Untamed (31 page)

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“You got a good workout in.”

“Yeah,” I say through a laugh.

I press myself into him more, and then turn, let him wrap me up from behind. I’m embarrassed that I’ve cried in front of him, and I don’t want him to see my puffy eyes.

He holds me tight, his chest against my back, my fingers in his, and I’m thinking to myself that this is insane. What is going on? Why am I letting this happen? Why do I want this?

It would be a big mistake. It could never work,
never
! Not with Dad in the picture…

I feel his breath on my neck, and I lean back against him, growing more comfortable by the second, yet my heart only beats faster.

There’s a voice inside me screaming:
Don’t do this, Dee! You’re a smart girl. What if Dad comes down?

But I want to do this. I’ve wanted to be close to him since he first stepped out of that limousine… or maybe it even went back to Thailand.

“I never stopped thinking about you, Dee,” he says quietly.

I don’t reply. I don’t know how to. All I know is that I thought about him too… often.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” I whisper, playing with his fingers. “You’re trapped now, like me.”

“Then I would never have seen you again.”

“Dad will use you until you’re broken, then throw you away.”

“No he won’t.”

“He will.”

“Dee, don’t think about that anymore.”

But I can’t help it. “I feel so alone here.”

I hear him suck in a breath of air as if my words somehow hurt him.

I pull his hands tighter around my body, and that’s when I feel the tip of his nose by my ear. Unconsciously, I press myself to him, tilt my head to the side, and when his lips touch my skin he sets it on fire.

My breathing quickens, my heart starts to thump in my chest, and I hold onto his hands tighter as he kisses me again beneath my ear, and then again.

I turn to him, look into his gorgeous eyes, look at his soft lips set within that granite jaw.

Now I say it: “I thought about you, too. All the time.”

He kisses me, and I melt into his arms, fall into him as he claims my lips. It’s the first kiss I’ve ever had with a boy, and I have no idea what I’m doing, but he kisses me so softly, so gently, as if guiding me with his own lips.

And I love the feeling of it, his lips on mine. It makes me tingle, makes me feel this building storm of anticipation in my belly, and butterflies… so many butterflies.

“Dee,” he breathes, holding onto my face, kissing me harder. I fall into him more still, turn myself around, clamber on top of him so that I’m straddling him, and I hold onto his face, run my hands through his hair, kiss him harder, faster.

There’s an urgency coursing through me, something I’ve not felt before. I press my body against him, imagine our heartbeats aligned as one, and his hands hold onto me, touch my neck, my collar bone, touch me lower still.

His fingers love my body, and in a hurried flurry I take his t-shirt and pull it up. He gets it up over his head, throws it away, and I push against his shoulders, guide him down onto the mat. I look down his gorgeous, muscled, and tight body, feel my temperature skyrocketing, and then I’m on top of him, kissing his lips, and I feel the touch of his tongue.

My heart surges, and I push my tongue into his mouth, meet his, dance with his, and I love it even more. I never imagined it would feel this good, but somehow it does, and I can barely breathe, but I don’t care. I never want him to stop kissing me.

I touch his hard chest, his tight body, but a moment of panic seizes me, and I break our kiss, lean up from him, my hair falling down around his face.

“I…,” I begin, before trailing off. “I’m all sweaty.”

Duncan smirks. “It’s really sexy.”

“I’ve never… you know.”

“Don’t be scared. I won’t do anything you don’t want to.”

His tongue comes out, runs across his lower lip for a moment, and I have the sudden urge to lean back down and taste him again, but instead I get off him.

“Come on,” I say. “We can’t stay here.”

Together we go upstairs to my room, and there he takes my hand, turns me, presses me against the wall, and kisses me again.

I latch onto him, link my arms behind his neck, and then I feel his hands on my thighs, and gasp when he lifts me up easily. I quickly latch my ankles around his waist.

Above him now, looking down on him, I kiss him feverishly again, and he carries me into my room, kicks the door shut behind him.

Our teeth bang into each other, the kiss is rough, not at all delicate, and I’m panting, my heart is racing, blood is thundering in my ears.

I’m so nervous, but so excited. I’m scared, worried that I won’t know what to do, or what we even will do.

