All I Am: Drew's Story (This Man 3.5)

as I spank her hard across the arse. “Not yet, Raya.”

“No!”

“Yes.” I work myself, pacing around to the front of the horse, and pull off her blindfold. She heaves, her breathing loud and erratic as she blinks rapidly, and once she finds me, I smile. I know it’s an almost cruel smile.

“Open your mouth,” I command, and like a gift her mouth falls open. I ram my cock in, grabbing her ponytail and yanking harshly.

She chokes, but doesn’t fight the invasion. Fucking perfect. I thrust powerfully and she accepts it all, staring up at me through glazed eyes. I’d love to stay here forever, watching her take me, my body in spasm, but the surge of my climax isn’t stoppable. For once, I can’t control it. Resisting the need to throw my head back and roar through it, I keep my gaze on Raya and let the pleasure rule me for once. I let it hijack me. Let it claim me. I hold my breath and slip free of her mouth, coming, my essence streaming all over her serene face, the flow never-ending. The power of it makes my knees weak, forcing me to brace myself on the horse.

“Jesus,” I breathe, certain I’ve never had such an intense orgasm.

Raya watches me, full of wonder. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t voice any dismay. She doesn’t question if I’m going to see her right, and right now that’s a good thing because I need a moment to gather myself. My vision is foggy, as well as my head.

I fight to get my breathing somewhere near to even, my clenched fist loosening in her hair. “Let’s turn you around.” I get my shakes under control and unbuckle the cuffs, lifting her at the waist to get her on her back without needing to remove the spreader. “Okay?” I help ease her back down to the horse as she nods, silent as she watches me re-secure her hands. Her head falls to the side, her breathing still harsh, her face covered in my seed. Call me depraved, but I leave it, wiping just a drop away from the corner of her eye with my little finger. She smiles mildly, and for reasons I’ll probably never fathom, it pulls a smile from me, too.

“Nice piercing,” she murmurs, diverting her gaze slowly from my cock to my eyes. My smile only widens as I step over the spreader bar to between her thighs, stroking across her small breasts as I go. Placing my hands on her knees, I dip and rest my lips on her tummy. Her back arches, her eyes closing. I came only a minute ago, yet life is pulsing back into my cock once again. My mouth waters as I turn my attention to her gorgeous cunt.

“Talk to me, Raya.” The very tip of my finger rests on her clit. “What do you want?”

“Your mouth.” She doesn’t beat around the bush. “I want your tongue on me.”

I push a finger inside of her, sweeping around the soft walls, and lower my face, running my nose through the hair framing her sweet pussy. “Smells good,” I murmur, closing my eyes and letting her scent intoxicate me. My tongue flicks across her clit. I groan, and Raya bucks off the horse, her legs desperate to close but unable to. I lick her from bottom to top, my tongue flat and firm.

She starts mumbling what sound like prayers as I tease her, drive her insane, push her to her limit. I build her up, tormenting her with my tongue, before withdrawing, letting her tension retreat before going back in. The sounds of her crying and begging for her orgasm as I lick her out is golden. I play with her for an age, held prisoner at her pussy by her constant pleas. I don’t need her to tell me that this is going to be powerful for her, maybe even too much to take. The knowledge spurs me on. I close my mouth over her and suck ravenously, pushing her thighs further apart. She screams, her whole torso catapulting upward. I taste her climax. I feel it hit my tongue.

Fuck…me.

I swallow it down, the taste dizzying. Never before has someone captured me in the moment so completely. None of what just happened was forced. I feel utterly blindsided as I roll my tongue through her pulsing folds, taking every last drop of her and consuming it, devouring it, letting myself get completely drunk on it. Jesus Christ, she is delicious.

Raya eventually settles, though she’s far from still, her body trembling in the aftermath. Her head is lax, fallen to the side, but her eyes are open and staring across the room. She looks disorientated. In shock. I can relate.

