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  copyright

  Copyright © 2017 Melissa Young

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9958660-0-3

  Cover design by Melissa Young

  www.authormelissayoung.com

  table of contents

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

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  about the author

  one

  “Holy fucking shit! You’re fucking huge!”

  And she curses like a sailor? Watch my dick grow even bigger, sweetheart.

  “Well, what are you going to do with it?” I question her. It’s not the first time I’ve ever received this compliment, but it never fails to put a shit-eating grin on my face.

  She continues to stare, with those baby blue eyes, at my thick and stiff cock, the tip of the head dangling just inches away from being enveloped by those crimson red, pouty lips that got us here in the first place.

  No response.

  I reach down with my right hand, my fingers meeting with her chin. I place my middle finger delicately under her jawbone and slowly tilt her slender porcelain face upwards to meet my gaze, my thumb brushing over those pillow lips, smearing her lip stain slightly.

  Fuck me, how badly I want those wrapped around my dick. “Well?”

  With her jaw, nearly on the floor, still hanging open wide as if it were on a hinge about to snap off, she slowly looks up at me from her bended knees.

  “Um…”

  “You know, if you don’t touch it soon, it’s not going to be so happy.” I crack a smile, my tongue escaping briefly to moisten my lower lip while my brows cock slightly.

  Here I am, once again, on a Friday night, with some gorgeous woman I met in a hotel bar, spending too much money on overpriced cocktails with the lone goal of persuading her to come upstairs with me and allowing me to fuck her until she screams, cries or better yet, squirts all over my dick.

  Yes, it’s real. Women can squirt. Want me to prove it to you?

  But until we can reach that point, here we are, with her partially clothed on her knees on this worn out, carpeted hotel floor, with her blouse and purse dangling from the back of the desk chair behind us, her shoes carelessly toppled onto the floor and her literally inches away from sealing the deal on this sexual transaction we verbally agreed to just minutes before.

  She laughs a nervous giggle at my advances and sharply turns her entire face away from me, her body nearly shaking with the exhale of fear.

  Fuck, this is not the response I was hoping for.

  “You know… I just don’t think…”

  “You can handle it?” I interrupt her train of thought and continue to stare her down, standing over her in the middle of the room with my black suit pants, belt and briefs down around my ankles, my white dress shirt unbuttoned to the very last clasp, my suit jacket somewhere on the floor between the door and the bed and my dick so hard I swear I could be charged with possession of a deadly weapon.

  I flex the muscles embedded in my hard cock, causing it to bounce up and down, toying with her further, trying to stir her a little.

  Her hesitation is a bit worrisome, but I’m still clinging onto the thought of having her mouth moisten me and then taking her with every inch I have to offer. With my dick still dripping with saliva and want, she’s spread out on all fours on this king size bed in this ritzy hotel room. I envision my cock all the way inside of her tight frame, with my balls just barely tickling her clit with every pump. I think about my hands grabbing the top of her taut ass, spreading her, pulling her, putting even more pressure on her cunt, and making her feel like I’m going to fucking tear her in half.

  Now, any magazine or bullshit blog that has ever told you that men don’t have as much of an imagination as women do, is a fucking liar.

  She swallows, hard, like she had just swallowed a cube of ice from her vodka soda in the hotel bar where we were minutes before we got up here. She refuses to make eye contact and instead, I watch as her eyes fall to the floor beneath her. She brings her right hand up to her blonde locks and sheepishly pulls the loose strands of hair that once were shielding her face back behind her petite ear. “I’m sorry.”

  Boom.

  That’s it.

  Her response sucks the life out of my cock and takes any fun out of what might have been. Am I disappointed? Of course I am, and as much as I can be a prick, and trust me, I can be a huge prick, the last thing I’m ever going to be is some creep forcing himself on a woman.

  Sorry big man. No fun for us tonight. Yes, I’m talking to my penis.

  Don’t judge me.

  Now, I know what you’re thinking but the answer is this – if she didn’t want to put it in her mouth, do you really think she wants it anywhere else?

  “I’m sorry… I just…”

  “Love, it’s alright.” I extend my hand out to hers, as a sign of solidarity and bestowing the mercy upon her she is so desperately searching for. “Let’s get you up off that floor.”

  She glances up at me and the wave of relief that washes over her is palpable. You would have thought I had her on her knees at gunpoint, but I guess with my raging hard dick in her face, it’s bloody close enough.

  She rises to her feet and before she is able to collect herself, I scoop her up by her ass, forcing her legs to serpentine around my hips and I walk, in total control of her, toward the bed.

  “Um… what are you doing?” She panics slightly in my arms, her fingers desperate for a sense of stability, digging into my neck but I hear a sense of curiosity amidst the subtle fear in her tone. “I said no.”