Here I am, inexperienced, a virgin, making out with my foster brother, and my hands are on his hard chest, and it’s like I can feel electricity arcing into my body.

I moan onto his face, bite his lip, feel this intense energy growing inside me. It washes the world away, and it’s just Duncan with me here, and nothing else matters. Nothing else matters.

His hungry hands devour my body, grope me, squeeze me, knead me. I feel his palms on my ass, my thighs, run up my sides into my armpits, making me shiver, feel warm, then hot.

I can feel his desire for me pressing through his pants, pressing against me, and I hold onto his neck with just one arm and send the other in between us, down his sculpted body, to cup him through his jeans.

His heated eyes tunnel into mine, flick down to my lips, and he captures them again, like he needs my lips to live.

I feel so wanted, so desired, it’s nothing I’ve ever felt before.

He sets me down, turns me around, then lifts my arms above my head. His fingers hook beneath my t-shirt, and he pulls it up over my head.

From behind me, he runs his hands tantalizingly down my body, cups my breasts, bites at the back of my neck and shoulder. He squeezes me, rolls my nipples softly, and I reach my hands over and behind me, run them through his hair.

He comes around my body, holds my hands behind my head, and he looks at me, my bared breasts, my body on display for him, and in his eyes I see a growing storm of desire.

Slowly, on my right arm, he kisses me from my elbow to my armpit, down my side, the wet dab of his tongue now and again setting my skin on fire.

He crouches down, and I lower my arms, grab onto his hair, watch and laugh as he takes the elastic of my pajama pants into his mouth, and he pulls it down slowly, his gorgeous eyes never leaving mine.

When I see my underwear, I say hastily, “Wait.”

He stands up, and I put my hands on his chest, not knowing how to say it. I figure I should just come out and say it.

“I’m… you know, it’s my first time doing something like this.”

“I won’t hurt you,” he says.

“I know you won’t. But… I guess I just don’t know what to do.” I feel so awkward and embarrassed saying it, so silly and stupid.

“Hey,” he says, taking my face into his hand. “Only do what you want to do.”

I nod at him, bite my lip. “I do want to.”

“Yeah?”

“But you should take charge.”

He grins. “I can do that.”

Duncan leans down, takes my lips in his again. I find myself surprised all over again at how soft they are, how gentle and yet forceful.

He guides me with his kiss, teases my tongue out, and our tongues dance and I wrap myself around him, feel the fire between us start to ignite again.

I love him holding me so close to him, feeling his body heat, the warmth of his breath, the touch of his fingers.

He moves me toward my bed, and I fall into it, and him on top of me, and he takes my arms and holds them above my head, leans up and looks at me for a moment.

My eyes travel down his body, sexy, tight, back up to his lips, his eyes.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he tells me, and the way he looks at me makes me believe it. He leans down, kisses my neck, along the length of my collar bone, and his hands sweep up my body to knead my globes, before lowering himself to my stiff nipple and taking it into his mouth.

I grip the sheets behind me as he licks my nipple, as he sends shivers of sensation shooting up and down my body.

I bring one arm down, hold onto his head, run my hands through his hair, pull it, pull him down harder on me.

His tongue teases, and then I feel the press of his teeth and I suck in air. He moves to the other, teases me there, rolls my nipples in his finger, licks the skin in between my breasts.

And then he’s moving down, his hands, fingers working my body like I’m an instrument, pulling soft sighs and moans from my lips.

I arch my back, stretch out on the bed as he kisses me around my navel. It tickles a little, but only a little, but it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, makes me quiver.

He teases my pants off, leans up to look at me reverently, and then he’s kissing around my navel, hooks his teeth into the elastic of my underwear, and pulls it down my legs.

And as I lie there, on the bed, looking at him, I know I’m feeling lustier than I ever have, and I know he can see it in my eyes.

He opens my thighs gently, slowly, a hand on each knee, bares me to him, displays my most private place to him.

Of course I feel the sting of modesty. I’m not clean-shaved – I don’t think I should have to be – and I’m afraid he won’t like me.

But he does. He leans down, buries his nose on my mound, smells me, and then I feel his warm tongue run up the side of my sex, and he makes my body tremble.