Surrendering her sweet pussy, I crouch and release her legs, struggling to rise when I’m done. I lower my torso to her front, her face close to mine, eyes on my profile, as I unfasten the cuffs, rubbing some life back into her wrists.

“Okay?” I ask and she nods as I help her up. She’s unstable, and though I am less than steady myself, I swoop her up and carry her to the bed, my face tight with the burning, deep ache in my shoulder.

Setting her on the mattress, I go find a cloth and wet it before returning and sitting on the edge of the bed. This isn’t protocol, but wiping her clean seems only reasonable since I ejaculated all over her stunning face. “Thank you.” She sighs and closes her eyes as I sweep the cloth gently over her cheeks.

“Welcome.” I finish up and stare down at her peaceful face for a few moments, knowing I’ve fulfilled her need to forget, but still feeling a deep, misplaced need to know what I’ve helped her forget. Everyone at this club has their reasons for immersing themselves in this decadent pleasure pit. Some need control, some crave power, and others, like me, simply love the no-strings, emotionless fucks. The excitement. The power plays. I don’t need this. I want it. This woman needed it. I’ve never seen anyone so lost in the moment, and, worryingly, I’ve never felt so lost myself.

Her eyes flutter open, finding me static on the edge of the bed. She smiles, small and lazy, stretching out her body. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I wasn’t staring; I was admiring.” I surprise myself with my honest answer. Laughing under my breath, bewildered, I stand. “There’s a shower through there.”

“I think I’ll wait until I’m home.” She gets up and finds her trousers, feeding her legs through in turn. She’s leaving. I realize leaving is protocol, but I have a bizarre impulse to stop her. To take more from her. To try to figure her out. Yet I shouldn’t. This was an arrangement. I’ve done what she asked me to do. Emotionally, I keep women at a very safe distance. Always have. Now shouldn’t be any different.

“Welcome.” I all but grunt, retrieving my boxers from the floor and pulling them on. My shoulder locks on me, forcing my hand to my flesh to work the pain away. “Fuck.”

“What’s up?” Raya asks, yet I refuse to look at her. It’s safer to keep my eyes to myself. Let her leave.

“Nothing, I just jarred it when I…” I fade off and snap my mouth closed before I divulge anything I shouldn’t. “I just jarred it.”

“Let me see.” She’s before me in a flash, and I’m stepping back even more quickly.

“It’s fine.” I snatch up my trousers. And it goes again—pain bolting through me, reaching my stomach and making it turn. My trousers hit the floor and I hiss, clenching my shoulder tightly. “Motherfucker.”

“Yeah, fine.” Raya knocks my hand away. “I’m a sports therapist. It’s not fine.” Her palm encases my shoulder, her touch leaving me fighting for breath and reason. “Lie down.”

“That’s not a good idea.” I almost laugh, my cock twitching as if in protest at my decline.

“Why?”

Why? Because just the thought of her rubbing me all over makes me hard. “I need to be somewhere.” Her hand, still on my shoulder, melds into my flesh firmly, and the sneaky move has my eyes closing and my body folding under the relief it gives me. “Oh God, that feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

My eyes cross behind my lids. “Don’t stop.”

“Get on the bed, Drew.”

I’m across the room and on my front in a heartbeat. Whatever she says.

Standing at the side of the bed, she kicks her shoes off, and then her leather jeans hit the floor.

My eyes follow them down. “Why are you taking them off?” I glance back up at her, avoiding her long legs.

“There’s not much give in them.” She kneels on the bed and straddles

my arse. Oh, Jesus, what have I done? Her hands, gentle but firm, land on my back. “Relax,” she orders softly, working her touch into my stiff muscles.

Relax. Easier said than done. “Do you always straddle your clients half naked?”

“Only my favorite ones.” Her answer is serious, and I laugh a little, forcing my body to soften. But my laugh fades and morphs into a hiss when her knuckles work into my right shoulder blade. “You’re full of knots,” she muses, grinding down into the muscle. “Stressed?”

“No.” I wince, trying to roll the pain away.

