After Hours (InterMix)

chapter Eight


Kelly deposited Sadie back on his neighbor’s side of the fence, and tossed our empties in a recycling bin next to the house. “So. How you feeling?”

I turned the question over in my head, waiting until we were inside to reply. “Pretty relaxed.”

“Good.” He slid the door closed. “I got you something.”

I watched him stroll to the fridge then set a bottle of champagne on the breakfast bar.

“Oh, fancy.”

“Seemed like an auspicious occasion.”

“What? My finally giving in?”

He answered with an affirmative smirk, then ripped away the foil and twisted the wire guard loose. From a cupboard he procured a pair of wine glasses, and eased the cork free with a pop. Bubbles surged and dissolved as he poured, and we clinked glasses.

“To what?” I asked.

“To us, f*cking all weekend.”

“Okay.”

We sipped, and since I knew nothing about champagne, I was free to tell myself that this was good stuff. Kelly put the bottle in a big mixing bowl and cracked two ice trays’ contents around it. He held out his hand to usher me toward the lounging area.

“Feel like a movie?” he asked.

“Like a porn movie?”

A fresh smirk. “Like a movie. Whatever kind you want. Just something to watch while we mess around.”

“How very high school,” I teased, but in truth the idea excited me. I’d come here expecting some crazy role-playing weekend, and I’d been horny enough to be down for that. But I liked this more. It’d make the transition to the harsher stuff easier, surely.

“What are my choices?” While I still get any.

A nice TV was mounted above the fireplace, across from the couch, and Kelly pointed to the DVDs that lined the mantel.

I set my glass on the coffee table and went to inspect the spines. He must have bought most of them in a video store closeout, judging from the rental stickers and price tags slapped all over their scraped-up cases.

“You don’t want to choose?” I asked him, still perusing. “Thought it was all about your way, this visit.”

“It will be. When you give me the word you’re ready.”

“Fine, then.” For no reason whatsoever aside from wanting to be decisive, I picked The Rock, featuring Sean Connery and Nicholas Cage running around Alcatraz; an action flick I could vaguely remember seeing in the dollar theater, ages ago. I handed it to Kelly and he cued it up while I made a pit stop.

By the time I got back, he’d shut the front door and the blinds, and drawn a curtain across the patio doors, closing us in a facsimile of a Saturday night, despite it being three thirty on a Thursday afternoon.

We sat close on the couch, Kelly lounging at an angle at one end, half facing me with his arm draped along the back. I was suddenly sixteen, in the den with my first boyfriend, scared and hopeful that second base might be reached before the credits rolled.

This was Kelly Robak, though. A mere look from him felt more obscene than second. What exactly does sixth base involve? I wondered. How sore would I be after all the extra innings he surely had planned?

I felt high, just sitting near him. I scooted a little closer so our thighs touched, his huge and warm and hard against my slender one. He adjusted, too, edging nearer so his arm was resting just behind my shoulders, my body pleasantly cocooned against his side. He’d intimidated me so much that first week. The memory had become theoretical, he felt so reassuring now. I’d found his body ridiculous before, but goddamn, it was wonderful when it was on your side. Thick arm, broad chest, strong thigh, all mine until Saturday dawned.

The champagne was making me eager. I finished my glass long before Kelly did his, and he poured me a second. I set it on the table after a sip, and as I settled back against his side, my hands got ideas. Gaze on the screen—where I had absolutely no clue what was going on in the movie—I turned and rubbed Kelly’s chest. Just to feel how hard it was. He kneaded my shoulder in reply, shifted his legs.

After a minute’s idle caressing, I looked up at him, fingers dawdling along his tee shirt collar. For a long moment he just stared back, then very slowly, he leaned in and kissed me.

He kept his mouth closed, and we didn’t dissolve into a melee of groping as I’d expected. Not for a lack of chemistry, either. His advances were measured. A gentle tangling of his fingers in my hair, a steady deepening of the kiss. His tongue brushed mine, drawing blood to heat my cheeks and tingle between my thighs, and I heard something explode on-screen.