“I love that you don’t shave,” he growls, and he teases me, plants soft kisses around my center, every now and then touching my clit with his tongue.

I press my head into the pillow, run my hands over my breasts, down my body, find his hair and I thread my fingers through it, feel him, and then I push him onto me slowly.

His tongue presses against my folds, pulls up my sex, and I let my eyes fall closed, raise my hips off the bed to meet him.

He starts to lick me, settles on my clit, flicks it left to right, and he goes so nice, so fast, I’m almost instantly in heaven.

I stretch out, undulate my body, grasp at him tighter, bring my hips up higher.

“Yes,” I whisper, and his finger goes to my entrance, and he rings me, teases me, and I angle my hips down so his finger tip dips inside me.

I groan, tighten up at the sensation, and when he pushes his finger all the way inside me I can’t help but to moan loudly at the sudden influx of feeling.

I feel like ink in water, coming apart, twirling about, and he licks me like he starves for me, thirsts for me, laps me like there’s nothing else on Earth he’d rather be doing.

He angles his finger upward, rubs my front wall, and I grab hold of my breasts, breathe out some incomprehensible sound.

When I feel his lips wrap around my clit, suck it while still flicking me with his tongue, it’s all I can do not to cry out. My temperature is rising, and he slides a second finger into me, pulling a long groan from my mouth.

He starts to finger me faster, lick me to the same rhythm, and I’m his captive, at his mercy, letting him drive me.

“Just like that,” I tell him, though I know he needs no instruction. His fingers and tongue play me like an instrument.

“Fuck, like that,” I breathe, my voice hoarser, deeper. “Like that, oh, God, yes!”

I lift my whole lower body off the bed, and I’m shaking and buzzing and gone all electric.

“Don’t stop,” I beg, I mewl. “Don’t stop!”

He brings me racing into orbit, sends me soaring, and pleasure crashes over me, radiates outward from my center, sparkles down to my toes.

I grip at him hard, mash him into me, moaning and trembling and writing and squirming. I then squeeze, freeze, muscles tight, stomach crunching, stuck still in bliss.

And then I’m coming down, on the other side, panting, seeing stars, dizzy, and smiling.

“Fuck,” I whisper, putting my hand to my head, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the world around us to slowly fill back in.

I pull him up my body, bring his lips to mine, kiss him, taste myself. I send my hands down urgently between us, unbutton his jeans and rip apart the flaps. I stick my hand down his compression shorts, grab onto his cock, start to pump him wildly.

I reposition myself on the bed, sit up against the headboard, with one hand grab his ass and pull him forward over me, his leg on either side of me, so that is manhood is closer to me.

With some difficulty, I pull his compression shorts down, and his jeans with them, and I jerk him, a kind of feral need to give him pleasure like he gave me pleasure thrilling through me.

I take his tip into my mouth, and I suck on it and swirl my tongue over it, taste his pre-cum, a little bit salty, a little bit sweet.

He leans back, groans, runs his fingers through my hair, pulls my hair toward him, makes me take him deeper down my throat.

I’m urgent with lust, don’t even know if I’m doing it right, but at this point all that worry has all but drained away.

I work him as hard and as fast as I can, run my tongue up the back of his tip, bob my head to the movement of my hand.

It takes me only a short while to realize that he likes it when I press my tongue against the back of his tip, and so I focus on it, and I feel his thighs tighten, feel his body tense, and his hands grip my hair harder, and he groans hoarsely, “Shit, Dee, you’re going to make me come.”

I want to make him come, and so I go faster still, and soon he lets out a sharp sound of pleasure, and I feel his cock twitch in my mouth, feel him fire down my throat.

I struggle to swallow it all, but there’s so much it dribbles out, runs down my chin, but I keep pumping him, keep milking him, keep wanting to make him feel good.

And then his hands loosen their grip of my hair, and his eyes, previously shut tight in pleasure, open, and he looks at me, and his blue orbs have turned a darker shade, full of desire.

I let him out of my mouth, wipe my chin, swallow the rest, thinking to myself that it doesn’t taste nearly as strong as I’d imagined it would.