A Harem of One [The Moreland Brothers 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) (10 page)

It was all she could do to rock against him and clutch greedily at his grasping arms. She was so thoroughly entranced with his clasp, encompassing every inch of her it seemed. Even his leg was wrapped over her hip, crisp male hairs rasping over her newly shaved skin. Her feet even possessed sensations. He used his toes to rub against the arch of one foot. God it felt so good, she needed to scream. The stronger the multitude of sensations grew, the tighter she curled inward, and now she was nearly in a fetal position. Marq was curled around her, his upper arm pillowing her head. Jamison used the tense bicep as a gag of sorts, opening her mouth wide and biting him.

“So you want to fuck, is that it?” The syllables rasped over her ear, forcing a protracted shiver along her spine to end around his cock, even she felt the ripples of satisfaction pulsing from her walls.

“Uhh…god knows, this is fine.” Jamison’s voice trembled the same as her skittish body did and carried a suspiciously hoarse pitch.

“I would hope so since I’m inside you right now.” His hips moved infinitesimally slow, making every nerve-laden millimeter of motion count. So good. Her sex was so wet, she put rivers to shame. He told her that, and the words nearly sent her over until he pinched the clit he still fingered. The flash of pain just sent her blistering higher, burning harder until she gave birth to the scream that she worked so hard to keep within her chest.

“Ahh—” The sounds burned within, kept buried deep, made her long to bite, scratch, and claw at him until he gave her what she needed. It was so close, but the teasing strokes he bestowed her clingy sheath were enough to raise the bar of her orgasm, yet not enough to send her headfirst into it. The submissive position she allowed herself to fold into made interaction with his dick impossible. Only experiencing was feasible. And there was so much to dive into.

As though he could feel her spiraling away, he rolled them over. Now he was mounting her like a recalcitrant animal, and she loved it. There was something primal in the position that gave her the ability to be free in her possession. She laughed and let him guide her. By the time they finished juggling limbs, she was in child’s pose with Marq mirroring her posture. His fingers were clasped between hers, his soft palms riding the back of her hands. Each motion was still gentle, subtle waves throbbing inside her. But the angle of entry and the depths he reached were enough to make her rock back and forth in sensual madness.

The dark allure of being covered and mounted was enough for her to let go, and Jamison bit at the soft cotton sheathing her bed. The wads of fabric gagging her did little to hold her gasps of pleasure at bay. She felt Marq pull away and ripple through her walls once more before groaning and latching his lips over the head of the snake tat poised sentry-like over her shoulder. The skin there seemed more sensitive, as if the ink left the sensory organs it permeated bare. His mouth was enough send the whispers of her fading pleasure into orbit again. Only this time her cries of pleasure were allowed to escape and envelop the room in a symphony of sound. Marq refused to let her hide the wails using one hand beneath her chest, cupping her throat with the palm and forcing the column upward to face the ceiling.

When her shaking finally stilled, his next words were to tell her how well she did. How beautifully she succumbed to him and their lust. When each breath released against her ear had lowered to a normal pace, he rolled them over once more. Now she was on top, only she was facing away from him. Her chin was cocked ceiling-ward, hair a scattered tangle in every direction. Her legs splayed over his, arms flung away from her body. Unlike her sprawled limbs, his were contained. He merely thumbed a puckered nipple and rubbed circles over her belly with the other hand. His legs were tucked neatly between hers using them to keep her rubber limbs akimbo. She felt so open and so ready for anything he could offer her in this moment.

After long minutes spent shivering under his hands, Jamison looked toward her window, watching the sky begin to brighten. Instead of draining her, the surplus of early-morning, Marques-manipulated orgasms left her energized and ready for anything. She felt ready for her sun salutations and whatever the day brought her. He must have read her mind as he asked her, “Can I watch you? Greet the sunrise like you did in my room?”