  I halt my motion in carrying her and allow my eyes to pierce through hers. I stare into those icy blue spheres, trying to get a gauge of what she thinks I might do to her next with her helpless in my grasp. I notice her pupils enlarged, like an animal ready to defend itself, should it be in danger. She’s on edge and I can’t blame her. I would be too if I rejected sex with some guy I just met, who had his dick in my face and he was now careening me through the air like a fucking ragdoll with his cock still hardened.

  I fear that may be misconstrued but I’m comfortable with it.

  My words cut the tension. “Yes, I heard you say no but did you actually think I brought you up here tonight for the sole purpose of servicing me?”

  “Um…” she stutters, flabbergasted, unable to quash the smirk on her face or in her eyes.

  I scoff, playfully. “Please don’t tell me you have yet to have a man who doesn’t understand that even though it’s no strings attached sex doesn’t mean it’s created specifically and entirely for his benefit? Her pleasure is just as important, wouldn’t you agree?”

  She stares at me blankly, her eyes widen even further but I notice the faintest hint of a smile forming on her lips. There are words she wants to speak. I can sense them, but I’ve robbed her of her ability to speak completely.

  I persist. “So, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to lie you down on this bed and have you ride my face until you’re dripping with cum.” I pause, and allow my tongue to trace along my upper lip, her eyes lo
cked on my mouth the entire time. “What do you figure about that offer, my dear?”

  She exhales a sensuous moan, and her once stiffened body begins to melt into mine, the shift in gravity causing her body to lower in my arms, the fabric of her panties exposed beneath her skirt ever-so-slightly brushing against my still erect cock.

  She felt it too. I can tell. Her legs constrict me; coiled so tightly, like a snake that found its prey, something to finally satiate it, refusing to let it go.

  Her once saucer-like eyes now become sharper like that of a cat’s, and her entire expression changes to that of desire. She bites on her swollen lower lip hard and increases the intensity of the grasp she has with her claws on my neck. Now she is holding onto me with lust rather than fear. Her head nods up and down, but she cannot speak.

  Her chest and the tops of her breasts that peek out from her bra are flushed with red, every blood vessel pumping with furor and passion. The heat between her legs radiates onto my exposed skin and the fabric of her panties feels slightly damper as it sporadically brushes over my knob, every time her body sinks deeper into mine.

  And I haven’t even fucking touched her yet.

  My voice is almost a whisper at this point. “A nod won’t do it for me. I need to hear you say it. I need to hear you say you want it. Tell me.”

  “I want it,” she’s barely able to compose herself enough to say the words that are laced with sex.

  “How bad?” I taunt her, forcing her to get lost in my deadly baby blues.

  “Feel for yourself.”

  Somebody is feeling rather brave all of a sudden.

  “Yes ma’am”, a soft laugh hushes through my mouth and my right hand releases from the grip I have on her ass to between her legs, reaching at her from behind. I maintain my eye contact with her and slowly slide her panties to the side, which are already soaked through to the touch.

  I don’t even need to go further. In fact, I didn’t even need to have my fingers between her thighs to know how badly she wants me to touch her or how wet I have made her. Her body has already spoken entire novels to me, but I can’t resist. She’s given me permission to touch her most intimate spot. How could any man refuse?

  But this, this right here, this is what I live for. This is what I crave every night. There is nothing in this world, and I mean nothing, like making a woman wet and feeling how wet you make her. I swear it’s my addiction and although it has sometimes resulted in the odd slap or angry text, this addiction has yet to do any serious damage to me.

  So fuck it. Right?

  I use my ring finger to pull her soaked fabric to the side, exposing her cunt just mere inches away from undulating cock. I slide my middle finger between her moist lips, bursting a bubble of cum that was anxiously awaiting contact. It drips, sliding down the length of my finger, airborne and then onto the tip of my cock’s head.

  It’s warm.

  Inviting.

  And fucking torturous.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” The words are hushed as they roll off of my tongue.

  She giggles, but the laugh gets caught in her throat, as I continue to separate her moist lips with my fingertip, petting her wet cunt. The sensation overcomes me slightly, forcing my once locked muscles to loosen, allowing her to lower onto me more, the tip of my dick tickling her exposed and throbbing clit.

  I can’t help myself this time. I know she said no but with the heat coming off of her and her wetness oozing onto my dick, I’d be fucking insane not to try. “Are you sure you don’t want me inside of you?”

  “Trust me, I do but I think you’ll break me.”

  “I promise I’ll put you back together again.” I plunge my middle finger deep inside of her warmth, still cradling her in my arms, sending a jolt of electricity surging through every ounce of her, her body erupting with goose bumps. “I promise.”

  “I…I…” the words are caught in her throat. A moment of ecstasy consumes her and deprives her of her voice.

  Fuck me, she feels good. With my middle finger engulfed in her swollen warmth, and I get my first hint as to just how tight her pussy is and let me tell you, it’s fucking marvelous. The inside of her cavern is smooth to the touch, akin to silk.

  “If my finger can do this to you, imagine what my cock could do.” I pump my finger deeper, as deep as it can bloody go inside of her cavern, while my index finger curls upwards and just barely tickles her clit.

