"Do you like that?" he asked, his warm, wet tongue running along my painfully sensitive nipple. He knew perfectly well that I did.
Scorchingly hot and cold shocks jolted through my body, making me moan in response. His mouth caressed and consumed my breast. It felt like no other lover I'd ever known knew my body the way he did, which was ridiculous because this was the first time he was acquainting himself with the most intimate parts of me. It was also terrifying.
"Please," I finally whispered. I needed him inside me, as wrong and dangerous as that was. I hated myself for wanting it, but the desire was too consuming. And, I told myself, I had gone too far already. I'd hate myself later; for now I'd just enjoy it. "Just do it already."
He laughed breathily against my wet flesh. Brown, desire-drenched eyes met mine. "So impatient... What do you want?"
My eyes clenched shut. Why did he have to make me say it? Couldn't we just fuck and get it out of our systems? I'd be guilty enough when it was over. Did I have to have memories of begging for his cock? Maybe he wanted me to have those memories; I was learning a lot more about him than I ever thought I would.
"What do you want?" he repeated, his talented mouth moving down to kiss and lick my belly.
I sighed, knowing nothing would happen until I answered him. I remember him always beeing stubborn. "I want you."
He muffled a laugh against my belly.
Slowly, so slowly I wanted to scream, he pulled my panties down. The fabric and his rough fingers tickled my skin. My wet pussy clenched at the erotic feeling of the cool air.
"And what do you need?" his sinfully low voice asked.
I was ready to kick him in the face, but that would mean he couldn't fuck me and I couldn't have that.
"You asshole," I muttered lowly, closing my eyes again.
"Tsk, tsk. Open your eyes and tell me what you need." A finger toyed with my soaking lips, sending chills up my body.
Groaning, I pleaded him with my eyes and the arch of my body.
"You," I whined, tears nearly springing to my eyes. I had never wanted sex more in my life, and I had never been more turned on.
He shook his head playfully. "You know what I want you to say."
I couldn't fight him anymore. I was too desperate. "Your cock."
Before I finished my statement, his large frame was on top of me and his rock-hard dick was pushing its way through my slick pussy. There was a delicious resistance, and after a few ruts he was blissfully inside me. We both screamed.
He grunted and groaned, whispering the filthiest words in my ear.
"Your pussy was made me for me."
"I can't wait to cum in you."
"I'm going to fill you up so much, cum's going to dribble out of you for days."
"I bet you've never been fucked like this. Get used to it. I'm going to fuck you every way imaginable... I'll have you scream my name like you don't know any other word."
He pounded away, the sloshing sounds of his pre-cum mixed with my own lubrication adding to the unbelievably hotness of the moment. Not to mention the way he looked into my eyes, like I was the only woman he'd ever fucked- which I knew was far from the truth.
"I want to fuck you all day," he told me, sucking my lobe. "I think I'm going to be hard for the rest of the day."
Then he couldn't speak anymore. Our hips slapped together, our sweat dripped down our bodies and mingled, and our tongues toyed with one another playfully. Our moans and desperate pleas filled the dark room, creating the most beautifully erotic soundtrack to our rough union. I knew I'd go home later and finger myself to the memory, and that thought made me feel dirtier and hornier than I'd already felt.
My hips arched up into his, feeling like I couldn't get enough of his cock inside me. He whined at the sensation and pushed deeply right back in. Cursing he picked up his pace, bending his head over to latch on to my nipple. He sucked it for a few minutes, murmuring nonsensical things into it and suddenly my vision blurred at the indescribable pleasure. I briefly wondered if he was fucking me blind, but all thoughts vanished after a particularly direction thrust.
His movements started growing sluggish and less focused; I knew the end was coming. Finally I felt his teeth bite down and I lost control of my body, coming in a way I never had before. It was almost painful. I didn't think it would ever stop. He let out a litany of curses and stopped thrusting, grinding deeply instead into my ready pussy. With one final curse he came, shooting an unbelievable amount of hot cum inside me in multiple bursts that made me wonder when he fucked last.
After we caught our breath and cooled down a little, he placed a heavy hand on my hip that was almost possessive. "Tomorrow," was all he said; I knew I'd show up.
And that's how I started screwing my sister's ex-husband.
I never liked my sister's husband.
First, he was a smug asshole. He thought he was gorgeous and charming; he also thought he could win over just about anybody. Fine, he was gorgeous and, begrudgingly I had to admit, quite charming. But I wasn't just "anybody". We had a tension between us that made me want to leave the room as soon as he entered. He was the kind of guy you never dated because you were worried he was always cheating on you, or at least thinking about it. He had thick rusty colored hair he never brushed and wet green eyes that shone with constant amusement. He thought everything was funny.
The real reason I disliked Patrick was the way he looked at me. It was like he could see straight through me. It sounds cliched, I know, but it's how I felt. I always put up a brave front for my family, tried to be the rock the desperate saps needed because they were so dysfunctional. They were all too sensitive, too vulnerable. They worried over everything, so I took care of them. When I caught him looking at me, it was like he could see how small and insecure and vulnerable I was myself and I didn't like it. I needed to be strong, and I so desperately needed people to think of me that way.
