Devon Hartford - Reckless

“Is that a good thing?” I asked doubtfully.

“Have you ever had a bad massage?”

“I’ve never even had a massage, until now.”

“A bad massage either feels like the masseuse isn’t doing anything, or like they’re cranking down on your muscles with pliers while trying to peel your skin off with sandpaper. I can recreate both, if you want to test it out.”

“No, I’ll opt for the good massage.”

“You sure?” He began tickling my ribs with feather fingers.

“Stop! Good massage! The kind only experience brings!” I giggled.

He smiled and slid his hands down my flat stomach.

“I think I want to take my bra off,” I said nervously. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” he said warmly. “Whatever makes you most comfortable, agápi mou .”

I wiggled out of my bra and pulled it through my sleeve before tossing it on the floor.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded.

The heels of his hands pressed gently down the center of my rib cage and fanned gently outward as he reached my pelvis.

“Mmmmm,” I moaned.

Then his hands slid up my sides, again tickling my ribs, but not nearly as intensely as a moment ago. It was electric. His palms circled my breasts and squeezed them softly through my shirt, then slid back down my stomach, his thumbs tracing down my center line and dancing over my navel.

Christos moved his body down toward my feet as his hands slid across the tops of my thighs, his thumbs prying between my inner thighs. He did this repeatedly and I felt an ember begin to glow between my legs. I slowly lost track of time as that ember ignited into a fire. He kept going, his thumbs now rubbing across my womanhood through my jeans, stroking mesmerizingly in longer and harder semi-circles until the fire in my pelvis was a roaring blaze.

My thighs had completely relaxed and opened to allow him free access. I was so ready.

“Christos?” I moaned.

“Yes, agápi mou ?”

“I need you. Inside me. Now.”

“Your wish is my command,” he smiled cockily.

Cocky was good. I was all about the cock at that moment.

I had no idea what I was even talking about!

COCK!!!!!

SAMANTHA

Christos sat up and slid his shirt over his head. His abs were the first thing I saw. Evenly spaced, rigid, hard. Like armor. I stroked my fingers across them. I couldn’t wait for his shirt to come off.

“Mmmm,” he moaned. “Like those?”

“ Love those,” I whispered. “Yummy to the millionth power.”

Now his shirt was up over his head, revealing his amazing chest with its soft, downy hair. My hands slid up, following the shirt, and I traced the script of his “Fearless” tattoo as he pulled the shirt all the way over his head. He tossed it to the floor and lowered his hands to his thighs.

I reached up to touch his massive shoulders and arms. I marveled at the intricate tattoos on both. He was so damn hot.

I grinned, “Christos, do you ever notice how hot you are?”

“I—”

I pressed my finger to his lips. “Of course you do.” I smiled.

He slid his hands under my ass, pulled my hips toward his. One hand supporting my back, he sat me up on his lap. I wrapped my legs around his waist, our chests inches apart.

I didn’t resist when he lifted my shirt over my head. It joined Christos’ shirt on the floor. I looked at our two shirts in a tangle on my rug. Somehow, they were sordidly symbolic. Christos and I were about to be similarly tangled.

My breasts were now fully exposed, my nipples tight with need. I leaned forward until they pressed against Christos.

Christos tipped his head back enough to gaze at my breasts. “Fuck, you are so totally fine, Samantha. You are perfect. Damn, you are unbelievable. Do you realize how hot you are?” he asked, biting his lower lip and wrinkling his nose with animalistic desire.

I was too shy to respond.

“When Mattel was making the Barbie doll,” he smiled, “they called God and asked him for your measurements.”

I rolled my eyes. “I think Mattel should file a cease and desist order against that joke.”

We laughed together.

“Let me put it another way,” Christos said, “every time I look at you, Samantha, I’m reminded of how perfect you are in every respect. Every last bit of you, inside and out. Your flawless skin, your tender heart. Your perfect curves and your unbridled joy. Your alluring eyes and your gorgeous laughter. You are the epitome of beauty, you are the ideal to which all women aspire. Your physical beauty makes Aphrodite weep with envy. She doesn’t have what you have. No other woman on this planet, or goddess above, does.” He let his words linger.

I was speechless, to say the least. My mouth hung open and I clamped it shut before a moth or whatever flew into it.

“So, should we take our pants off now?” he smiled cockily.

“Uh, yeah!” I joked.

“You wanna go first?”

“No, I’ll let you.” I lifted my legs and he slid his feet onto the floor.

He unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down, then pulled them off. He was now down to socks and boxers. He stood up and faced me.

I savored every inch of him with my eyes. He was unbelievably constructed from top to bottom. His powerfully muscled legs were the pillars that supported his sleek, narrow hips. Wedging out from his pelvis were his rugged abs, the foundation for his massive chest and shoulders. His muscled arms hung at his sides like steel girders. And those god damn tattoos! Why were they so unbelievably sexy?!? On top of it all, like a golden monument, was that perfect face, angelic and devilish at the same time.

His eyes shone into me and I felt the heat between my legs intensify.

My eyes gravitated back toward the rod of iron hidden beneath his boxers, which were tented out comically. I stifled a laugh. Was I ruining the mood again? I couldn’t help myself. One step at a time.

“How many rings do you have in that circus tent of yours?” I giggled.

“Three,” he grinned. “Dancing elephants in one, lion taming in another, and a tiny car with a bunch of clowns hanging out in the last. Take your pick.”

“Are the clowns blowing bugles?” I smiled.

“No,” he frowned, “they’re girl clowns, and they’re blowing skin flutes.” He shook his head, smirking. “Come on, you were supposed to pick lion-taming. How is a crowded clown car sexy?”

“I can’t help it! I like clowns!” I laughed.

“You are so wrong,” he smiled his dimpled smile. “Now, quit stalling.”

It didn’t take long for my laughter to fade as I continued to take in his amazing body. His nearly naked, aroused, throbbing…BODY! His body! I was only looking at his body!

He stood in front of me smiling, enjoying the way my eyes were devouring him. “Your turn, agápi mou .”

I wrinkled my nose. “Um…you’re still wearing your socks.”

He peeled each one off.

All that was left between me and his clown bugle…were his boxers. My nerves rattled again, although not nearly as loudly as before my massage. I stalled anyway, looking for the most obvious distraction. “What about your boxers? You haven’t taken them off!” Suddenly, I realized this strategy was not going to help my nerves.

He slid his boxers down and stepped out of them casually.

Holy shit.

I mean, I’d seen it. I’d touched it, I’d shared a bed with it and Christos. Yes, it seemed sort of like a third person that snuggled between us at night. Because it was so very, very large. And it was pointing right at me. Like a cruise missile, laser sights targeting my…oh, my.

He smirked, and chuckled. Obviously, he was reading my mind. Or his guided missile had sonar, radar, and ESP-ar.