In Control (10 page)

"What was that?"

"My damned leg," he grumbled. "Game: yours. Match: yours."

The roughness in his voice stopped her laughter. She rolled to her side so she could see him and realized they'd landed head to foot.

Eyes closed, he lay on his back and cradled his thigh, one hand stroking an agitated pattern along its length. A muscle in his jaw twitched. The restlessness in his body alerted her to the fact he didn't lie comfortably.

This was not how she wanted to win. She scooted across the plastic mat to come closer to him. He twitched his leg away from her, a clear attempt to keep her from bumping it. Carefully , she bent the knee of her top leg and settled her foot on the floor. She slid even closer to him.

A breeze wafted up her skirt and tickled her naked labia, reminding her she'd gone without panties again. Jeremy had always complained her scent was overpowering after a day in panties. To make him happy, she'd abstained from using them.

She twitched her calf-length skirt, trying to cover herself. The continued brush of cool night air from the open window, the usual for Portland at this time of year, educated her that she'd only been partially successful.
Fuck it. I'll deal with it later
.
It's not like Zach hasn't seen a pussy before.

"Here, rest your leg on me."

"No."

"Give us a break, Über Manly Man. I'll be fine."

His discomfort was enough that he complied. The weight of his leg came down on her waist. Heavy. Solid. Comforting. His breath hitched in his throat. He twitched a couple of times before again reaching for his leg. It was a visible strain to touch the injury.

Probably too much of a stretch. She'd better help.

Annabel eased her hands atop his thigh. She could feel the muscles clench and tremble.
Christ, that has to hurt
.

"No," he croaked.

Typical dominant male.

"Nonsense," she said. "Let me."

She began to stroke the leg gently, trying to coax the muscles to relax. It didn't take very long. Soon the contractions eased. She guessed the game had stressed the still-healing muscles, but no real harm had been done. He'd only needed a chance to rest his leg and get his weight off it.

Note to self: no more than two games of Twister
.

He sighed, sounding relieved, so she concluded her efforts had been a success. But then he froze, shattering her conclusion. Every muscle went taut, not just his leg. She felt him vibrate with a powerful, leashed energy.

What? Had she hurt him?

She lifted her head from the floor and saw him staring at her crotch like a starved man faced with a loaded buffet table.

* * * *

Within one heartbeat and the next, Zach was hooked. Landed. Snared. His cock sprang to attention, like a fresh recruit facing a pissed-off drill instructor. He swallowed a grunt as the blood fell away from his brain to his dick.

It had been so long since he'd seen an all-American pussy he couldn't look away from the slip of female flesh. Heaven's gate.

Yes, in theory they all looked the same. Of course, there were differences of care and maintenance, but those didn't change the feel of it around his cock. A clenching fist of indescribable pleasure. However, he had his limits, much to the amusement of his fire team. His refusal to play with culturally adjusted cunts had earned him his share of mockery. It just wasn't his thing.

A clitorectomy? As far as he was concerned, it was nothing less than genital mutilation. Yeah, exactly like the infant circumcision still happening in this country. His cock had been cut for that very reason. He didn't thank his parents for making that choice for him, and no way in hell would he allow that to be done to any son of his.

However, here was a genuine American pussy.

Annabel was an all-American girl, full of the rights and privileges of her gender in this post-feminist western society. She carried no load of expectations and cultural suppression on her slender shoulders other than the push for her to be "a success." It showed in every free-spirited movement of her body.

And today she'd chosen to bring her bared pussy to the condo he called home, a la commando. Hunger bit savagely through his guts. It has been so long since he'd gazed upon the pussy of an unfettered American girl.

"Oh shit," she said. "Embarrassing. Sorry."

With an obvious attempt to conceal herself, she slid her leg across the plastic mat and dropped her knee. At the same time, she grabbed a fistful of her skirt and tossed it toward her feet.

The portal of heaven was closing.

"No, wait. Don't." He caught the skirt and flicked it away, then used the same hand to interrupt the downward movement of her knee. His dick jerked. It felt like a roundhouse kick to the nuts.