I felt delicate far too often lately, and the way Kelly treated me, all gruff and pushy, made me feel like he thought I could take it. Like I was unbreakable, even if I didn’t feel that way all the time.

This man on the couch, kissing me, was warm and sensual, and nearly tender.

But he wasn’t the man I’d come here to f*ck.

I broke our mouths apart. “I think I’m ready. For you to take over, I mean.”

“Gimme a safe word, just in case.”

I stared blankly in the direction of the kitchen. “Spatula?”

“That’ll work. And if for some reason you can’t talk—”

I imagined my mouth too stuffed full of Kelly’s cock to articulate my needs.

“—just do something three times. Poke me or snap your fingers, or knock on something, or use your teeth, whatever. Three times. Real clear.”

“Sure.”

“You got any triggers I should know about? Any fears?” he asked.

“Centipedes.”

“I don’t think that’ll come up.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Ready?”

I nodded.

“Finish your champagne.”

Just the way he said it, I knew it was game on.

Behind narrowed lids his eyes were ice, and they followed my every motion as I leaned forward for my glass, and emptied it in two swallows. He took it from my hand and set it roughly on the table. When his fingers returned to my hair, they clutched tighter, and his lips didn’t kiss—they claimed. He angled his face and consumed me, my pleasure spiking alongside a taste of fear.

This was the man who’d half forced his way into my bed, who’d half dictated and half intuited my boundaries, and half ignored them once they were established. As we kissed his hands cradled my jaw, stroked my neck and shoulder. I could feel him examining me, like some new purchase he was admiring, some shiny new toy. We pulled away after a few minutes, my lips already tender.

“C’mere,” Kelly muttered, and leaned back into the cushions, patting his thighs to say I should sit on his lap.

I felt heavy and clumsy as I took the order, worried my hair was in his face, that he wasn’t comfortable. Then he jerked my legs wider so my calves dangled beside his, tugged me closer by the waist until I felt his belt buckle, a hard bite against my spine. Cool air kissed my inner thighs, my skirt creeping up toward my hips. I swallowed, woozy, self-consciousness lost in a cloud of lust.

Beneath me he shifted, erection insistent at my butt. “Feel that?”

I managed to murmur a shallow, “Yeah.”

His palms slid to my breasts, cupping gruffly. My civilized host was gone, the change so stark I imagined a bunch of sheep’s clothing must be lying in a heap beside the couch. Every iteration of Kelly was gone, save for the one who’d forced my orgasms that night in my bed. The scary one. The one whose crass promises had kept me up nights and lured me here.

Low, dark words warmed my cheek. “You been making me suffer for a while now.”

“Sorry,” I murmured.

His mouth went to my ear, so close I felt his lips move as he whispered, “Hush. You only speak when I ask you a question.”

The statement dunked me in ice water then encased me in steam—sensory whiplash. I couldn’t draw a real breath, couldn’t clear my head. His thumbs brushed the sides of my breasts, palms cupping more roughly. I felt spread open and helpless, pressed to his strong, ready body but unable to see him.

“Watch the movie,” Kelly ordered.

Yes. Right. The movie.

I stared at the screen, taking nothing in aside from the abstract strobing of colors, the sounds of words I couldn’t make sense of. A few layers of fabric and a belt separated me from Kelly’s cock. My sex contracted at the thought, a greedy fist begging to clasp him. I’d never wanted a man this way before. So explicitly. So viscerally. If my usual fantasies were fully scripted romantic dramas, what I wanted from Kelly was base and pornographic, the clapping of flesh against flesh; ugly, thrilling moans and grunts; cuss words. Spit and sweat and scraping nails. I wanted his hands on my hips, fingers digging too hard into my skin.

Kelly’s attention left my breasts, wandering down my belly, palms gliding up my arms and leaving my skin tight with goose bumps.

