like giving her one.

A second later, she was flat on her back, her legs forced wide, his body braced above her-save for his erection that was nudging her throbbing labia. “Now then,” he said with a wolfish smile. “Why don’t you ask me politely?”

Her gaze beneath her half-lowered lashes was sultry, assured, confident in her allure. “I thought I was being polite.”

“Maybe the word I was looking for,” his voice lowered to a husky rasp, “was… submissive.” At the spark of temper in her eyes, he felt a perverse satisfaction. “No ready quip?”

“I’ve never been submissive,” she drawled. “You must be thinking of some other female.”

“I have a feeling you might change your mind.”

“Not likely.”

“But I want you to.” It was an ultimatum no matter the softness of his tone.

She glared at him. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Did Louvois teach you that?”

“Yes, and any number of other things,” she replied, oversweet and smiling. If you’re very nice to me, I might show you.“

If you’re very,“ his smile was cheeky, ”submissive, I might let you end your long celibacy.“

“I’m not begging, Simon.”

“Really.” With devilish finesse, he guided the taut, engorged crown of his penis up her sleek, pulsing labia, and then very slowly, down again, the answering flush rising on her cheeks gratifying evidence of her response. “You’re really wet, slippery wet… here-feel this.” He circled her lubricated flesh with the rock hard tip of his erection, and smiled faintly at her stifled gasp.

“If you’d like me to go deeper…” he murmured, teasingly penetrating a inch or so, “I’d be happy to accommodate you.”

The color on her cheeks had deepened, her thighs had gone rigid, and when he eased into the liquid heat of her vagina a fraction more, she shut her eyes and softly moaned.

“Would you like all of it?” He swung his hips in a supple, teasing motion, so every surface of her aching tissue felt the intoxicating friction and her panting changed to a plaintive whimper. “All you have to do is ask me nicely, and I’ll ram this big cock into your tight little cunt. Do you remember how you used to scream when you were crammed full of cock?” At the memory his erection surged higher, driving in a small distance more, forcing her throbbing flesh to further yield, bringing her already trembling orgasm to the veritable brink.

“Damn you,” she ground out, her voice barely audible, her palms pressed against the bed as though she could forcibly restrain the fevered tidal wave. But it had been too long and breathless with need, she couldn’t stem the coming flood. Regardless, he’d barely penetrated her, with a suffocated little cry, her climax broke… too quickly, prematurely, the cursory orgasm so frustratingly inadequate, she wanted to hit someone.

And conveniently…

“Jesus,” Simon muttered, rubbing the red imprint of her hand from his cheek. “Don’t blame me.”

“Who else should I blame?” she exclaimed. But his erection was still tantalizingly poised and rigid at the very entrance to her vagina, making it difficult to be completely vexed.

“You could be a little more amenable…”

She knew what that meant. “I’m not playing games.”

“As I recall… sometimes you do.” Dipping his head, he drew one of her nipples into his mouth and moved his hips just enough to gain her attention.

She clutched at his shoulders, the exquisite pressure of his mouth, the compelling promise in his erection lodged against her vulva, effectively stifling her protest. She shouldn’t be so willing and had she not been without sex so long, she might have been more blasé. As it was, within moments, she was melting with longing and suddenly it didn’t matter who set the rules.

She was famished, the wild thrill rushing downward from her tingling nipple to her throbbing cleft, obliterating discord, fierce need effectively erasing contention. All she wanted was to feel him deep inside her. Arching upward, she lifted her hips to draw him in.

He pushed her back, his large hands splayed over her hips, holding her captive. “Ask for it,” he whispered, spurred by an inchoate jealousy, and a quixotic sense of betrayal that wouldn’t be assuaged.

She tried to jerk away.

His fingers bit into her flesh, jerking her back. “Ask,” he muttered.

She hit him so hard he tasted blood.

“Fuck this,” he growled, abruptly done with useless argument, intent on doing what he’d been wanting to do from the second he’d seen Caro downstairs. He plunged into her, driving in with such unbridled violence, he lifted her off the bed.

Her scream exploded in the silence of the room.

But he wasn’t in the mood to apologize. Her cunt was too damnably wet, and hot and welcoming. It was so fucking drenched, any cock would do. Tightening his grip on her hips, he rammed in deeper in retaliation.

She whimpered this time, but not from pain.

If he heard, he gave no indication, swinging his hips back for another plunging downstroke, blaming her for the insatiable lust burning through his brain.

And then her arms twined around his shoulders and she pulled him closer, opened her thighs wider for him, absorbing the huge, long length of him with a gloating sigh. “I’d forgotten,” she breathed. 1 would have begged for this …“

He didn’t want to hear that. It was the last thing he wanted to hear when he needed some inexplicable virtue from this woman he wanted to fuck to death. Even he realized the brute illogic in his wishes and he breathed, “I’m sorry,” in blanket atonement… for now, for the past, for the fierce violence of his lust.

“I’ve been waiting for you…” she sighed, warmed by rapturous bliss and fond memory, by scented lust.

His fingers loosened on her hips.

Their eyes met in unspoken detente.

She smiled and moved her hips because she could now-in a distinctive flowing undulation that caused them both to catch their breaths.

When she could speak again, she gently brushed his cheek with her fingertips. “I like being with you in storms…”

“I’ll have to see that it keeps snowing,” he murmured, guiding her hand to his mouth, lightly kissing her fingers. “Or barring that,” he whispered, settling into a dexterous, practiced rhythm of thrust and withdrawal, “I’ll find something else to keep you happy.”

This time when she was about to come, he took care to gauge the exact measure of her need; he went still when she wished it and moved when she moved and held himself hard against her womb at the last as she uttered a high, keening primordial scream. And when her last gasp had died away and her rippling orgasm had subsided, he finally allowed himself his own climax, pouring onto her stomach with such explosive spasms he felt the shuddering ejaculations down to his toes.

He couldn’t move when it was over, nor find breath enough to fill his lungs.