Published by Self-published Genres: Contemporary, Romance
Background on the scene: My brilliant editor, after reading the first draft of Undertow, came back with one major bit of editing needed – it had too much sex. Some of you may disagree, but I agreed. So 80% of this scene got cut. I used pieces of it in a different scene, so you may recognize parts of it, but your eyes are the first ones seeing it as it originally was.
This scene takes place right after Stewart and Madison (the couple in this scene) attend a business dinner of Stewart’s – one where Madison leaves mid-meal (on Stewart’s instructions) to hook up with her other boyfriend, Paul, in the restaurant’s powder room.
***
Stewart is primed, ready, and hard again by the time the elevator opens to his home. He yanks at his tie as he walks, pushing me ahead of him, his fingers biting into my skin, until we are in the bedroom, the curtains up, the city brilliantly displayed before us.
“Turn around.” I meet his eyes, a shot of pleasure shooting through me at the look in them. Raw. Need. But while in the car he was frantic, wild in his desires, now he is under control. A fire raging inside a tightly controlled frame. This is the Stewart I know, the one who fucks to breathe, who dominates me while keeping his emotions in check.
I turn, his hands gently pulling my cardigan off, his fingers lingering on me as they trail down my arm, as if they want every bit of me they can get. A hand tugs at my zipper, pulling it slowly down, his hot breath on my neck as he exhales against my skin, planting a soft wet kiss there, the zipper sliding farther down.
He stays close to me, a hand unclasping my bra, his hands sliding down my back and then curving around my sides, slipping under my loose bra and cupping my tender breasts, squeezing them, pulling my body back against his chest, the hard line of his arousal hitting the top of my ass. He kisses my neck from behind, whispering my name as his hands explore my front, running over the lines of my stomach, the curve of my breasts, the tight buds of my nipples. I am panting, needy for him in ways I have never been, the strings of my arousal stretched tight, close to breaking. His hands slide lower and I moan, pushing my ass back against him as his hands gently cup me, his mouth doing delicious things to my neck.
I am wet, my need running down my leg it is so great. He swears when he touches me, when two fingers easily slid inside of me and come out soaking wet.
“Fuck,” he swears, pushing hard against my ass, curving his fingers inside me and causing me to cry out. “Is that from me or him?”
“You,” I gasp, needing more.
“You have me so fucking hard,” he groans, grinding against me, his hands holding me in place as he pushes the hard ridge of him into me.
“Take it out,” I whisper. “I need to feel it. I need something inside me now.”
He chuckles. “And you don’t care who it is, do you?” He slides his fingers in and out, their maddeningly length and width too short, too skinny, for what I need. “If I bent you over and called the valet up here, you’d let him fuck you, wouldn’t you?”
The idea makes me hot and I moan, my legs weakening from the delicious assault of his fingers. “Yes,” I pant. “You know I would.”
“That’s what I love about you.” He rasps. “You are my dirty girl. Tell me that you need my cock.”
“I do,” I beg. “I do. Please. Give it to me.” My legs buckle as he crooks his fingers again, brushing them back and forth over my pleasure spot.
“I want you to think about him. Fucking you in that bathroom. Think about his cock inside of you. Come to his cock,” he whispers. “Because I’m about to fuck that memory right out of you.”
I do. I think about Paul, fucking me on the edge of the bathroom counter, wilder than I had ever seen him, the intensity blazing in his eyes as he came. The image takes me
over the edge
back arching
stars forming
pleasure ripping through every fiber of my body
Stewart’s hands keep up the rhythm, the perfect pressure and tickle across my g-spot, every swipe bringing new life into my orgasm, until I sink, held up only by his hands, and look up into his eyes, my drugged vision putting him in a haze, a haze of gorgeous blue eyes and five o’clock shadows.
“Fuck me,” I croak, and his eyes darken, a dark smile of carnal pleasure sweeping across his gorgeous face.
“Yes ma’am.”
He pulls me to my feet, making sure I am steady before releasing me. His hands yank at the sleeves of my dress and straps of my bra and they fall to the floor, leaving me completely bare before him. I start to turn, to face him, but he stops my movement. “Face forward. Grab the foot of the bed.”
I obey, placing my hands on the footer and arching my back, pushing my ass and waiting, the air conditioner blowing cool air against my skin, my nipples hardening, my legs clenching. He runs a finger over my sex, dipping inside and then continuing up, until he reached the tight pucker of my ass, and circling the spot. Tight, hard circles, pressing against the hole until I moan, the spot resisting, too tight to allow him entrance. “Please Stewart… I need you.”
“You bad girl. You shouldn’t need anyone right now. You’ve been fucked all day.” His hand rises and falls on my ass. Hard. The impact surprises me, causes me to jump, my head to turn and look at him.
His eyes glitter in the darkness, strong and firm in their arousal. “Face the front. Don’t look at me.”
His finger moves, sliding back down, taking the temperature of my sex once again, hot wetness confirming my arousal, dragging that liquid higher, soaking my asshole, his thumb replacing the finger, a bigger, harder push, not yet inside, but enough to make my breath catch in my throat.