“Gimme my glass.”

I leaned forward to grab it from the coffee table and he took it, handing it back after a pause, a bit emptier. I replaced it and Kelly settled me against him, his touch feeling lazier than before. He rested his cheek against mine, as though we really were still watching the movie. As if this were some typical date, except he just happened to be molesting me and I wasn’t allowed to speak.

He slid his hands down my thighs, chest flexing against my back, and when he drew them up, my skirt rose, dragged to my hips. The pads of his fingers were dry and warm, hard with calluses but not rough. They traced the lightest circles over the softest skin I possessed, faint lines blazing with sensation up and down my innermost thighs.

Do this forever, I wanted to beg.

I shut my eyes, hypnotized by his fascinating caresses between my legs, the hardness of his cock and buckle at my lower back. Hypnotized by the way he threatened to use me, even as he spoiled me. Ugly scars, pretty eyes; the calm breakwater forcing order on the ward’s chaos. The contradiction that was Kelly.

“Eyes open.”

Obediently, I pretended to watch the movie, focused on nothing but the tingling touch of his fingers; the heat of his deep, rhythmic breaths; the rise and fall of his chest against my back. He drew his lips along my jugular, moaned just below my ear. I held my breath. I felt the scrape of his teeth, the slick, firm drag of his tongue along my throat, just as the teasing of his fingers turned gruff, a whisper deepening to a growl.

“I’m gonna make you so wet.”

The words alone were realizing his promise.

He fanned his fingers, thumbs tracing the uppermost creases of my thighs and the hems of my panties.

“I’m gonna make you want me so bad it’ll hurt,” Kelly whispered. “Make you want me so much, you’ll come the second my cock sinks inside you.”

I gulped a breath, head hazy, body tight and aching. He hadn’t even glanced my * yet and I was closing in. A hot and restless desire, an angry, neglected presence that demanded attention. I needed to fidget, but surely he’d only tell me to be still. Touch me, I wanted to say. But it’d only earn me another shushing and a longer wait.

“You want me already. Don’t you?” His thumbs stroked the outer edges of my lips through my underwear, lighting up nerves I hadn’t known I had, striking me mute.

“Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, the sound a thick, physical thing, lodged in my throat.

“I know you do. But you have to be patient.”

One hand snaked up my body to cup my breast, and the other spread across my mound, warming my skin and taunting my * with its proximity. But no contact.

“You’ll get my cock when I’m good and ready. And I can wait all afternoon.” Kelly half chuckled, half sighed, a distinctly sinister noise, then amended, “I can wait all weekend. And so can you, since you don’t get a say.”

With that, he took his hand from my mons and wrapped his arm around my waist, resting his cheek against mine. If not for the palm cupping my breast and the hard cock at my back, it would have been quite the sweet little scene.

I stared at the TV, trying to make sense of the movie, of eerie green spheres and Sean Connery’s eyebrows. What weird fetishes was I burning onto the sex processor of my brain? Would I be haunted by the sensation of a phantom hard-on pressed along my tailbone every time I caught a glimpse of Nicholas Cage from now on?

His palm moved across my breast, a slow caress that parted my lips and shut my eyes. The touch was echoed on the other side, back and forth until my nipples were stiff and aching. He teased them with both hands, plucking, then gentle pinching between his thumbs and forefingers. With a heavy breath he lowered his mouth to my ear, not speaking, not kissing, just letting his lower lip draw a faint line from my lobe and up along the curve then back again.

Bite me, I thought. Say something filthy. Threaten me. Touch my f*cking *, for the love of God. But he just kept taunting, speaking in nothing more than warm, steady exhalations.

I never would have expected him to be this way. So soft, and subtle. Sensual. Words that didn’t describe any of his earlier advances.

Who are you?

Why lead me here, with gruff Kelly’s crass invitations? Why not let gentle Kelly seduce me first, follow the usual order of things?

