Come Play With Me Again: A Mischief Erotica Collection. Justine Elyot

It sent a shiver tiptoeing up my spine and made my scalp buzz with adrenalin.

      I obeyed, getting onto my hands and knees, and watched him move around me like some big jungle cat. When he was behind me, he just stayed there, crowding me. I bit the tip of my tongue to stop myself begging. Begging wouldn’t get me anything but more waiting.

      Then he ran his cock, slick from my spit, back and forth along my plumpest, most sensitive flesh. I managed not to make a sound but it took all my effort and I shook from it.

      Michael laughed, running a possessive hand along my spine. I bucked beneath that simple touch. His big hands cupped my hips and he inched into me slowly. So slowly that I had to anticipate every second, every movement. I forced myself not to push back, not to rush him, or he’d pull free. Of that there was no doubt. It was all about the submission. All about waiting for what he wanted to give, not taking.

      I hung my head and didn’t cry out when he pressed his fingers on the plug in my ass so his entry into me was exquisitely tight. The penetration shone bright in my mind’s eye like a neon sign. This had been the missing piece with Paul. This was what I’d craved but been deprived of.

      Michael growled and the fine hairs on my nape rose and prickled. He’d lost his patience with his own game and I fought the urge to laugh. In surrendering it seems I’d won.

      He glided into me fully with no effort. I was so fucking wet. So very ready that it was as if we were always meant to fit together this way. Locked together, moving together, no words, just movement and energy and nerve endings dancing.

      His fingers dug into the meat of my hips as he thrust. His body slammed against mine so that I clutched the bedding in my fingers like I might fly away. His words dropped onto my naked back. They all sounded like nonsense because my mind was fully on my body and the delicious feel of him taking me. Pleasure swirled up from my centre, heat invaded my cheeks, and the residual heat on my bottom seemed to echo it. I managed to pick out just a few words: ‘gorgeous, tight, wet, remember, craved …’

      He moved faster and I had no doubt that he was going to come. His breath always gave him away. Harsh and tense and deep like a locomotive.

      ‘I want you to come with me,’ he said, bowing his body over mine to say it near my ear. My skin tightened at the sensation and I nodded. I wanted to come immediately, give in, let go, but I waited because it was always so much fucking better when we came together.

      One hand released my hip, dipped beneath me and found my clit, painting whorls around the rigid flesh. I gasped. He was trying to push me. He was trying to make me fail.

      I chewed my lip and tried to hang on. A whimper escaped me and he growled again. That sound of struggle turned him on. I knew this because I knew him. How had I forgotten how well I knew him?

      I whimpered again and he cursed, pinching my clit so that I saw stars and nearly came. I cried out but didn’t give into my body’s demand. He growled and said softly, ‘Fine. You win. Come with me …’ Then his fingers were tender on my clit again and his thrusts grew harder, rocking me forward, and his breath was a harsh thing against my neck.

      ‘Come,’ he said and then bellowed. I didn’t have to be told twice. Not with him in my cunt and that steel plug in my ass and my flesh still pounding with my heartbeat from the spanking. I locked my knees so I didn’t collapse as I came. A giant wave of light and pleasure rocked me as he continued to pound into me.

      Colours flickered behind my eyelids and the spasms that gripped him only accented the fullness in my body. Full everywhere – cock and steel and light and warmth.

      When he withdrew I felt his absence and it made me ache. I expected him to remove the plug but he didn’t. He kissed my left ass cheek and then my right. Then he traced gentle fingertips along the places he’d struck earlier. He tipped me to my side and winked at me.

      ‘Leave that in. I want you ready for me.’

      I raised an eyebrow in silent question.

      ‘Oh, I know you pushed me. On purpose. And bad girls have bad things done to them. I’m going to have a go at that ass. But first, wine?’

      I nodded. My mind tried to focus on wine when I was really imagining him taking my ass. I was breathless at the thought. Preoccupied.

      ‘A square of dark chocolate with it?’ he asked. He brushed my damp bangs out of my face. I nodded again, still speechless. He smiled down at me and it was a tender smile. ‘I know how you like it. I always keep some in the house now. It reminds me of you.’

       Wet Wednesday

       CeCe Marsh

      ‘You did what?’

      ‘I lost you last night at poker.’

      Even though I hear the words again, it’s hard to wrap my head around them. I don’t feel lost. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m right where I belong.

      Brad and I are in bed, recovering from our usual Wednesday-night sexathon – our ‘Wet Wednesday’ – that begins immediately after work and lasts until we can’t go any more, with occasional breaks for absolute necessities: food, fluids and trips to the bathroom. There aren’t usually many breaks, though. We much prefer what we’re doing in the bedroom.

      Wet Wednesdays are our Happy Hump Days, our midweek celebrations of sex that carry the two of us from long, lazy Sunday afternoons in bed to Friday up-half-the-night fucking sessions. Other weeknights we’re busy, tired, distracted by other things as often as not. Sex, sad to say, isn’t always our highest priority. But on Wednesdays, we don’t cook, we don’t even answer the phone. We don’t schedule anything for the evening but us. We try something new, get down and dirty, block out the world and focus on each other.

      Tonight has been typical: I arrive to find Brad’s car already parked outside the apartment building, since it was my turn to pick up dinner on the way home. I balance a pizza in one hand as I manoeuvre the key into the lock and enter to find Brad on the sofa, jeans open, cock in hand, a grin on his face.

      ‘Welcome home, baby. You got here just in time. The party’s about to start.’

      I walk over to kiss my man, lay the pizza box down on the coffee table and then bend down farther to kiss the head of his cock. Mmmm. Lick it a little. Even better. Slide my mouth around the entire mushroom end and suck sweetly, just the way I know he likes. Just until I taste the tiniest droplet of precome on my tongue. Just until I hear that groan out of Brad that makes my own honey start to run.

      That’s one thing Brad and I have in common – our steady streams of natural lube. He calls me ‘Slick’ because of how quickly he can make me wet, how easily my juice flows down and out, coating the swollen lips of my pussy, glazing my thighs, running (if he has me on my back) down between my split until it preps not only my cunt to take in his thick hard cock but also my tight-pink-rose behind. It puddles on the sheet. My man loves the wet spots I leave on the bed, the evidence of how much he arouses me, stud that he is.

      He delights in teasing out my wet as much as I love doing the same to him, working him deftly until I feel the slow but constant drip, drip, drip of him on my tongue while I’m licking, sucking, fucking him with my mouth. The taste of his essence is just one of the reasons I love running my tongue over his swollen shaft, sucking at his head as if drawing on the end of a massive straw; pulling at it with my mouth the way I bring up the dregs of a soft drink from the bottom of a cup where there’s little left but a few spoonfuls of melting ice. Listening to the slurp.

      Only that’s at the end of the drink. This is the beginning. I love the beginning.

      I love taking him into my warm, wet mouth while I grasp him lower, on his shaft: one hand midway, one at the root. My man’s a whopper, veiny and thick, and it takes both hands to give him what he needs: the first release