She nodded her head and sat up, stretching as she stood upright. When she padded to the bathroom, she couldn’t help looking back at her bed and the übermasculine man atop it. Jamison should have never stopped to catch one extra glance of him. At least then she wouldn’t have been distracted enough to smack herself in the head with the door frame. The worst part of it wasn’t the small pain from her injury, but watching the wince scroll across his face after the loud cracking smack the collision created. Not her best look and sadly enough not the worst either. There was that time in band class…

The decades-old memory embarrassed her even now. It was the year before her dad died, and she was twelve. She was an avid participant in band class, finding her friends amidst the band geeks and misfits. Until one day she came into class and picked up her school issued bassoon. Somehow she tripped over one of the steps and dropped her case, unable to stop herself from falling. Even at that age, she was a busty girl, and her burgeoning breasts bounced her at least twice off her chair before she fell in the floor in front of Brand, her crush. After then, she was the butt of many jokes for months, most of the students calling her names like “boobs-a-bouncing” or “busty big bounce.” It was those moments that quickly taught her the value of melding into her environment. Then after the passing of her only parent, the foster homes finalized the rest of her education about hiding in plain sight. To be unseen was sometimes the best protection from people with bad intentions. But even then, being unseen was the one thing that can create an instant victim. The one and only time her anonymous demeanor didn’t save her was the day she ended up in the group home until she graduated from high school.

Perturbed at the turn her thoughts took, Jamison decided to clear her head with a quick shower. By the time she finished and applied a light mist of body oil in a spray bottle, it was time for her morning workout. She put on the sports bra she normally wore for these occasions. Otherwise she would end up slapping herself in the eye as she transitioned. As she padded to the window, she tried to pretend Marq wasn’t there, but of course he watched every move she made. Yet, within five minutes of her initial stretch, she was grounded enough to forget his presence and the day felt nearly the same as any other she’d had in the last year.

Over the last months she had perfected the art of finding Zen anywhere. Crowded trailers, cold desert sands, freezing tundra, and a few other places she found herself during her working career. She was at the point now she could leave the wireless game entirely. The only thing that held her back was her best friends. Once she pulled stakes from her day job and Makenzie’s apartment, no more Wilmington. She may just post up in California this time. She’d lived a little of everywhere, from sunny Florida to bustling New York. But for now, she enjoyed her ability to bask in her first real, adult female friendships. Before Charli and Makenzie, she was a self-proclaimed occasional beard for some of her closeted buddies at professional and personal gatherings. So it was needless to say that she didn’t want to throw away her relationship with Makenzie and Charlene. But she didn’t really feel…satisfied. There was more out there for her, she knew it. Whether or not it was here remained to be seen.

As she transitioned through the asana, Jamison let her mind roam as it would. It seemed with these moments each day, she learned more about herself. She understood what she wanted and needed from life. She knew where she wanted her path to lead her and what she required to be happy. For most people, they already knew or at least had an inkling of what they needed from life. For her it was different. She never expected to be joyful, and content was enough to keep her alive and in the moment. As the poses progressed, Jamison found she attained then held the positions a bit too easily and decided to up the ante on her workout. She finished the few variants needed to end her round of salutations and moved to a free form of postures designed to push her flexibility to the max. She adopted a corpse pose first for a moment of rest and reflection.

When she finished, she bent her knees and brought them to her chest and rocked from left to right, giving her spine a supple stretch. Using her weak but present abdominals, she forced her lower half into the air and rolled her back upward. When that stage was complete, she was a propped into a full shoulder stand. It took her a moment to melt within the pose and fully relax while engaging every muscle. Her hips lowered in degrees and, once her lower half of her body was perpendicular to the upper, gave one deep push to send her feet to the floor. Her flexibility only allowed her to touch her toes to the ground here, but it was enough to achieve the posture. Lastly, she bent her knees to the floor, one on each side of her face. She could feel sweat roll from her skin. This was exactly what she needed to challenge herself today.