So I’d know what I was signing up for, perhaps, when rough Kelly returned. Or maybe this was how a mouse felt—brought down by force, then toyed with until the time came for feasting.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

I swallowed. “About what’ll happen. How it’ll be.”

“How do you think it’ll be?”

“Rough.”

A smug sound hummed in my ear, not quite a laugh. “You wet for me yet?”

I nodded.

“Tell me.”

“Yes. I am.” I sounded terrified, my breathing shallow.

“You don’t sound too sure. Maybe I better find out for myself.”

His hands slipped down my belly and over my hips, kneading my thighs. It made his chest clench—hard muscles pushing into my back every time his palms stroked my knees. Oh, the f*cking rhythm of it. The harsh sound of his breath punctuated each motion and all I could think about was sex. About watching Kelly’s body above mine. Flexing chest and arms and hips, the flash of his driving cock, and those cruel, unreadable eyes.

My hands twitched, dying for something to do. Some part of Kelly to touch. Knowing I might get corrected, I angled my arm to cup the back of his head. That soft hair brushed my palm, not matching any other hard part of him.

“I know what you want,” he said.

The next time his hands stroked up my thighs, they stayed there. His thumbs traced the inside borders of my panties, sparking bright and hot as matches. He took my ear lobe between his lips, the gesture so unexpectedly erotic, I gasped. No time to recover, he slid one big, intrusive hand down the front of my underwear.

“Oh.”

His palm rested on my mound, fingers impossibly cool and dry, just barely glancing my * and the seam of my sex. I shivered, not caring if he saw. Not even caring if it prolonged the wait—all this near touching was getting me as hot as the best head I’d ever received. I could’ve come from his voice and presence and the promises his hands were making, nothing more.

“I like this,” Kelly murmured, stroking his fingertips through the hair on my mound. Then they tightened, fisting my curls, and I choked on a moan, bucking forward.

His free arm circled my waist, holding me in place as those fingers clutched and eased again and again. When I stilled, he released my middle. His grip on my hair tightened and held, ten times as arousing as it was painful. It opened me even wider, made me feel like a restrained animal. His other hand slipped beneath the crotch of my panties, and finally it came. The friction.

“Oh.”

The side of his thumb stroked my *, the length of his fingers sliding along my lips. My spine curled in on itself, every muscle convulsing.

“Good,” was all Kelly said, and his voice gave him away. Scratchy and shallow. His hands were perfectly poised, but that single syllable thrummed with excitement, just like every last inch of the thick cock beating against my tailbone.

Two stiff fingers slipped forward and back along my lips, forward and back. I squirmed, wanting more—more friction, more depth, more of anything that promised violation. I shut my eyes, remembering the way his erection had taunted me that night in my bed. The way his hips had felt, pushing into me, the way he’d forced my hand around his head and bathed my palm in his come. I squeezed my inner muscles, sharpening the pleasure.

“I know what you want,” Kelly told me again. His voice was deep once more, arousal sounding tamed. At long last he let my curls go, freeing two fingertips to gently pinch my *, his other hand still tracing my lips, but deeper now.

I was so wet, it was shocking. I felt shameful and proud at once, and above all, exposed. Found out. My mouth could deny my interest in Kelly all day long, but my p-ssy didn’t lie. He felt like more than a single person. Two hands, a hard body, a mean voice. A one-man orgy. I’d leave here limping, just as he’d promised.

He rolled my * between his thumb and forefinger. Pleasure gathered in steady pulsations, but the contact wouldn’t get me off. It wasn’t meant to.

“You thinking about my cock?”

“About your hands.”

“What about them?”

“It feels. So f*cking good.” I nearly laughed, just from how ridiculous and overwrought I sounded, and yes, from how f*cking good his hands felt.

“I could make you come if I wanted,” he whispered. “Just like I did in your bed.”

Yes yes yes. Now now now.

“But you got off easy that night. Bring your legs together.”

