Big O Box Set

"Good morning, sexy," he murmurs.

"Morning, hot stuff." I grin. He kisses me softly and I smile into it. Then I wriggle my ass, let it grind against his cock.

"Still thirsty, I see," he comments when we break apart. I laugh. But he doesn't. He pushes gently against my upper back, bending me forward into a tighter curl. "Be careful what you wish for, naughty girl."

"What if I'm wishing for you to punish me, though?" I ask, and bat my lashes just a little.

"Hmm..." He hums a little under his breath as he traces his hands over my back, down my spine to cup my ass on either side of his cock. He spreads my cheeks and lets his cock slide between them, along my slit. Then he runs his hands back up my back, massaging lightly. "Then I'd have to say, be careful what you wish for," he finally says.

I feel the bed shift as he turns to reach for the nightstand. I hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper, and for a moment, his cock leaves my backside as he slips it on.

Then he's back, hands sliding around to my front now. He massages my breasts, one at a time, taking his time, kneading them hard before he pinches each nipple, rolling it between his fingers until they’re hard. He pinches my right nipple harder, enough to make me gasp, and then he grins and kisses the back of my neck.

"Was this what you had in mind?" he murmurs against my skin. "Me punishing you, taking what I want from your body..."

"It's yours," I whisper. "Do with me what you wish."

"Oh, Clove." His hands slide down the flat plane of my stomach to my mound. Flattens against it, and his forefinger grazes my clit. "I plan to."

He strokes my clit slowly, lightly. At first it feels nice, but as the pressure builds, that light touch becomes torturous. I thrust against him, but he pins me down, his arm heavy on my hipbone.

"Ah, ah. This is my pussy. I'm in charge, naughty girl."

I swallow hard. Those words send a pulse of desire straight to my belly. "Yes."

"And what I want right now..." he says as he keeps stroking me lightly, faintly, "is to fuck you senseless."

With that, he thrusts his cock into my pussy, hard and without warning. I gasp and buck against the sheets. He plunges deep inside me, and my pussy is tight with surprise. But I'm already wet from his touches, his slow strokes, and he slides all the way inside me without resistance, stretching my muscles, making me ache.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk downstairs," he whispers, and my pussy pulses around his cock, another spike of desire heating me up.

"You like that, I see." He pulls out of me. Thrusts in again, harder. "You're such a dirty little slut. I love it."

He keeps it up like that, fucking me, then slowing down to tease me, stroking my clit alternately whenever he pauses. It's not long before I feel desperate, crazed with desire. I try to thrust against him, but he spanks my ass once, hard enough to sting. Then he keeps fucking me, hard but slow, driving me wild.

Finally, just when I feel like I'm going to lose it, going to go crazy from the urge to truly fuck him, he grabs my hips and starts to fuck me in earnest. It feels so good after all the teasing that I cry out. That shifts into a low, throaty moan as he keeps fucking me, his cock spearing me with every thrust, thick and tight inside my pussy.

He bends me in half, fucks me so hard that I lose track of anything but his body against mine, his cock in me, my hands fisted in the sheets. When I finally come, he's right there with me, both of us crying out with pleasure at the same time as we finish.

He pulls out, still breathing hard, and rolls onto his back cursing under his breath.

"You are positively addictive, Clove Walker."

"I could say the same about you, Zayne Pearson."

We move to the shower, ostensibly to clean off. We are covered in sweat, after all. Among other things. But he insists on washing me, and when he lathers up his palms with soap and runs those rough, strong hands over my body, slowly, head to toe, I can't help it. The fire starts to build in my belly again, this lust, insatiable, impossible to please.

Finally, when it feels like too much, I spin to face him, half-covered in soap that he's massaged into my body.

"Let me suck your cock again. Please."

He half-laughs, eyes hooded and dark with amusement. "Who am I to deny a lady what she wants?"

He steps back, and I kneel before him in the shower. Let the hot water run over my back and shoulders, rinsing me off even as I part my lips and suck his cock into my mouth.