  “Oh fuck,” her tongue finally grasps the words but her mouth releases them as more of a whisper than anything else. She clenches on me tighter with her hands on my neck, her nails feeling as though they are both sharp and deep enough to draw blood. She snaps her head back, arching her spine and giving me one hell of a view of those beautiful tits.

  “Fuck me, I love your filthy mouth and your wet cunt.” Her reaction provokes me, wanting so desperately to see what other kind of profanities I can make her spit out at me.

  I shift her body weight to my right side, using my left hand to strip the duvet off of the bed, all the while my finger still plunged deep inside of her hole. I toss her on the bed on her back, her tits bouncing as she settles and her left nipple barely escaping from the lace bra. Her panties caught on her labia, allowing me to have my first official look at the luscious sliver between her legs.

  I bring my middle finger to my nose and take a whiff of the warm and wet trace she has left on me. It smells heavenly, earthy, sweet and entirely addicting. I want more.

  No, I need more.

  I insert my finger into my mouth, getting my first inkling of how she tastes and just as I suspected, she’s as sweet as fucking candy.

  “Mm, I know the saying is ‘has anyone told you how beautiful you are today’ but my dear, has anyone told you just how fucking delicious you are today?”

  She giggles and giddily brings her fingers up to her mouth as an attempt to stifle the laughter. Her hair is a mess, spread across the starchy white cotton sheets. Her body is flushed, even more so now, and her skirt is hiked up so high, it sits near her breasts.

  Her legs quiver with expectancy, shifting from side to side to spread completely wide, like she is failing to remain in control of her body. Her hairless slit is so saturated; it nearly glistens in the low light illuminating from the lamps flanking the bed, calling out to me as a beacon, begging for me to touch it more.

  “So what do you say?” I remove my dress shirt and allow it to fall to the floor, exposing more of my flesh to her. I reach down and grab my erection by the shaft, stroking it a few more times, not that it needed to be reminded of its purpose, but just with the visual of her spread out before me, I can’t help but touch myself. “Although you don’t think your mouth can take me, I’d like to think judging by how wet I’ve made you, that your pussy thinks otherwise?”

  She falls silent on the bed, but her playful expression remains intact. She’s considering it. I know she is. She is eyeing up my cock, with a rather mathematical approach. I think she is trying to gauge just how many inches she could take until she feels like she might be ripped in half. She really should give herself more credit though. I think she could take the lot of me and better yet, I know she would really love it.

  “Maybe not tonight, but next time?”

  Uh oh. Wrong answer.

  “Love, there won’t be a next time.” The words come out of me so naturally; it’s almost like reflex.

  “What do you mean?” Her body language shifts in a split second and she sits upright on the bed, shielding her twat away from my wanting eyes and covering her chest with her arms. “You were just going to fuck me and leave me? How are you so sure this won’t go anywhere if you are so quick to write it off?”

  This isn’t good.

  “That’s what we agreed to downstairs, was it not? A one-night stand? An almost textbook, scripted one at that? We are strangers who meet in a hotel bar in New York City. I think you’re sexy. My English accent drives you mad. We flirt. I buy you drinks. You think I’m charming.
I think you would look good bouncing up and down on my dick. I rent a room for us for the night. We spend the night exchanging orgasms. I fuck you raw. You suck me dry. You go home. We move on with our lives and I leave you with some good stories to tell your friends for the next few weeks. Am I missing something?” I can feel my walls coming up, building a fortress around my soul with my words acting as my shield and ammunition simultaneously.

  Not to mention my cock is now very sad and very soft, but still fucking huge, by the way.

  “Wow,” I can feel the angst building inside of her and the words she is about to spew at me will cut deep. I can just sense it. When a woman gets that mischievous look in her eyes paired with that carnal snarl in her lips, you, in the blink of an eye, mentally prepare yourself for the verbal onslaught that you know is awaiting on the tip of her tongue. “You know, I should have called it but I figured I would give you more credit than that, but, you’re just like the rest of them.”

  She’s challenging me and I should know better, but unfortunately for me and fortunately for her, I take the bait. “Like the rest of them? So you’re telling me the rest of them can make you drip like that?”

  She shakes her head and slowly starts scooting herself to the edge of the bed, completely sure in her every movement. Her sense of cool and confident is fucking terrifying. “You know, you really shouldn’t flatter yourself.”

  That’s all she gives me, as if I should incite her further. I hate these mind games. I hate these moments, but, women, you are masterful at them. You concoct these spoken lashings that remain with us men for life. I’m not even lying. No matter how well we can shrug it off or make you believe that we didn’t hear it or that it didn’t penetrate every layer of our brains, permeating us indefinitely, it does.

  It always does.

  So to save myself from the pain or from recalling what she is about to say the next time I’m trying to get my dick wet or worse, when I’m alone on the plane home to London, I cut her off.