His hands left me, the most torturous neglect ever. I was too lust-drunk to understand his order, but then he was tugging at my panties and I caught on. I shimmied my legs close enough for him to push my underwear to my knees, then got them kicked away. Another gruff directive spread my thighs back open; so much cool air, so much shocking heat. He clasped my breast with one strong hand and the other slipped between my legs. The pad of his thumb rubbed my * with maddening, blunt strokes, as those fingertips went right back to taunting me—promising penetration but showing no signs of delivering anytime soon.

The sweep of his fingers, the squeeze of the palm holding my breast. The stiff length of his cock digging into my spine like a hostage-taker’s gun. And his words, his f*cking words.

“Still only thinking about my hands?”

“Your hands. And your voice. And your dick.”

“What about my dick?”

“About . . . About how it’ll feel.”

Without warning, he pushed two fingers inside me to the middle knuckle.

I clasped his wrist. “Oh.”

“Shhh.” He drew them out, basting my * in the wetness, then drove back inside. Three fingers, now? Or was I just so swollen that it felt like that many? He kept them stiff and straight, and my mind wandered right where he surely wanted it, to the hard heat between his legs.

“Now tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Your cock.”

Harder and faster, his fingers plunged. Then suddenly he stopped, drew them out slowly and brought them to his mouth. He moaned as he tasted me. Tasted what he’d done to me. The next breath, he slid them back inside me, pace resumed like he’d never stopped.

“Oh God.”

“Say my name.”

“Kelly.”

“Good. You got permission to say that anytime you like. Now tell me what you want from my cock.”

“Whatever you’ll give me.”

Another of those nasty chuckles hummed in my ear, and his f*cking fingers slowed. “Good answer, sweetheart. You want me to tell you what I plan to give you?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t work that way.”

Of course it didn’t. I want what I want, when and how I want it.

I was left waiting for the whims of Kelly’s cock to assert themselves. Aching, I lost myself in the steady, explicit violation of his fingers, imagining watching his length sink inside me. Imagining how he’d be, when he finally lost control. I knew how he’d sound—I’d recorded every word and grunt and breath from that night in my bed and replayed it when I got myself off, a dozen times at least. But what he might look like, I could only guess. Mean, surely. Mean, but helpless. Kelly Robak, helpless from what I could make him feel. The notion was as hot as his pounding fingers.

I shifted, needing something, anything, just the flex of my own hips to spur the desire. Kelly seemed to mistake the gesture for restlessness. The spread fingers cupping my breast crept up my neck, slid into my hair and tightened. You’re not going anywhere, his fist told me. You stay right here and you come when I make you come.

It was the singularly most erotic touch I’d ever felt—the coldest, hottest, cruelest sensation.

A snatch of memory visited me, of my pitching a fit when an old boyfriend had grasped my hair when I’d been giving him head. It had hurt, and worse, it’d made me feel like he’d written me into some porn scene. I’d signed up to be with a nice guy, not some porno-jack-off hair-grabber, and he’d violated my expectations. How dare he not conform to the script I’d composed when I cast him as my gentle lover? How dare he try to recast me as some slap-around slut whose hair he got to grab while he f*cked my mouth? The poor thing. He’d probably just thought it’d be hot, and hoped maybe I’d be into it. Instead I’d snapped and ranted at him for five minutes. Shamed him for treating me like that.

I could be a real control freak, with guys. With nice guys.

Funny how with Kelly, I welcomed the dirty stuff. The degrading dynamics. I guess because he came as advertised. He couldn’t violate my expectations, when violation was basically his main selling point.

“I know you’re getting close,” Kelly said.

I had been. I’d distracted myself with that memory, hoping to draw things out, but I was creeping closer and closer with every push of his fingers.

“Tell me.”

“I’m getting close.”

“You’ll come when I let you. When I tell you. Got that?”