Marques had remained so silent that Jamison had forgotten he was watching her just across the room. Until she attained plow posture as the pose was called, and then she heard a gasp and choking sounds. The muted noises were enough to break her concentration and the natural endorphins gave way to adrenaline-based fire boiling through her veins at the realization that she let him watch her. Due to the nature of her stance, she was unable to see him, but she heard the heightened breathing and movement. She pushed off with her feet, and unwound her body from the awkward posture. When she was sitting upright again, her head swam with oxygen and a drugging sense of awareness mixed heavily with arousal. The totality of her night and day with her own McSexy was too delicious, amazing in a way that left her breathless. She waited long moments attempting to soothe herself, keep the yearning at bay. It surely wouldn’t do to let him see how much she craved him. For goodness sakes, she had just climbed off the man not an hour ago. But when she looked over at him, he ogled her in a way that she’d never been looked at before, dick hard and already sheathed with a rubber. Before she could remark on the ready erection, he cocked a brow upward before his eyes dropped to his length of pipe and back up to her gaze. She bit her lip before she licked over it and let his gaze pull her to where they both wanted her. On his dick.

Give It to Me

It didn’t take much to see where Jamison was headed. Marques was a real man and, even to her, more than enough to satisfy her hunger. As the days progressed, Marq showed her so much about herself. She didn’t even know how much she would like wearing sensual lingerie. She had never thought of herself as a lace kind of girl, but he had shown her how decadent lovemaking could be with the right garments. She had screamed and squirmed in a bustier Monday night. She had moaned and groaned in lace on Tuesday. He made her beg and weep in leather on Wednesday. On Thursday he made her faint from pleasure wearing a silk toga. Friday and Saturday were dedicated to hedonism at its finest, and he covered her in naught but fruit. Every day for the last week she had been introduced to something new. They both loved to watch campy movies and laugh at errors they found as they went along. He was one of the few men she had met who knew the ins and outs of the industry without being directly involved in the business of film.

If she never had this experience, it would have been a big mistake. Who else would take her to a boutique for clothes and eat her pussy in the dressing room between clothing changes? Imagine something like that happening to her of all people? How in the world did he come up with half of the stuff he did to her? She had no idea, but she knew that he was quickly worming his way into her heart. Everything that he had done for her helped make her so much happier than she had ever been. She was able to actually able look others in the eye now, and it was a good feeling. When she thought back to before they met, there was a tinge of disgust for the person that let she herself become. It almost seemed like she had no spine. Even though life had beat at her badly over the years, she should have never just let all hope go.

* * * *

Marq had quickly become accustomed to molding Jamison into the best version of herself. Every day he found somewhere new to take her. Something different to show her. She was a more than apt pupil for all that he had to teach her. He even learned a few things from her, namely about the movie business and how it worked. Jamison was the only woman he’d ever met that understood him and appreciated who he really was. Since he was working on the linguistics of a couple of contracts in Dubai, he was out of the office for the next month. He was blessed with a gift for languages, and the contract only took a fraction of the time he had allotted. So he was free to squire around Jamison at will. She still had to work, but usually they ran errands in the morning. Each day he tried to find at least two sets of undergarments, one for that day and the other for that night. The major goal was to burn every ugly piece of clothing she owned. Even the shoes were bad. Not that he had a problem with Clark’s, but to own nothing but numerous bland colors of the shoes? Not good, she was too young to act so old.

For some reason, La Perla was especially lovely against her skin, French fripperies highlighting the bright gold of her flesh. The color reminded him of peanut brittle, tasted just as sweet, and even spiced with freckles the color of nutmeg in odd places. Across the backs of her hands and feet, sprinkles of spots over her breasts and bridge of her nose teased him to taste the odd bits of skin. Along with the lingerie, there were new clothes for his protégé. He’d even gotten into the habit of matching the outerwear with the underwear. Red was luscious on her, brightened the light brown of her eyes to a rich amber, and in silk she was a vixen. After the first Monday, they decided not to spend her lunches together, due to the fact that he decided to have her for lunch and she had him for dinner with no stop between the two feasts of fleshly pleasures. Of course she never made it back to the office that day.