He tastes just as good as I remember. And this time, when I build up a pace, sucking him in and out of my mouth until he starts to thrust into my throat, losing control, he doesn't stop me. He throat-fucks me, slams his hips into my face, the tip of his cock sliding down my throat with every thrust, until he's gritting his teeth and groaning loudly.

I keep going, my hands wrapped around his balls, tugging at them, toying with them as I suck him into my mouth. He fucks my face, slams against me, and I relax, opening myself to him fully. I let him take control and fuck me how he wants, until he's right at the brink.

"Swallow my cum," he groans, just before it hits him. When he comes, I tighten my lips around him and press my tongue along his length. He comes hard, deep in my throat, and I swallow it all, savoring the taste, the particular, unique flavor that's all him. I keep going, keep sucking until he moans my name, and only then do I lean back to lick his cock clean, slowly, an inch at a time.

I stand up, and I'm amused to find him red-faced and breathing hard, leaning against the shower wall. Now it's his turn to struggle to stay upright.

"How was that?" I ask innocently, batting my eyes.

He shakes his head, a smile on his face and his eyes locked on mine. "You were definitely still thirsty," he points out, and we both laugh a little.

Eventually, we do manage to clean off. Then we stumble out of the shower in towels and he gestures for me sit on the couch.

"I can help," I protest as he sets about making breakfast, puttering around the kitchen.

"You can, I'm sure," he admits. "But you aren't allowed to. You're only allowed to sit there and relax." He shakes a spatula at me, threatening. "You're my guest, Clove, you don't get to cook."

I groan in faux-protest and sink back against the cushions. "Fine. But only because I like it when you boss me around." I stick my tongue out, and he laughs, then turns to finish flipping the omelets he started.

As he does, I catch a glimpse of the book on his kitchen table. “1Q84?”

“Just started it. Have you read it?”

I sit up straighter, grinning. “Oh yeah. I love Murakami.”

“Kafka on the Beach is one of my favorites.”

“You’ll love this one. Especially…” I bite my tongue. “Damn.”

He laughs. “No spoilers! That’s cheating.”

“Okay. I’ll just say you’re gonna love it, that’s all.” Now that I’ve noticed the one book, I let my gaze drift to the shelves beside his TV, chock full of others. “What kind of stuff do you normally read?”

“Little bit of everything. A lot of dystopian, literary fiction. You know, the depressing shit.” He laughs, a little self-deprecating.

“Why do you like depressing books?”

He shrugs. Pauses to flip the eggs on the stove. “I guess it just makes me feel like my problems aren’t so bad. No matter how much shit I might be dealing with, it could always be worse.”

I snort. “Very optimistic world-view.”

“Well, could be worse. I could think my problems are the absolute worst. Then how annoying would I be?”

I grin and roll my eyes. “Fair point.” I can’t help letting my gaze drift to his bookshelf again. I spot at least three of my favorite authors there, along with more than a few who have been on my radar for ages.

Well-read, good taste in music, hot as hell, and he cooks…

He joins me on the couch a few minutes later, two plates of perfectly cooked omelets in hand. I take one bite and my eyes g

o wide. He added spinach and cheese and bacon and something else, some spices I don't recognize but that go perfectly.

"How are you still single?" I ask, once I've washed that bite down with a sip of the coffee he brewed.

He laughs. "What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" I gesture wildly around the room with my fork. "You're hot, you're smart, you're fucking fantastic in bed, and you cook? That's ridiculous. How has some lucky hot girl not snatched you up already?"

"Is the omelet really that delicious?" He shakes his head. "It's only eggs and some veggies. You should really try cooking more, Clove."

I narrow my eyes. "I cook! I make a mean ramen noodle soup."

"Packet ramen doesn't count."

I roll my eyes now. "Yeah, well. My ineptitude in the kitchen aside, you're still a catch. So my question stands."

"Which question?"