Wild Temptation
formatted by
E.M. Tippetts Book Designs
The CALL series:
The WILD series:
Wild Attraction
Wild Temptation
Wild Addiction
The GAME series:
The MEMORIES series:
Never Forget
I can resist anything but temptation.
Oscar Wilde
H
er hands move fluidly across my body, as if she already knows every inch of it. As if she’s touched it before. But she hasn’t. They never have, and they will never touch it again.
My addiction is to their bodies and the pleasure they ultimately give me. That final release, that sweet fucking explosion of tension that undoes the knots in my shoulders.
But her… I don’t know her name. And this is a good thing, because she is different. She’s so different than the women I usually fuck. When she moves her blond hair from her eyes, she has this enticing spark that shows a strong submission, a contradiction unto itself. It’s a silent plea that the demanding side of me wants to answer.
I push my lips against hers and wind my fingers in her hair, pushing her against the bed. Her own hands glide across my stomach and up my back, my T-shirt long discarded.
Her body is soft beneath mine, soft but toned and only covered by a navy bra and tiny panties. And I want what’s under them. I need it. I crave it.
I flick the front clasp of her bra and free her sizeable tits. They fit in my hands perfectly, and her nipples harden when I brush my thumbs across them. She arches her back into me when I kiss down her neck and replace my thumb with my mouth, wrapping my lips around her pebbled nipple.
“Mmm,” I hum appreciatively, moving to her other breast. “You have gorgeous tits. Tell me, babe. Does your cunt taste as sweet as they do?”
She responds with a quiet moan and a push of her hips into mine. I continue to work her nipples with my tongue, drifting between them both, and she grinds her pussy against my erection.
I slide my hands over her sides and grasp her thighs, holding them tight enough she stills. “You can do that later. Now, though, I’m intrigued by your taste.” I pull her panties down and stare at her pussy, exposed for me, glistening with the wetness from her arousal. I grip her ankle tightly, my fingers digging in to the pressure points, and kiss her ankle. “Now, you can fuck my face,” I say against her thigh.
She gasps when I drop to my knees and spread her legs wide. I run my tongue along her in one long sweep. Fuck. Her taste is unlike anything I’ve ever known. I’ve licked countless pussies and none have tasted half as good as hers.
She writhes against me as I lick her faster and more intensely. Her writhes become that full-blown face-fuck I just mentioned, and I slip my tongue inside her channel. My thumb pushes against her clit, and she comes undone. Her pleasure-filled, trembling moan as she gives over to the wave of delight I just sent through her body is music to my ears, if only because my cock is throbbing inside my boxers.
I tug them down, letting my erection spring free. She lifts her head from the bed and drops her eyes to it, her tongue flitting across her bottom lip. I smirk and grab her hips.
“What—oh!”
I push her up the bed, still smirking, and kneel by her ass. “Lift your legs,” I order, grasping her ankles and helping her. I rest them over my shoulders and her eyes widen, her lips parting, and I know instantly that she hasn’t been fucked this way before.
Well, shit. She’s about to be introduced to my favorite position.
I rest the head of my cock at the entrance to her pussy and push in slowly. She reaches for me, and I shake my head, grasping her hands. I pin them to the bed at her sides, a hot thrill consuming me at the realization she’s completely under my control.
The action is so simple, but I can hear her pleasured gasp before she even realizes she likes it.
“You don’t touch me.” I put her hands on her thighs, keeping her legs up. “You lie back and you let me fuck you. But no touching.”
She makes to nod but instead drops her head back when I give up the slow bullshit. I slam into her hard, going deep inside. She tightens her grip on her thighs, her fingertips digging right into her skin, and I grasp her hips.
“Good. Now I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to come, and you’re going to come fucking hard. Understood?”
“Yes,” she breathes, widening her legs without dropping them.
I look down at my dick pounding into her, the way her eyes are closed and her cheeks flushed and her lips parted, and decide that it’s most definitely a good thing I don’t know her name.
If I did, I might just be willing to explore that submissive side of her a little more, and I don’t explore.
M
y panties aren’t wet.
They should be. While I’m sitting across the table from Mr. Jackson Sands, my ex-boss, my panties should be dripping. And they’re not.
There’s no sizzle. No boom-boom. No tingly spine or somersaulting stomach.
Well, this is fucking disappointing, isn’t it? I’ve only crushed on the guy since he became my manager a year and a half ago. I’ve only wanted in his pants since he walked through the goddamn door. And now that we’re on a date, that crush has disappeared, right along with my attraction.
Lost: one libido. If found, please return to my lonely, attention-deprived vagina.
I suppose I should be thankful that this is the end of the date—and that there is no attraction. Jackson doesn’t strike me as a no-strings kind of guy. That doesn’t wash with me. I hate strings. Strings make things sticky.