Slap. Another hard spank of his hand, on my opposite cheek, his hand backhanding me, the sharp pain made more delicious by my anticipation of more.
“Tell me,” he says softly, each word feathery gruff, his thumb pushing harder, breaking the seal and entering my darkest place. “Tell me how he fucked you.”
“Hard,” I whisper, my senses on full alert, wanting , waiting for another slap against my skin, all of my arousal knotting and expanding from the intrusion in my ass. He pushes harder, deeper inside of me, a gasp, followed by a moan, spilling out of my mouth. I grip the footboard tightly, feeling the collection and drip of moisture in my pussy.
“From behind?” His voice is tight, guttural, and I smile despite myself, waiting, tense and excited, and coming apart when his hand finally lands on me.
“Answer me.” He demands, slapping me again, his thumb moving slightly, pushing and then pulling, the hard sting of his hand taking me closer and closer as his finger continues its wet exploration, heat building in my ass, my mind becoming delirious from the sensation.
“Spank me again. Please.” The words tear from my mouth, my pussy clenching as my ass contracts, every muscle on high alert, needing to have just one more, a hundred more stinging, dominating, hits of his hand.
Impact. Flesh against flesh. An animalistic groan coming from him as he takes his frustrations out on my skin, slapping my cheeks over and over, a roar coming from him as he repeats his demand. “Tell me!”
“From behind,” I blurt out, the orgasm close, pleasure rolling towards the waterfall edge that will be my flight, “after fucking me against the wall.” It is coming, a giant black hole of pleasure and his thumb pushes deeper, the dirty feel of him there so wretchedly hot, pleasure sensors go off around every inch of his thumb, his suited erection hard against my wet core, his hand coming down, over and over, harder and harder, pain mixing with pleasure, dominance with need. “Then he lifted me onto the counter, drilling me over and over…” I tilt back my head, the last word dropping off as I dive off the edge, into my orgasm, into a perfect black sea that grips my entire body and explodes it into a thousand shards of pleasure.
It is then, while my world caves in, while I am mindlessly oblivious to anything but my own ecstasy, that he unzips his pants and shoves fully inside of me.
Fullness. The long hard ridge of him inside me, branding me as his own, his need as desperate as mine. One hand still on my ass, his thumb making the tight fit of Stewart’s cock even tighter, his other hand gripping my waist, holding me firm and letting loose on my body with his cock. Hard, firm fucks that bury inside with every stroke, a furious rhythm of domination, his breath hard and loud, my name ripping from his lips as he marks me as his own.
We are one combined machine, pistons pumping, lubed and swift, perfectly fitting as it should, no pause in our movements, no hitch in our step. He works his thumb in my ass, pushing and pulling, the tight fit glorious in its intensity. I am going to come again, the shaking of my body, the feel of two holes filled, the animalistic fever that is Stewart, a man unleashed, the level of his aggression so fucking hot in its need.
“Did you like it?” he gasps, the hand at my waist sliding down, gripping the sore skin of my ass and forcing me on and off his cock. “Did you like his cock fucking you?”
“I loved it. I loved it inside of me, how he touched me, took me.” I look over at him, at his wild face, hair mussed, eyes blazing as he growls at me, the beautiful image of his cock fucking me. “I loved the look in his eye when he buried deep inside me and came.”
“Fuck,” he swears, his hand releasing my skin and traveling up, gripping my neck and squeezing slightly, turning my face so that it is on him. “Tell me,” he pants. “Tell me how he came.”
I can’t. I can’t respond because my eyes are too tightly shut, my body racking underneath him, pushing harder, greedier against his skin, needing every stroke, every fuck, every inch of his thick cock as I come, a bundling outpour of muscles flexing and contracting, a scream coming from my throat, his hands loosening around the muscles as I release the sound, my body growing rigid, his fucks continuing, his own climax close.
When I come up for air, I tell him. I tell him how I was in his arms, my legs wrapped around his body, being fucked against the sink while he sat one room over. How I came right before he did, my body fucked to pieces, and how he moaned my name when he came. How he moaned my name and buried his cock, and flooded my body with his mark.
Stewart groans, his thumb pulling from my ass, his hands sliding up the underside of my body, pulling me up to him and he holds me tight to him, thrusting deep, deep, deep as he moans my name and comes.
And that is how it is. I fuck Stewart, I fuck Paul, and they both know about it. And the more I fuck one, the more turned on the other gets. The more competitive, aggressive, loving, they become. It is a constant, whirling sea of sex. I love it, and they love it. They don’t need to know who the other is. That would take it a step too close, a step too real. It is better that it is a nameless, faceless individual. And I appreciate keeping the worlds separate. I have fantasies, sure. Of having them both at the same time. Their hands on my body, their competing cocks battling over my skin. But that just seems too messy. And I don’t want to do anything to disrupt the perfection that is us. The three of us. Living two separate relationships.
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