“Keep still.” Her body drops forward, her face coming close to mine. I peek up at her and find perfectly arched brows. Then her mouth curves, too, and her eyes beam at me. “Or do I need to restrain you?”

“Very funny.” I quickly close my eyes before I can drink in her gorgeousness any more. “What’s a knot, anyway?”

“Your muscles are layered. Injury, stress or sometimes simply dehydration can make them fuse to each other. Frequent massages are a good cure, but also a great preventative. It’s important to keep the muscles’ suppleness. How did you do it?” she asks, taking my arms and positioning them on the pillow above my head.

Searching for a reason for my injury that doesn’t involve mentioning Georgia is harder than it should be. This woman is playing havoc with my usually stable frame of mind. “I don’t know.”

Her hands stroke over my flesh, and a wave of tingles shortly follows. Sweet Jesus. “I’ll work away some of the stiffness. When I tell you to breathe in, take a deep breath. Don’t release it until I say.”

I nod and soon lose my battle to keep quiet, moaning when her knuckles work into the dip by my shoulder blade. “There.” I groan, somewhere between pain and relief. “Just there.”

Her knuckles sink deep. “There?”

“God, yes.”

“Breathe in,” she commands, and I obey, drinking in oxygen, feeling her push into the spot, her strength surprising. “Hold it.” Her other hand reaches to my wrist and pulls my arm out to the side, the pressure of her knuckles in that sweet spot never wavering. “And release.”

Air sails out of my lungs, and her knuckles are back to rolling into the area. “Fuck, that was divine,” I murmur, feeling drugged.

“And again.” She pushes back into the space and kneads a few, firm times, before locking down again, pushing into the muscle. “Breathe in.”

I follow her order and space out in my darkness, letting her take full control. I can feel the nodules deep in my flesh, moving around under her solid touch.

“And out.” She sighs, like it’s a relief for her, too.

She spends a good half hour working the area, and with each breath in and out, the deep-seated pain fades, until all I feel is pure relief. Her hands are fucking magic. I feel sleepy, totally out of it, but when her palms slide up to my nape and work the muscles there, I’m totally alert again. And so is my cock. Raya gently glides her hands down my spine and molds perfectly pressured circles there for a few excruciating amazing minutes. Fucking hell. I breathe in deep, clenching my fists as blood pounds in my cock.

“You’re done.” She slides off my back and starts to pull on her trousers. “You should have one at least once a week.”

Once a day sounds better. By her. I remain where I am, on my front, head resting on my forearms. I’m not moving. Can’t move.

“You can get up now.” Slipping her feet into her heels, she pulls the tie from her hair and shakes her hair out.

Lord above, kill me now. My dick is screaming. “Actually, I can’t.”

She stills, her eyes running the length of my body, their sparkle getting brighter and brighter. “Ohhhh.” Her lips press together, and she definitely blushes. Seems crazy after what I’ve just done to her. “Sorry,” she shrugs.

My cock isn’t listening to my demand to calm the fuck down, and isn’t likely to when Raya’s still close, so I face the music, sighing as I get up off the bed. “I expect it’s a hazard of the job.”

“Yeah, there have been some awkward moments.” She laughs a little, averting her eyes from my groin.

I inwardly scowl as I dress, not liking the idea that other men get her hands rubbing them all over. “Where do you work?” I ask before I can stop myself, my fingers pausing mid-fastening of my shirt buttons. I just broke one of my cardinal rules. And, more annoyingly, one of Raya’s. No getting to know each other. I could kick myself when I see her eyes dull a little, the playful sparkle disappearing like it was never there.

“In your words, Drew, this isn’t a date.” Her persona, from light and almost playful, changes in a heartbeat. She’s suddenly guarded and clipped. And I hate it, because I sense it’s not natural for her to be so closed. It’s an effort for her. Unnatural. Just like it’s unnatural for me to give a shit, but I’m damned if I can stop myself from caring.

But I should.

“Right,” I murmur, shaking my head to myself.

