Melted and Whipped (7 page)

“The gag has to come off so I can hear your cries as I fuck you,” he says. “I want to kiss your lips when you come around my cock.” He drags his heavy shaft from my clit to my hole, and I think I’m going to combust. I’d reach for him if I weren’t restrained.

He doesn’t need to ask me what I want; the demand is in his eyes, and anyway I’m happy to tell him.

“Be inside me, Porter,” I say. “Please.”

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks, the head of his cock nudging into me.

“Yes,” I say, practically sobbing with need. I try to raise my hips, to trick and entice him in.

Porter resists me. “Say it,” he orders, his eyes burning. “Tell me what you want, Emily.”

“I want you to fuck me! Please, Porter. I’ve waited all these years.”

He bucks his hips, impaling me on his shaft. I practically explode. He fills and stretches me, and he’s too big yet just right. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I moan over and over.

He grabs my knees, pushes my legs back, then pounds me hard. Each thrust makes my breasts bounce. The slapping of bare flesh rings through the room.

This isn’t making love. This is fucking. He’s almost brutal, but he somehow senses my limits, how hard he can bang into me without going too far.

“Ask for more,” he says.

“More. More. Please don’t stop, please don’t…” I lose the ability to speak.

Porter pulls out, flips me over. His right hand smacks my ass hard, then he pulls me by my hips onto my hands and knees. It’s awkward because of how I’m tied, but his urgency is stronger than any discomfort, and I won’t snap my fingers, not unless I’m dying. I’ve longed for a man to take me like this, like we’re animals.

He slams into me, establishing a fast, punishing rhythm. I know I’m probably all jiggly, but I don’t care.

This is what I want, this is all that matters: Porter Loughton fucking me like he can’t control himself.

Except he clearly can, because he hasn’t come yet. That’s fine. I could do this all night.

He covers my mouth with his hand. “Have you ever been fucked in the ass?” he asks.

I nod.

“Do you like it?”

I shrug.

“Then I’ll go easy on you tonight.” He presses a finger between my lips. I think he wants me to suck him, but as soon as his finger is wet, he takes his hand away. Then he’s at my pucker, pressing in.

There’s no point in fighting him, and anyway I’m seconds away from the most amazing orgasm of my life.

Between having my holes stuffed full and the way he’s smacking my ass, I lose it, and then he comes, grunting, fucking me hard. I think I might even scream, but I don’t know because I’m somewhere else, transported to a paradise I never knew existed.

With a practiced tug on the black rope, Porter releases me from the tether. We tumble onto the bed. Porter pulls me close, his muscular arms wrapped tight around me as his fingers quickly free my wrists. His fingers rub into my skin, soothing.

This man takes care of his lovers. I always suspected that on some level, but now I know it.

My body relaxes against his. Porter’s even breathing lulls me into a dreamlike state.

“What did you mean earlier?” I ask. “The thing you started to say, the thing you said you felt stupid admitting… but then we started making out.”

“It’s nothing,” he says, but I’m not sure I believe him.

Even though my body is wrung out and exhausted, I wake after what feels like a brief period of sleep. Instantly I remember where I am—and who’s in bed with me.

Moving as quietly as I can, I turn onto my side. There’s enough moonlight filtering through the window for me to see that Porter is asleep.

He’s so beautiful, I think as I study his features. Yes, his nose is large and a little crooked, but in an unapologetic, masculine way. A lot of people with his means might have been tempted to get it “fixed,” to make it conform to society’s standards of what a nose should look like.

I feel like it says a lot about Porter. He’s not selfish—the last few hours are irrefutable proof of that—but he doesn’t care what others think.

Even though I’m dying to lean across the expanse of cool sheets so I can share his space, I force myself to lie quietly on my back, and I close my eyes.

But sleep eludes me.

This is too new, too exciting. From the firmness of the mattress to the silky texture of the sheets to the light pine and smoke scent of the room, my senses are overwhelmed. The more I try to relax, the faster my heart beats.

Porter Loughton is in bed with me. We had sex. Kinky sex. Mildly kinky? Well, it wasn’t like anything I’d done before.