"I got used to going without undies. Jeremy said--"

"Oh, uggh, stop. Stop. I don't want to know about my brother's fuck habits." He shook his head to dislodge the sudden and unwelcome images. Where was a can of industrial-grade mind bleach when you needed it?

"I wasn't going to... What I meant to say was--" She bit off her words.

To his ears, she sounded even more embarrassed. After a moment though, she recovered.

"You're acting like you've never seen a pussy before."

Brisk. Biting. All Annabel.

"It's been a while since I've seen an American pussy."

"Give me a break," she scoffed. "American women serve in the military."

"The female troops don't have the reason or desire to trim the bushes."

He inhaled long and reveled in the experience. The scent of her body spun his head. Free and fresh; no touch of sweat, gunpowder, or military-issue rifle grease tainted the scent of any part of her.

"God, you smell good."

"Oh!"

She wouldn't be embarrassed if she knew the treat she was to this Marine.

"Just let me take you in for a few more seconds. Consider it a patriotic service to a poor, deprived veteran."

"Oh," she said again.

Her pussy lips blushed. They actually blushed. They turned pink and full and, dear God, a pearl of moisture gathered on one deliciously nude nether lip. It eased down the labia, leaving a silvered path in its wake, and pooled on the inside joint of her leg. She shivered.

Additional moisture glazed her perfect pussy lips. It turned her on to have him visually absorb her. Hell, it turned him on, too. His cock felt like a damned tree trunk. Hadn't his leg been hurting? He couldn't remember.

He puffed a warm breath across her cunt. She whimpered. Another shiver wracked her. He blew another stream of air at her, this one longer and more intense. Her hips lifted fractionally from the floor as she arched into the sensation. He heard the plastic mat crackle as though she'd grabbed at it.

Steady, devil dog, he told himself. They were here to repair something he'd broken. They were here to build trust. They were not here to...
Oh, hell
. He shoved himself onto his stomach, arranged himself better on the mat to accommodate his goal, and fit his mouth to her pussy.

The taste of tart honey bloomed on his tongue.

* * * *

The surge of unspeakable pleasure swept over her like a brutal riptide. Helpless, she could do nothing but ride the currents. He licked, he lapped, he teased her clit with his tongue. He rearranged himself over her, one arm beneath one knee and the other pulling her leg farther open. His intimate kiss deepened. Her twat muscles fluttered as he tongued the actual gateway of her body.

So long... Jeremy had never... he would never... Oh, sweet Jesus...

She could cry from this pleasure. Her chest ached. She'd forgotten to breathe. She could pass out from lack of air. Someone's desperate gasp pushed into her awareness.

Hers. She pulled air into her nearly frozen lungs. Again. Again.

Inventive, showing no frustration with his reversed position, he rubbed his chin across her clit. The soft bristle of his night beard abraded the demanding nubbin with a sweet sizzle. The air left her chest on a strangled wheeze. Her eyes closed.

A web of lightning effervesced along her nerves to center on that tiny point of ecstasy. A wave of molten fire wrapped around her tighter, hotter, so intense she felt a scream tear from her throat. An orgasm rushed toward her like an avalanche, sheets of blinding white and tumbling breathlessness.

No, no, it would not happen like this.

She grabbed for her control and managed to find enough of it to locate and free his cock from his sweatpants. It fell unencumbered onto her shoulder like a shaft of warm steel. She reached and encircled him with one hand.

He shuddered.

She palmed his cocktip.

His hips rocked.

Pre-cum varnished her palm. She caressed his length. Gave it a firm squeeze.

He growled. The nuzzling and lapping at her slowed... distracted...

Victory swept her. They'd see who was the boss.

She sent her tongue down his cock's shaft, delighting in every wrinkle, ridge, and hungry pulsation. She gave a few flicks of her tongue across his cocktip, then angled it to facilitate her need.

She took him into her mouth. She opened her throat and took him deep, so deep that his balls nudged her nose. Convulsively, she swallowed, her throat closing around his thickness.

A long growl filled the air from between her thighs where he hesitated, preoccupied by what she was doing to him. She worked his cock in and out of her mouth, taking him with long and liquid strokes. He sucked in a hard breath and stopped playing his tongue across her pussy.