Oh f*ck. “Yes,” I said, uncertain I was physically capable of keeping that promise. If I failed, would I get punished? Did I want to get punished? With no other man on earth would I want to be laid across a lap and spanked, but with Kelly . . . Shit, I had no f*cking clue.

“Stand up.”

I obeyed on boneless legs. Kelly stood as well, yanking off his shirt, unbuckling and stripping his belt with a rough, practiced motion, opening his fly and shoving his jeans down his legs. I got the same non-view of his cock as I had before, obscenely stiff, straining against black cotton.

I fidgeted with my waistband, wondering if I was supposed to be stripping, too.

His eyes didn’t miss my silent inquiry. “Keep it on. I like skirts.”

He sat again and patted his lap. My legs were wobbly as I returned to my position, straddling his thighs. He tugged me tight to his chest, erection hard against my ass and feeling a hundred times dirtier with his jeans gone. Cocks had always been an incidental bonus to me, something I only cared about in proportion to how much I liked the guy it was attached to. Silly when flaccid, exciting or scary or off-putting when hard. It was a man’s words or expression or caresses that dominated my masturbatory fantasies—a specific man at that, be he a crush or a celebrity or a character from a movie. I never simply fixated on a dick. They were strictly secondary to the man himself.

Right now, though, the world spun on Kelly’s cock. The sun rose and set around it, and I wanted it like I’d never known I could want anything. Just to see it, to feel its weight against my palm, taste and smell the skin, to discover what it needed from me and do exactly that.

Heat, I thought. This is what being in heat feels like. A need so primal and crazy-making, it leaves a bitch howling.

“Sit up. Scoot forward a sec.”

I did as I was told and Kelly fumbled behind my butt, adjusted the way he sat. When his hand guided me back, the other circled my waist and slipped between my thighs, and he lined his bare cock up along my wet lips. I sucked a breath, suddenly back in my bed with him, taunted by the darkest part of him, the one I seemed doomed never to set eyes on. Only now it was a hundred times hotter, and dirtier, and more dangerous.

Hands clamped my hips, pitching me forward an inch or two, easing me back. I took their directives, bracing my hands on Kelly’s knees. Forward and back, over and over, his naked cock and my naked cunt rubbing in slick strokes.

I moaned, arms shaking. He shushed me.

“You come when I let you come,” he told me again.

My body gave a pleasurable, hungry squeeze at his words, the very last scraps of my stubborn feminism abandoned.

“You do whatever I say.” He freed a hand, put it to my ribs and gruffly arched my back against his chest. Took my earlobe between his lips, nuzzled my cheek with his nose. “You come when I say, suck my cock when I say, spread your legs the second I tell you to. Got it?”

I managed to huff an, “Okay,” between stilted breaths.

“You’ll get it, though. Don’t worry.” He grasped my shoulder and waist, making me arch deeper, my sex pressing against the length of his erection. He guided me to move, short motions of my hips keeping his flesh gliding along mine.

“F*ck.” I said it without meaning to, almost a plea.

A shhhh warmed the skin behind my ear. “You’ll get it,” he echoed. “But only if you behave, and keep that pretty mouth shut unless I’m asking you a question.”

I held my tongue, bit my lip. My p-ssy actually, truly hurt; I was so close.

Don’t come. Don’t come. I tried to watch the movie, but my eyes closed, awareness solely on the slippery strokes of his cock. I could angle my hips, maybe feel him push inside me. Feel his hands on my waist, feel his body thumping into mine as he took over the thrusting. I wanted to be held in place and f*cked, just f*cked. The thought made me dizzy. The thought edged me closer. And if I lost it, surely I’d have to wait even longer.

Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come!

A loud moan built of frustration and pain and pleasure erupted from my throat.

Kelly froze, then his hold on me loosened. So, so lightly, his fingertips played up and down the length of my arm.

“You remember what I told you? About being quiet?”

I nodded wildly, crazed from the heat and sound and need stuffed inside me.

“If you can’t keep quiet,” he said, “we’ll just have to find that mouth something useful to do.”