Has it been a week already? Seems like just yesterday I was posting something naughty that Duncan and Kenzi did. Fortunately, there is no dearth of naughty things that they do. To whit:
We’ll pick up where we left off last week. (If you need a “warm-up”, go back and have a read of that post.) In a blog comment on that post, someone asked me to let the poor girl experience a “release”. Be careful what you wish for.
Copyright © 2014 Corey Harper
Corey Harper Books
Kenzi loved and ached for Duncan all the more, because she knew he was doing this to swell her pleasure ten–fold, a thousand–fold. And she knew he would allow her release when he was damn good and ready.
The thought made her sink into him, like she was becoming even tinier against his massive bulk. It was acknowledgement of her surrender to him, to give up her control so she could be in that moment, in all those moments, she knew he would create for her. All she had to do was submit, and know that her submission drove him to even greater levels of excitement.
And she felt it in him, her submission intensifying his energy. Like he was crackling with electricity. It boggled her sometimes, this male energy—it seemed bottomless. Knowing it was all focused on her, would always be focused on her, was almost overwhelming. If she was a human girl, she probably would have fainted.
He must be feeling a little overwhelmed too, because she felt his erection pushing past the waistband of his jeans, the firm yet silken head emerging to press against her perineum. The heat radiating from it burned through her, even in the chilled water, sending a frisson of desire like a jolt vibrating in her cells.
She looked up at him again, and he was smiling at her. “What’s funny?” she asked. Sometimes it was nice to hear him talk, rather than always reading his mind.
“I was just thinking what a crazy day it’s been,” he said, his voice low and rumbly the way she liked.
She giggled. “Even for us, I think.” For the moment, she stopped trying to get her hand between them, and encircled his neck with her arms.
He chuckled. “Even for us.” His face went serious. “How are you feeling?”
She cocked her head. “Don’t you already know?”
His full, sensual lips quirked. “Sometimes I’d rather hear you talk.”
“Oh.” Great minds. “Well, I’m not sure my brain has caught up to everything yet. It’s bizarre to have gone the last four centuries being a part of this world—the sith world—but not really a part of it. Know what I mean?” He nodded, and she continued. “And then to have a whole lot of the sith world happen all at once… I just haven’t caught up yet. I thought I was going to lose you today.” She saw his face furrow, and hastened, “But I’m okay, really. I’m pretty resilient, you know.”
“Yes, you are,” he said.
She lowered her eyes. “Are you going to find out just how resilient?” She sent him a very specific image of herself she thought would get his attention.
It did. His eyes widened, and his erection jumped against her. “Is that what you would like?”
She nodded, eyes still downcast. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since it happened. A whole month!”
He put his forefinger under her chin and drew her up to look in his eyes. “You know I loved it, too.”
“Couldn’t you tell?”
She giggled; now he was teasing her. That was okay; two could play that. She had felt how the head of his erection had swelled against her warm skin when she sent him her naughty image. Now she undulated her hips, a tiny movement forward and back, enough to stroke his tumescence an inch or so. And move it towards where she wanted it.
“Vixen,” he said, the single word so deep, so heavy with promise, that she froze a moment. His eyes had darkened from their usual azure to cobalt. He gazed at her, and she felt transfixed by his scary, shiver–inducing stare, much the way she thought a deer might feel when looking up from grazing to see a hungry cougar about to pounce, its yellow eyes glowing.
“What are you going to do to me?” she couldn’t help asking. She had a pretty good idea, but he always surprised her. And somehow, asking drove up the fear level, and hence her excitement.
“Everything,” he said, his voice a low–pitched growl.
Her breath caught. He held her with one arm while he peeled off his shirt with the other hand and tossed it onto the bank. She crushed herself against his now bare chest, rubbing her swollen breasts against his muscles, gasping at the sensation of his chest hairs chafing her soft skin and achingly hard nipples. He buried his face in her soaking curls, his lips brushing the delicate skin of her neck. She felt him part his lips and nip her neck with his sharp teeth, making her jump and squeal, then sigh and melt against him.
Her hands came up and gripped his wet hair, fisting in his thick raven locks. Her fingers tightened when he nipped her again, harder this time. She felt his inner snarl from her passionate grip, and he bit her neck, drawing forth a pair of burgundy droplets. He lapped them up, continuing several moments until the puncture healed over.
“It’s okay,” she breathed, her right cheek against his. “I like when you do that.”
He groaned, deep in his chest, the vibration rumbling through her ribs. The image of the giant, unnamed predator came to her again, and she marveled that all his power was under such tight control. But that he could release it at any moment, and she would be helpless to fight it. And why would she want to?
She felt his right hand glide up the wet curve of her hip. His other hand still cradled her bottom, keeping her afloat, allowing her to tighten her legs around the hard muscles of his waist and pull closer to him. When she felt his hand slide along the outer curve of her full breast, she moaned and closed her eyes.
