chapter 9

“I don’t know. Are you going to give me a special treatment?” I cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh, it will be…” he said crawling across the futon toward me like a green-eyed jungle cat, “mind-blowingly special. C’mere…”

He growled and pounced.

I squealed.

He growled some more and nipped at my neck. Then, he pulled my shirt over my head.

“I’ve never been religious, but I could totally worship your tits, Swan,” he said.

I giggled.

“They’re a perfect (kiss) metaphor (kiss) for how (kiss) to live (kiss) a good life (kiss, kiss, rough tongue lick).”

“Nnnng!” I cried.

“They’re perky and beautiful, and kind—”


“Yeah, they’ve always been nice to me!”

“I think you are turning into a religious crazy-person.”

“Maybe…or perhaps I just need to be more of a pantheist,” he said, sprinkling kisses all over my torso, working his way down.

“Um…” I said, worrying about the lack of shower issue again.

“Mn?” he asked, while kissing in ever shrinking circles.

“Um…still haven’t…showered…so…do you wanna…?” I’d put my hands on the mattress next to my hips and pushed myself away from his face.

“Fuck, no,” he said, grabbing my thighs and pulling me back. “I like that you smell like sex. It makes me so fucking hard,” he said, nuzzling the soft hair on my pelvis with his nose to prove his point.

“Really? That’s so…unexpected,” I said, relaxing into the sheets.

“I don’t know what kinds of guys you’ve been with,” he said. “But it’s the wrong ones, if they don’t get off on it. You…” he said, dipping his tongue into my slit with my legs still held together, “are wonderful.”

He went in again, adding more pressure. He never pulled my legs apart, but waited patiently for me to relax on my own.

Finally, I did let my knees part, wantonly, meeting his mouth and hands in this new dance…

“Isabella?” he asked, stopping to look at me.


“Are you? I mean, do you want…?”

“What?” I looked down at him to see him sitting on his heels between my thighs, his cock bobbing and swollen.

I swallowed and nodded.

He leaned over me to the nightstand and pulled out a foil packet, deftly doing the work of opening, pinching and sheathing.

He leaned over me, settling his legs between mine. I slid one knee up his thigh and rested it against his hip.

“Don’t hate me if I’m a minute man. I warned you,” he laughed.

“I won’t hate you, but I will definitely laugh at you,” I said, grinning.

“Fair enough,” he said, smiling back.

I pulled my other leg up and lifted my hips.

I hadn’t realized how wet I was. He slid into me like a katana into its scabbard. There was even a satisfying smack, when his balls made contact with my ass.

“Fucking whore!” he cried, after I clenched my pussy muscles in response to his thrust.

I laughed nervously. Was he calling me a whore?

Fuck, I don’t even care…it’s hot and funny, and…

I giggled again, and he stilled, looking down at me. He looked a bit angry.

“Giggle like that again, and I won’t even last another ten seconds,” his voice was strained, his arms shaking a little.

I grinned and gripped him again without laughing.

“Motherfucker! OK, Swan, you fucking asked for it,” he said, beginning to thrust harder, ruthlessly.

“Fucking hell!” I cried and laughed as I crossed my ankles around his waist and pulled him in, grinding against him each time his body met mine.

I pulled the rest of him close, hooking my chin on his shoulder, and leaning to the side, trying to get him to roll over.

He wrapped his arms around me and we moved together, and as I sat over him, I started slowly grinding against his pelvis.

He closed his eyes, brow furrowed. “Fuck…I can’t look,” he said. “I’m sorry, unnngf…but I can’t…I can’t! Fuck!”

He put his hands on my hips and I felt him hit that spot. I wavered on my knees, unable to keep a steady rhythm.

He lifted me, holding me aloft, while he took control, fucking me hard from below.

We both yelled obscenities and gibberish as he came and I continued to grind on him, seeking my own release.

He continued to thrust, and I rubbed my clit furiously.

“Fuck that’s beautiful,” he said, as he clung to my ass with one hand, and gripped the bottom of the condom with the other. His knuckles brushed against me, and I was undone, falling from a great height.

Next thing I knew, I was lying on his chest, and he was trying to hold my ass up, so he could pull the condom off, tossing it into a trashcan by the futon.

Then, he grabbed the bed sheet and did a quick job of cleaning himself off before setting me back down over his softened cock.

It stirred slightly in response to my clit twitching.

Then, we slept.


This time, when I woke, he was rubbing my shoulders.

“Mmm, that feels so good,” I said.


“Duh, you’re a professional. Don’t tell me you really need the ego petting. You know you have mad skills.”

“Yeah, but I still like to hear it. Clients rarely verbalize.”

I stilled at the thought of this sex-god putting his hands on other women…or even men, for that matter.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Hm,” he responded, his lack of conviction clear.

“I’m starving,” I said. “Got any food?”

“Yeah, I was gonna make us some eggs…or we can go out…or whatever.”

His hands were still working my shoulders and neck.

“I really don’t care. I’m so hungry I could eat a baby elephant.”

“Gross,” he said. “Well, in any event, I’m out of baby anything.”

“Good,” I said, thinking of the human variety.

He laughed as if he understood. Then, his mouth was near my ear, his hands slipping around my sides to reach my breasts. He gave them a little massage as he spoke. “Mmm. How about French toast, with strawberries and blueberries and a couple strips of crisp apple-wood-smoked turkey bacon?”

He stopped touching me, and got up from the futon, heading to the refrigerator.

I groaned.

“I don’t cook!” I yelled, feeling the need to clear that up right away.

“Good, I don’t like to share my kitchen,” he said, getting straight to work.

After a minute he asked casually, “Hey, do you mind doing laundry?”

I stilled like a kid caught with her hand in a cookie jar.

“Um…sure! Who doesn’t?”

“Me,” he said. “I don’t mind anything: dishes, sweeping, mopping, cleaning the toilet…but I can’t stand to do laundry.”

I had an idea.

I turned to look at him, eyes hooded.

“Would you like to watch me masturbate?”

“Huh?” he asked, looking up and stopping his food preparation mid-air, mouth gaping.

“I like doing laundry,” I admitted.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yeah…I actually…get off on it.”

He dropped his knife and walked around the bar, standing over my naked body, hands on his boxer-clad hips.

“Are you fucking with me, Swan?”

“No,” I giggled, pulling the sheet up over me, his predatory smile making me nervous.

“Are you sure?” he cocked an eyebrow.

“Positive,” I said. “When we’re done eating, you can gather your dirty clothes and pop over to my place…I’ll show you what I mean…I’ll change your mindabout laundry…”

I looked at his boxers, and saw his cock stirring.

I grinned evilly.

“Fuck, breakfast. Let’s go now,” he said, trying to pull all the sheets off the bed, with me still in them no less, in one go.

“No! You promised me breakfast…turnabout is fair play,” I said laughing and rolling around in the mangled sheets, pretending to try and get away from his urgent kisses and wandering hands.

He finally let me go, leaving me a hot and bothered mess and headed back to the food.

“I have no idea what fuckery you have planned, Swan, but if it’s half as hot as what’s running through my mind right now, I’ll be so grateful, I’ll do your dishes for a month.”

“Deal,” I said.


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