Porter won’t mind, I’m certain, if I go sit in the living room. I can watch television or flip through a book. The latter appeals to me, so I quietly slip out of bed, all the while taking care not to disturb Porter.

I visit the bathroom. A striped navy blue and forest green robe is hanging on the back of the door. It’s unabashedly masculine, but I don’t see any others, so I slip into it after I wash my hands. Then I wait until the toilet is silent before I ease open the door.

Porter is still asleep. I glide into the hallway without making a sound.

Once the door is closed behind me, I relax. Faint lights line one edge of the hallway, and even though it’s not enough to read by, I can certainly see where I’m going.

Somehow I make it to the living room without getting lost. I stand at the window and stare out over the moonlit valley, losing myself in the jagged outline of trees.

I love these mountains, these forests, but I’ve never seen them like this. I guess most people haven’t.

The only view from my living room is a brick wall, the side of a ski equipment rental store. But within minutes, I can be standing at the top of a mountain. Maybe not my own private mountain, but I’m more than happy to share.

Even if I’d stayed at my office job for a century, I never could have afforded a place like Porter’s. Okay, I probably could have swung it for a week with a group of friends. A large group.

Maybe it’s because Porter asked me about my goals, but I find myself thinking about my business plan. My sister gave me a hardback notebook to record everything related to my potential next career. According to my calculations, I need another five thousand dollars in savings. Which is to say that I need five thousand total. I’m not irresponsible, but it’s impossible to save money. My apartment is both crappy and expensive, and I’m lucky the landlady hasn’t kicked me out so she can rent it to tourists for fifteen hundred bucks a week.

The town is full of people who aged out of their jobs giving skiing and snowboarding lessons. Now they work as bartenders, baristas, and waiters. They migrate to the city in the summer, when it’s slower, sacrificing stability to stay near the powder that keeps them alive.

The ones who do leave… One thing is certain: if they’re not on the mountain, then whatever they’re doing, however much money they’re making, they can’t be happy.

The sky is beginning to grow lighter, I think, though it’s difficult to know for sure. Part of me wants this quiet night to last forever. I feel peaceful here. At least I can think about the future without becoming completely panicked.

I wonder if it’s because the house has such good energy. Yes, the house has energy. It’s happy. That’s probably because it’s spotless and well laid out and lovingly decorated, and because I had an amazing night and a million orgasms. Not so mysterious, after all.

I laugh at myself.

“I can’t say I’ve had that reaction from looking out the window,” a deep voice says.

Reflexively, I spin, my fingers clutching the bathrobe at the chest. “Thank you for the heart attack,” I say.

“First one is free,” he says, coming to lean on the far end of the windowsill. He’s wearing boxers and nothing else, and his body is so damned perfect. “You like the view?”

“Are you kidding? I’m burning with jealousy,” I confess.

“You’d be surprised at how many of these mansions are empty for large chunks of the year,” he says, staring out over the trees. “When people have seven or eight beautiful homes, it’s hard to spend more than a few weeks in each one.”

“That’s a shame,” I murmur. “At least yours won’t have that problem.”

“No, but my Manhattan penthouse is currently empty. It’s… I have to say it’s one of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever been in. I bought it from a friend who was getting divorced and wanted to be rid of it. It’s got a view over Central Park.”

“I prefer the view here,” I say.

“So do I,” Porter says, a bit like it’s a secret. “Especially now.”

“Because of the sunrise,” I say. The barest streaks of orange and pink are appearing.

“Yes, but that’s not why.”

My gaze slides to him, and I discover he’s staring at me. There’s naked lust in his eyes, a heat so tremendous that I wonder why the world around us doesn’t burst into flames.

“To be clear,” he states as he moves closer, “if you were in New York, I’d prefer that view, too.”

I snort a little, and I’m glad he can’t possibly see my blush.

“No one would disagree with me. You’re stunning, Emily. Do you really not know that?”

Now I really think he’s full of it, and I want to tell him not to waste his breath giving me compliments. But before I can, he brushes his lips across mine.

With a little moan, I part my lips, allowing him access even though part of me is tempted to resist so I can experience the pleasure of having him demand that I yield.

