Fall Into Love (Simone: Part One Naughty Nookie Series) (6 page)

How will I live with myself if I know I
helped some guy cheat on his wife?

“
No, no wife or
kids.  There’s no need to worry on that front.”

Sighing with relief, I let my fingers
continue their slight play with his hair.  As I lay there,
completely squashed by him and loving every minute of it, I’m
trying to build up the courage to ask him something. 

I really want to touch him.  All
over.  I want to taste him and revel in his flavor, because
this is one night out of my mundane existence and I want to fulfill
my own desires.  Even if it is selfish.

“
Spit it out, Mona. I can
hear the cogs working in your head.”

There’s a gruffness to his voice that almost
has me frowning, but I ignore it to burst out, “Can I touch you? I
mean, really touch you?”

A stunned silence fills the room for a
moment and then, his muffled laughter rumbles across my breasts,
urging my nipples into life. 

His lips open, but not to speak, to tug at
the still-turgid peaks of my tits.  I moan a little as inside,
my belly squirms with the power of such a gentle touch.  His
answer eventually comes as he heaves himself upwards, letting his
cock slip out of my warm sex to roll on to his back.  “Knock
yourself out.”

The invitation is too much to ignore. 
My body is limp and my limbs are like wet noodles, so much so that
as I sit up and press my weight on to my elbows, I almost fall
backward!  But I force some starch into my arms and legs, and
crawl over to him. 

Immediately, my eyes are glued to his
cock.  It’s glistening with my moisture and the condom
covering his length is filled with his cum.  It’s a statement
of how my mind had imploded that I didn’t realize he’d protected
the pair of us.

Thank God one of us had the foresight to be
careful. 

I’m momentarily ashamed of myself and then
my eyes wander over his balls and my attention is captured.
 Hanging heavily between his slightly parted legs, they’re a
darker brown than his body.  And it’s only then that I realize
he’s completely bare down there.  I’ve never done more than a
quick trim and before I can let myself dwell on worries of my
un-denuded state freaking him out, I urge myself to touch
him. 

Gripping the base of his
shaft, I slowly roll the condom upwards, revealing the slightly
brown, purply pink flesh to my gaze.  This too is wet. 
With the condom in my hand, I climb off the bed, uncaring of my
nakedness—something which has never happened before!—and I stride
toward a door I can only assume houses the
bathroom. 

The opulence of the suite astounds me. 
The bathroom is a mass of Italian amber marble complete with chrome
and glass accessories.  A huge tub fills one corner; a shower
with an astounding amount of shower heads another.  One wall
is taken up with a vanity mirror and sinks.  Spotting a bin
underneath the vanity, I dispose of the condom and then, spying a
wad of washcloths on the counter, I grab one, turn the faucet and
run the water until it’s tepid warm then douse the material in
it. 

Retreating to the suite with its impressive
décor; a bed that takes up half the room and soft furnishings that
I would love to have in my own place but could never afford, their
luxuriousness disappears as I focus on Zane. 

He’s still laying there,
his body bared to mine, but his arm is covering his eyes. 
Wondering if he’s embarrassed, I say nothing, just wrap the
washcloth about his cock and clean it as gently as I can. 
Marina said to me once that I didn’t have to be careful when giving
a guy a hand job.  That they liked a hard and firm grip. 
Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know, but I’ll give it a go
tonight.  My ex didn’t like me to touch him. 

I’m only now starting to see how weird he
was. 

Zane hisses as I slowly stroke him with the
washcloth, and I’m thrilled when his cock is once more revived into
an erection with only that slight touch.  His breathing comes
harder; I watch the fast fall and rise of his torso. The tattoo on
his bicep, a hissing snake, undulates as he tenses his arms,
seeking control. 

Removing the washcloth once I can feel it
grow cold, I lick my lips at the sight of the impressive piece of
flesh in my hand.  It’s huge.  My hands are pretty small,
dainty I guess you could call them, but my left one barely fits
around him.  I press down and start to stroke him, while with
my right, I cup his balls and begin to squeeze.