He cupped the weight of her left breast in his big palm, lifting it just enough for the soft flesh to fill his hand, telling her how much he loved her curviness, her lush womanliness. And just as she was sighing into his touch, he slid his thumb and forefinger inward and pinched her nipple. Not hard, not so soon, but enough to send that welcome shock of greedy craving in a straight line from her nipple to her groin. Her legs stiffened and her ankles locked even tighter around his waist.
His left hand under her bottom crept across her round globes and to the cleft of her perineum. She could feel his fingers pause there, between her increasingly swollen lips, and her clenching rosette. With his first two fingers, he stroked her in light, languid caresses, staying in the between–zone, keeping her wondering, and sending her lust skyrocketing. His touch both tickled and incited, and the two sensations warred under her skin, sending her brain into a whirl and driving her desire to the edge.
With no warning, he plunged his two stroking fingers between her pussy lips, and his thumb against her clit. At the same time, he squeezed her nipple hard, stretching its turgid fullness out from her chest.
She shrieked and came, her body wracking against his in shuddering quakes. Warm fluid ejected from her under the water and onto his thrusting fingers. She clutched herself to him, shaking and quivering as the waves of her orgasm crashed through her.
When she could open her eyes and breathe again, she gasped in a huge breath and saw he was grinning at her.
“Surprise,” he said.
Her answering giggle was mostly panting, but she managed to say, “I like your surprises.”
He slid out of his jeans and hurled them onto the moss bank of the spring pond. His erection sprang free, its impressive length nestling from her throbbing lips to her rearmost cleft. She reached behind herself to stroke her fingers across the head, making him close his eyes and groan. Rotating her hips, she ground herself the length of his heated shaft, feeling him swell and become even harder. In the chill of the spring water, it was like sitting on a scorching brand.
Holding on to his shoulders, she leaned back, forcing the flared corona of his pulsing erection to jerk against her puckered rosette. At its touch, she clenched, told herself to relax. When he’d taken her there, a month ago before all the craziness began, she’d never known anything that seemed so naughty could feel so intense and wonderful. That the pain was not like any other pain, and that when it transformed, not like any other ecstasy.
She trembled, and opened her eyes to find him gazing at her. “Hello,” she said.
Of course he knew what she was thinking. “Are you sure?”
“I want to know what it feels like when you… you know,” she said, lowering her eyes, her cheeks flushing red.
“You seem conflicted.”
“I’m a girl,” she said. “Pretty much the way it works.” She tickled the edges of his thoughts, saw what he was about to say. “Yes, I remember my safe words—red, yellow… and green.” She raised her eyes to his, gave him a shy smile. “Olive, forest, hunter, lime, British racing.”
A growl rumbled from deep in his massive chest and emerged an animal snarl. He spun her around so that her back was against his chest, her round ass pressing his cock between their bodies. She threw her head back against his shoulder as he lifted her and slid his thudding erection between her thighs. Sighing when she felt the large flare of his cockhead slip between her labia, and moaning when his big hands came up and cupped her breasts, she hung suspended on his maleness, the water and his tumescence her support.
He pinched both her nipples at the same moment, sending shockwaves of pleasure and pain through her. She heated, her belly muscles scrunching, and she bent her legs back to hook her toes around his granite–hard upper calves, leaning forward.
She knew it would hurt, but was not prepared for how much. The pain exploded through her like a constellation on fire, sparks flashing against the inside of eyelids that had shuttered tight in reaction.
Holy Mother of— He had pressed the head of his rock–hard erection against her creased rosette for only a moment, then had thrust straight in, pausing just an instant as she clenched in instinct against the thick invader, her tight ring clamping behind the flare of his corona, her muscles trying to expel this very foreign object.
He held her, murmuring reassurances, telling her to use her safe word if she had changed her mind about wanting him to do this. She bit her lip, unable to speak, and thought for a flash about telling him to stop, but then it happened.
The transformation. Had to be one of the weirdest damn things ever.
Distracted and wobbled by the initial sting, and gripping tight in her innate reaction to resist, several moments passed before she recognized the warmth stealing over her. And then it got even hotter, as her pussy began to contract.
“Oh my fucking fuck!” she screamed, a thunderous orgasm crashing through her. It went on and on, building higher and higher, until she was arched straight out from his body, her legs still locked around his, her hands atop his where he held her breasts, his cock deep inside her ass. And he hadn’t even moved it yet.
He felt bigger than he ever had before. She knew that was impossible, but the thinking part of her brain was drowning in the nonstop waves of the most unbelievable orgasm she’d ever had with him. And that was saying something.
I hope everyone feels better that Kenzi got some relief from mean old Duncan’s torturing. Ah, but I’m sure he isn’t through with her yet.
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