She sighs and takes the few paces needed to make it to me. Her steps are cautious, and my eyes follow her until she’s standing chest-to-chest with me. My heart fucking gallops as I desperately search for the light I know is buried deeply in her eyes. It’s vanished, and I fucking hate myself for chasing it away with my stupid fucking question. She reaches up on her tiptoes, resting her lips on my bristly cheek. Tingles race across my skin. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

The earth moves, and so does my head, catching her lips with mine, my arms pulling her into me. I can’t remember the last time I just kissed a woman. Just kissed her because that’s all I wanted. Just kissed her without it leading anywhere.

I’m gentle. Soft and searching. And it’s fucking blissful. Her body is relaxed, her breasts pushing into my chest, my arms surrounding her. Where has this compulsion come from? This need to indulge in her? To help her. “Why are you here, Raya?”

“The no-strings thing is appealing.”

“Why?”

She breaks away, and I mourn the loss of her warmth sinking through my suit into my skin. “I should go,” she says quietly.

“Do you need a ride anywhere?” Another rule broken. Poof. Gone. But, damn, fuck the rules.

“That’s sweet, but I’m fine.”

Sweet? I’ve been described as many things, but sweet isn’t one. What the fuck? I’m not sweet. I clear my throat, all manly, and she smiles a little, as if privy to my internal manning-up match.

“Bye, Drew.” She turns and I watch her go. She doesn’t look back. I don’t know whether to be glad or devastated.

Chapter 3

As I sit at the conference table on Saturday morning, the voices of my staff are a fuzz of nothing. My mind, god damn my mind, is still at Hux, and my cock, god damn my motherfucking cock, is still buried balls deep inside Raya. Every time I roll my shoulder and feel no pain, I’m back on that bed with her hands all over me. I enjoyed that massage as much as I enjoyed fucking her.

I didn’t get much sleep last night, not even after polishing off nearly an entire bottle of whiskey with Sam. Sometimes in life, things creep up on you and catch you off guard. My daughter’s bitch of a mother did that. Literally. Coral snuck up on me, took advantage of my inebriated state, and nine months later I had a baby girl. Raya has snuck up on me all right, yet something about her—her softness, her effortless allure—is making it all too easy to let my guard down. That and her air of mystery. What the hell is her story?

“What do you think, Drew?”

My pen stops tapping, and I look across the table to find everyone staring at me. I’ve missed everything. Don’t have a clue what’s been discussed. “Yeah, fine.” I get up and collect my phone. “I’ve got to pick up Georgia.” I need distracting, and my girl is the perfect way. “I’ll be in on Monday.”

I race across town, excited. It’s only been three days, but it feels like centuries.

As I pull up to Coral’s house, I spot Georgia at the door looking out for me. Her little face is a picture,

and I smile, letting myself out of the car.

“Daddy!” She hurls down the path like a bomb, with no shoes or coat on, one pigtail in her black hair, the other half loose and flying around. I crouch and brace myself for her tackle, laughing when she crashes into me.

“Hey, pidge.”

“Hey.” Her lips land on my cheek and her arms strangle me. It’s all rather lovely, our reunion a happy affair, but my contentment sinks when Coral strolls down the path, her eyes scanning every inch of my six-foot-two frame as I rise with my daughter wrapped around me.

“Georgia, you’re half dressed,” she scolds, taking her from my arms and dragging her back to the house. She looks over her shoulder. “Come in?” she asks me.

I strain a smile. “No thanks.” I’d rather walk through the burning depths of hell. Coral has made no bones about wanting to reconcile. What a joke. I don’t know how many times I need to tell her there’s nothing to reconcile because there was no relationship in the first place.

“Oh, I forgot to ask.” She stops and faces me. “Could you have Georgia next weekend? I know it’s technically my time, but the girls are going out and it’s the only weekend they could do.”

She’s unbelievable. Four days a week she has to herself, yet she still needs to make plans for when she’s supposed to have Georgia. Not that I’m bothered. It means I get more time with my