In my mind, I’m running through everything
Marina and Eddie ever taught me.  The advice and tips they
gave me during the wasted years of my marriage, as I sought to
entice and please my husband. 

That might have been a waste, but those
lessons are coming in handy now.

My own body quickens at the sight of his
pleasure as I gently fist his balls and rub the two together like
two Chinese Baoding balls, only without the chime!  All the
while, I’m trying to be careful, but mindful of the fact that men
supposedly like a firm hand. 

When a bead of pre-cum appears, I bend down
and lap at it with my tongue, pleased at the visual confirmation
that I’m doing a good job.  It tastes salty, slightly
disgusting if I’m honest, but it’s more than just semen.  It’s
arousal.  A physical reaction that I alone inspired and as
such, it tastes like amber nectar. 

My tongue laps away whenever a bead appears
and at my touch, more and more make an appearance.  I begin to
suck down on the glans, pleased when his hips jerk and one hand
reaches down to grip the back of my head.

The pressure from his
clasp is urging me down and I allow myself to sink further on to
his cock, accepting the thick shaft between my lips.  The
placing of my hand prevents him from choking me; nevertheless I try
to swallow as much of his length as I can.  Wanting to please
him and slip my way into his memory banks.  The thought makes
me feel a little pathetic, but I ignore it.  Telling myself
that thinking is for the morning.  Not
tonight. 

My oral technique is
inexperienced and filled with imperfections, I know this
̶
I’m not stupid! 
Christ, whose first blowjob could win an award?  But his
reaction is a confidence booster in itself.  I can hear the
panting of his breath; can hear the rough in- and ex-halations as
his need pours out of him.  Pre-cum is drizzling down my
throat and his once-soft balls are now tight and drawn up against
his body. 

Moving my head up and down, I suck and lick
and do my damnedest to make him cum.  And when he does, I’m
relieved. 

I did it.  

Phew. 

His hand tightens in my hair, almost to the
point of pain, as he climaxes.  In a sick way, the bite of
discomfort thrills me.  As his cum hits the back of my throat,
I almost gag, but force myself to calm down and swallow. 
Accepting every single drop, I pull away and stare as a strand of
saliva connects my mouth to his dick until distance breaks it
apart. 

It’s hardly the kinkiest sex act in the
world, but I feel as though I’ve just won the gold medal.  I
did it.  He came.  An interesting feat considering the
fact he’d only just cum a short while ago.  That has to bode
well, right?

Feeling pleased with myself, I collapse
beside him and stare once more up at the ceiling.  The crimson
paint beside the mirror blends perfectly with the natty gold and
black wallpaper print that is set on the back wall behind the
bed.  The soft furnishings match, and even though it’s all
very expensive and tasteful, I feel like I’m in a bordello. 
After what I’ve just done, my folks would probably condemn me to
hell.  

What a way to go, though!

Feeling smug and pleased with myself, I grab
a pillow and turn on my side, tucking it under my head to ready
myself for sleep.  When he curls about me, his now lax cock
butting my ass, I murmur, “Wake me when you’re ready for round
three.”

Smiling at his chuckle, I
allow myself to sleep and am not surprised when it takes two
minutes to toddle off into the land of nod.  Pass out I might
have done, but I’ve just cum
twice
, when I’ve never really
climaxed before.  And with the power of a supernova, I’d say I
deserve a short nap after expending such energy. 

How long he let me sleep, I don’t really
know.  The first inkling that something was happening, was
when I felt a finger twiddle with the nubbin of my clit. Just a
flicker at first, then a pinch as it was drawn between two digits
and tightly pressed. 

The move jolts me out of sleep and into
wakefulness faster than a bat out of hell. 

My legs clamp down on his wrist; not in
rejection but welcome.  I want to keep him there. 
Whatever this night heralds, I want to enjoy every damned minute of
it. 

His hands, those strong, dexterous paws,
clamp down on my thighs and force them apart. 

It’s only as he slides into me from behind
that I realize I’m still lying on my side and that he’s lying
tightly pressed behind me.  In this position, he hasn’t
exactly diminished in size, but I don’t feel as impaled as I was
earlier.  He’s still an enormous presence inside me.  I
feel scorched, branded.  Desperate to feel the friction as he
pounds into me. 