Oh, yeah, who is the boss now?

He answered her silent question with a shift of his hand. His fingers probed once, twice, then delved inside, sweeping away the foundations of her awareness just like that.

God, had he used three fingers?

He worked them inside her body, playing with the super-sensitive nerves at her entrance. A glorious pressure built on her anus, but no penetration.
His pinkie knuckle?
She met each plunge of his fingers with a tightening of her pussy, seizing every bit of pleasure, hungry for more...and more...

His cock filled her mouth, a velvet-covered steel shaft that throbbed warmly. She swallowed a spurt of pre-ejaculate. He somehow expanded, filling her mouth even more thoroughly. His balls were hard rocks against her nose.

That fucker would come first. He'd be the one who
-- He took her clit into his mouth and began a gentle but relentless suckling. The orgasm was ripped from her hands, from her control, as he drew against her clitoris and plundered her body. A tidal wave of delirium-inducing pleasure loomed just...over...the horizon...

She let his cock slip from her mouth.
No, not me first.

"Yes. Oh, God, yes!"

She screamed as the orgasm crashed over her, awareness reduced to a maelstrom of sensation and white light. She fell, endlessly fell, as waves of herself exploded outward, sending shards of her consciousness into a star-studded universe.

He waited until she'd stopped trembling before rolling away from her. She managed to force her eyes open enough to watch him as he flopped onto his back. His cock, rampant and flushed, sprang from the crotch of his gym pants. He gripped its base, his face stark and taunt, and applied the ages-old method of stifling his orgasm.

He hadn't taken his pleasure. And as she watched, he forced himself farther from the precipice of his orgasm and into a place of absolute control. He released his cock and lowered his hand, then turned his head in her direction and offered a wicked smile.

"My dick," he said. "My choice."

On the next night, Annabel unpacked their takeout food in his kitchen. The plastic carryout bag crackled a protest. Clouds of steam rose from sweet white rice as she spooned out servings. The scent of charbroiled pork and shrimp in a light fish sauce tickled her nose. Crispy spring rolls rattled against the plates as she tipped them free of the plastic. Beside her, Zach cracked open a can of Vietnamese beer.

Apparently, the Vietnamese loved their beer. Who knew? She hadn't.

"You look good in my kitchen," he whispered into her ear. "You'd look better naked."

She rolled her eyes.
Men.

Annabel turned from the counter and faced him. As she expected, he stood unusually close to her, his energy filling the area with his unique masculine vigor. Her skin shivered at his nearness, and her breath tangled in her throat. Not from fear, though. No, by now she was used to him so close.

As they'd stood at the counter, choosing and ordering their dinner, he'd spent most of the time inside her personal bubble. He'd whispered his suggestions and requests into her ear, with the resulting occasional incidental contact of his lips to her earlobe.

"Do you
mind?
" she'd asked.

"An accident," he'd said, wearing an expression of wounded innocence.

She'd raised her eyebrow in disbelief.

The Asian matriarch at the counter had smiled her approval, showing an uneven pattern of yellowed teeth. She'd obviously thought his actions were affectionate. She had no idea he played the reins of control--to "repair damage."

Unfortunately for her determined goal for inflexible independence, she warmed in his presence. It felt natural, normal, and healthy to have him there. She wasn't afraid.

He set the can's edge to her lips and tipped it as she opened her mouth. Cold beer filled her mouth, the taste of hops and a hint of seasoning that spoke of a wild, foreign country. Delightful! She could understand why the Vietnamese people liked this beverage. Now she understood why he'd bought a six-pack.

"Where did you learn about Vietnamese beer?" she asked.

He leaned close to whisper again. "I spent some time on a Korean base."

She shivered as his breath tickled the skin. "They have Vietnamese beer on a Korean base?"

He did a double take at the question, but answered politely enough, "That bar did."

A silly question, she admitted to herself. Of course, the local watering hole would cater to all nationalities, especially those in close proximity. Importing beer from 'Nam had to be a lot cheaper than hauling cases of American beer over the ocean. Well, if Vietnam was closer than America, that is...which it was...right?