Forbidden

It was heady; heady feelings I couldn’t control. I arched, and Anthony opened his lips over my breast, allowing me to place myself into his mouth.

His lips claimed my nipple and suckled, his tongue flowing over my engorged peak like lava over the slopes of a volcano, inciting riots in every nerve ending, especially those that led between my legs. He had just begun to touch me, and I found I couldn’t squeeze my legs together hard enough to take anything off the ache he created so effortlessly. I had to shift my legs restlessly in order to tolerate the throbbing. But that only rubbed my sore ass against his rough jeans. I was caught between a hard place and a harder place—and one of those was trying to press itself into the cleft of my bottom cheeks even through his jeans.

* * *

Anthony

I was sure that my cock was going to have zipper teeth marks all up and down it, boxers be damned. I tried to shift her toward me a little, then sighed in exasperation. I was too damned old to be necking on the couch, when there was a king-sized bed calling to me from upstairs.

Before she could protest, she was in my arms, and I was carrying her up the winding staircase. I laid her on the bed with great care, but Raychel was already trying to struggle out of my arms. All I did was contract my muscles a bit, though, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

Raychel was struggling in earnest. “Let me go! I can’t do this! Not now.”

I was confused. Had I been reading her wrong? I was already too involved to think straight. “Huh?” It was barely intelligible—I was that far gone. I pulled a bit away from her—but not far—and refused to let her go.

“I want this… but what then? This feels right, but it feels wrong. I can’t fuck the bad guy. You are everything that I wanted to stay away from. My father wouldn’t want me to stay involved in the underworld. I know this. I swore I would never associate with the Bratva, but staying connected to you… and fucking you… it’s everything I said I wouldn’t do.” She was practically hysterical and rambling.

Suddenly the light went on in my head. “Yes, I don’t run in the squeaky clean light. You know this. But just because we have sex doesn’t put you in the dark world. It doesn’t work that way. I know this life scares you, especially after how your father died. But I would never allow something or someone to hurt you. I made damn sure that your connection with the Bratva and anyone responsible with your father’s death was squashed immediately after he died. And as far as my world… the business side… you’re safe. Untouched and forever that way.”

Raychel still looked skeptical, although she’d calmed down a lot.

“I would never allow your safety to ever be at risk. I made a promise to your father, but I also made an oath to myself. And one thing about how I do business, my word is everything to me.”

I waited to see if she accepted my words, and she seemed to. But I didn’t want to just resume the same level of intimacy again without preamble, so I stretched out on my back and gathered her to my side, hoping this was nonthreatening enough that she wouldn’t want to stop what we’d been doing. I pulled up my t-shirt, took her hand and put it on my flat stomach—pretty neutral ground, considering, although my erection tented my jeans by about four inches above normal.

“Touch me, Raychel,” I barely breathed. “I crave your touch.”

* * *

Raychel

He couldn’t have said anything more perfect to encourage me to do exactly that. I felt an incredible warmth burst inside me at his words. He wanted me to touch him.

That mentholated warmth mingled with the almost painful aching in my whole body, from my tingling scalp to my curling toes. I had never wanted anything so much in my life than to touch him, to merge as one with him, his hair with mine, his breath on my body in the most unlikely of places, my mouth eating him up and nibbling at the tasty undercurve of his firm ass.

For the first time in my life, I indulged myself in love. My touch was truly reverent on his skin, just the barest of contact, almost tickling but not quite, as I trailed my fingertips, then spread my fingers and used my whole hand just barely above his skin. Sometimes touching, sometimes not, and I learned the muscular planes of his body. His chest was covered in heavy plates of muscles punctuated by small brown nipples, and covered with a very fine sheen of tight black hair. He had a concave six-pack, but I had no idea how he got it or maintained it, because he didn’t have time to exercise. If he wasn’t working, he was with me, or asleep. He’d become a little less of a type A with me around, but I had never seen him do exercise other than his day to day activities of running a rich man’s sex club.