The rocking of our bodies has an edge to it,
as we can’t move as smoothly or quickly as before.  It takes a
while to maintain a proper rhythm, where each and every time he
thrusts, he butts something inside of me that has never been
touched before.  My panting breaths grow increasingly loud,
embarrassingly so, but I’m too far gone to give a damn.  My
entire body is shaking with need as we work together to
climax. 

It seems to take a lifetime, but it happens.
 I cum.  Another momentous experience and moments later,
he joins me.  His own sounds of pleasure as loud as mine.
 

Still locked in his arms, this time with his
cock inside me, we sleep.  He drifts off before I do, and the
gusts of his breath at my nape, as well as his clasp as he embraces
me during his slumber, have me thinking things I’ve no right to
think. 

One night, Mona, I tell myself. 

It’s just the
one
night.
 

I repeat the mantra as I join him in the
land of nod. 

A few hours later, as the early hours of the
morning set upon us, round four takes place.  Once more, he
takes me to orgasm with his hands and mouth.  His lips suckle
and bite, his fingers impale and thrust.  As pleasure bursts
inside me yet again, I wonder if I’ve died and gone to heaven. If I
have, then what did I do to deserve such a gift?

And the most amazing part of the experience
is that my orgasm isn’t the best part. 

I expect him to crash down beside me, either
that or to spread my legs and fuck me again.  Even as my pussy
winces at the prospect of being plundered once more, it begins to
ready itself for his intrusion. 

But he doesn’t do as
expected.  His fingers return to my sex;
they
and not his cock plunder
inside, brushing super-sensitive flesh that has me almost rejecting
his touch with the strength of my sensitivity.  He ignores my
flinch, removes his hand and takes it to his cock.   I
watch, awe-struck, as he coats himself with the juices from my
sex.  His fingers return to my pussy twice more until his dick
is gleaming with liquid arousal. 
My
gleaming arousal.

As I watch him, my own body heats up
again.  There’s a lump in my throat at the sheer animalism of
this act, at its raw crudeness and he’s so unaffected by it. 
This is him.  The sexual creature behind the chivalrous
gent. 

As alien as this beast is to me, I prefer
him.  The sexual animal has made me feel more than I’ve ever
felt.  So, how can I not prefer him?

He crouches over me so that he’s almost
sitting in my lap.  The move brings his cock tantalizingly
close to my mouth and face.  I lick my lips in expectation,
wanting to taste the silken cream that explodes from his body when
his arousal reaches culmination.  But he doesn’t come much
closer; in fact, he jerks his hips upwards and simultaneously grabs
my breasts.  Lifting them, he creates a channel for his cock
and over the next few minutes, I watch him in awe. 

This is for him.  But it’s also for
me.  The pleasure he’s finding in my body sends shockwaves of
heat throughout me.  The slickness of his cock thanks to my
juices is a pungent reminder of my arousal.  I smell of myself
and him now, as pre-cum leaks down to lubricate his journey all the
more. 

His hips rock jerkily; there’s no smooth
roll to his pumping.  It’s edgy, filled with need.  His
body is tense with strain; the muscles delineated and the
protruding veins tell me he’s close. 

With a roar, he cums and pulls away. 
Rather than spill his seed on to the sheets, he releases his clasp
on my breasts and begins to stroke himself.  His cum drops
down on to my chest.   Spilling on to my nipples and the
fleshy mounds of my tits.  As I look down, it looks as though
someone has spilled correction fluid all over me. 

A bit stunned by him, I stare at the small
splats of cum and take a moment to analyze the way I feel.  It
takes two seconds to realize that I’m not disgusted by
this. 

When he lowers a hand and scoops some cum on
to his finger and massages it into my nipple, I feel anything but
disgusted. When he then proceeds to bend down and lick his own seed
from my flesh, while taking obvious pleasure in the act, disgust is
far from the main topic on my mind.

If anything, the only thing floating around
my brain is oxygen. Because as he sucks down, taking his juices and
mine into his mouth while tugging at a turgid nipple, I
climax.