Yes, I want him to dominate me again. Because the events of last night are already receding in my memory. I can remember the sensation of his hand smacking my ass, but I want to feel the sharp pain again.

I crave it.

Porter makes a low, male growl of approval. It reverberates against my skin, and not only do my nipples tighten, not only does my pussy get wet, but it clenches so hard that I gasp.

Only then do I realize I’m close to an orgasm. Just from a kiss.

When Porter slides a hand into the robe to fondle my breast, I do orgasm, right there, gasping with pleasure and surprise, my body spasming. It’s not nearly as intense as the ones he gave me a few hours ago, but it’s definitely an orgasm.

“That was interesting,” Porter says as he pulls back from the kiss. “I knew you were sensitive, but I had no idea you were capable of that. You’re a lucky woman.”

I burst out laughing and can’t stop. Everything in my body is mixed up. “That has
never
happened before.” I bury my face in my hands, embarrassed, surprised, happy.

He draws a finger across my jaw, down my throat. “Now I should tell you to stop flattering me,” he says, echoing my words. There’s a difference, though. I was embarrassed by the attention, but Porter is joking.

He knows he’s good. As I stare into his amused eyes, my own smile falters.

I’m falling for him, but I don’t want to fall for him. We’re not kids anymore. A night of amazing sex doesn’t mean a relationship.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I say, ducking out from under him. It’s still dark, and I lose my balance.

Porter is there with a steadying hand on my elbow, his other hand sliding around my waist. His touch makes me shiver, and I know if I don’t get away right now and pull myself together, I’m going to be in trouble.

“Hold up,” Porter says. “I’ll turn on some real lights.” He walks away, and a moment later a soft glow illuminates the room.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face. What the hell is happening to me? Is it trust? Am I confusing trust with love?

Damn, I don’t want to fuck this up. Why can’t I relax and go with it?

I rinse my mouth even though my breath is fine, and I wonder if maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I don’t need to be careful. Porter didn’t give me a lecture about not getting attached.

But maybe he didn’t feel he needed to. After all, we’re not fourteen.

What if I decide it’s just theatrics, that I can’t trust the signals I’m reading? And what if I’m wrong?

I stare hard at my reflection and try to figure out what Porter sees when he looks at me. He’s attracted to me. He likes me as a person. But we haven’t spent that much time together tonight. If he was interested in dating me, he had plenty of chances. Hell, he could have made an effort to stay close after graduation.

Maybe tonight was just about sex.

“Emily?” Porter knocks on the door. He sounds concerned.

“I’ll be right out,” I blurt. I don’t think I’ve been in the bathroom for so long that he needs to be concerned, but maybe I have. If that’s the case, then I really am losing it.

“It’s important,” he says. “Your phone kept ringing and, given the hour, I thought it might be critical. It’s your brother-in-law.”

I throw open the door. My hands tremble as I take the phone. “Greg?”

“Stacy’s in the hospital,” Greg says flatly. “She was bleeding.”

“Oh, no.” This is what we’ve all feared since the moment she became pregnant. “Is… is she—”

“She’s fine,” Greg reassures me, but I know him well enough to know when he’s bluffing, putting on a brave face. He’s scared out of his mind.

I’m vaguely aware of Porter leading me to a sofa, of him helping me sit.

“And the baby?” I ask, afraid to speak the words aloud, like even acknowledging the possibility could make it happen.

“The doctor is with her now,” Greg says, and I can imagine him pacing the way he does when he’s anxious, the way he did the evening he asked Stacy to marry him in front of everyone. “We got here a few minutes ago. I called you first. Oh God,” he says suddenly, and my heart stops.

“What?”

“I have to tell your dad. Oh God. What am I thinking? I’ll call you back.” He hangs up.

Stunned, I lower my hand.

Porter shifts on the couch. “Your sister’s in the hospital,” he says.

“Yes. I…” But I don’t know what to say.

“Do you want me to—I can take you to the airport.”

I stare at him, trying to make sense of his words; my brain isn’t working.

“You need to fly home,” Porter says firmly.

The sound of his confident, calm voice pulls me away from the churning chaos of my own mind.