And then he loved to tease me.
"New boyfriend, Nina?" he asked one Sunday night he and my sister, Chloe, decided to visit.
Since he knew damn well it was a new boyfriend and I was trying to impress him by wearing my best red dress, I glared at him and gave him some murmured answer.
"So what's your name?" he'd asked the poor guy, who fiddled with his silverware nervously under Patrick's unnerving gaze.
I knew the feeling.
"Thomas," Patrick said, nodding as if he were programming it into his head. "I'll try to remember but I'm terrible with names." There was a pause in which Thomas gave a polite nod and went back to his mashed potatoes. But Patrick, of course, was never polite, and I was already expecting some comment. He didn't disappoint. "Especially with Nina's track record. Last month it was John, tomorrow it'll probably be Rob. Good luck, Buddy." He gave Thomas a friendly smack on his shoulder and started cutting his steak.
Needless to say I never saw Thomas again.
My sister was married to Patrick for two years before she decided she couldn't handle it anymore. They had dated five years before they got hitched, and it seemed like they were officially sick of each other. He said she nagged him all the time; she resented the hours he put in at work. He didn't seem to care much about working out their problems, and his nonchalance over the situation made her throw things at him. Literally. That was kind of a funny sight, I have to be honest.
So he moved out- into my neighborhood of course. I saw him out constantly, and while he was never really with girls, I gave him the stank eye all the time because, hey, I was a loyal sister.
Or at least I used to be.
It happened as these things usually happen: I had too much tequila. It was a friend's birthday and, as these things go, she demanded I meet her shot for shot. So I did. I was getting out of a painful break-up and welcoming any and all things to end my pain, anyway.
The only faulty part of the plan, which I really should have seen coming, was that her boyfriend appeared at some point in the evening and the two vanished. Our other friends had disappeared and I was shit drunk. My cell was dead, my feet were killing me, and a glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed I looked like the living dead.
I stumbled outside, not quite sure what the hell I was going to do, when I ran right smack into my worst enemy.
'Whoa, there," Patrick laughed, raking his eyes over my alcohol-addled body. "You're a sight for sore eyes, kid."
"Fuck you," I muttered flatly, too tired to keep up with the usual snark. I spotted his friend Jeremy and Jeremy's girlfriend in the background, eyeing us with amusement.
"So what happened? Decided to come and get trashed by yourself? That's a little pathetic, even by your standards."
I put a hand up to my temple which was beginning to throb and stared at the spinning floor.
"Patrick, so help me God. If you don't leave me alone I'm going to kick you in the balls so hard you'll be coughing sperm."
He laughed and leant against the wall, albeit a bit wobbly. I realized then he was a bit drunk himself.
"How's Chloe?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room.
"She's not here," I muttered, trying to get my phone to turn on even though I knew it was dead, dead, dead.
"I know," Patrick laughed again, this time with a bitter edge. "She never goes out."
I sighed and glanced around, desperate for a familiar face. "Look, I've got to go. I'd say it was nice running into you but it wasn't."
I started walking away but he placed a hand on my elbow. "Hey, hey, wait a second. You're not fit to drive home, young lady."
"I'm not driving home," I snapped, trying to rip his hand from my arm. I hated when he touched me. It set my hair on end.
"So how are you getting home?"
"It's none of your business!" I hissed, finally succeeding in getting him to release me but pulling too much, ending up on my ass on the very stick floor.
Patrick had the decency not too laugh, though he couldn't quite conceal his smirk.
"You young girls never can hold your liquor." I opened my mouth to point out we were only about five years apart when he cut me off. "Come on, I'll take you home."
"You're drunk," I snapped, letting him help me off the floor because... what the fuck?
"Not drunk, no. Tipsy, yes."
"You shouldn't be driving."
He looked over at me with those jolly rancher eyes and grinned. "You can trust me."
In that moment, with his eyes glittering in the scant bar lights and that delicious smell and that fucking smile, I really wished I didn't hate him.
In spite of my protests, he brought me back to his apartment.
"Your's is too far and I don't want to further risk getting pulled over," was his explanation.
He brewed us tea and sat patiently with me as I slowly sipped it. I felt a little bit better, but way too drunk for my liking. Fucking tequila. Fucking manipulative friends.
"You can sleep in my bed," he said suddenly. "I'll take the sofa."
"No," I sighed, eyeing his threadbare sofa that had probably seen some pretty disgusting stuff. "I'll take the sofa. It's your place."
"Nina, just take the fucking bed."
My head was playing tricks on me because suddenly I was very fixated on his wet pink lips and the way they moved to say "Nina" and "fuck".
He must have said a few more things because he snapped his fingers in front of my face and brought me back to the conversation.
"What?" I asked dazedly, trying not to notice how good his shirt looked on him.
Oh my God I'm losing my mind.
I'm just horny, I told myself. It happens when I have the hard liquor.
"I asked how things were going with... what's his name? Sam?"
I looked down at my chipped nails and hated having to admit to another failed relationship, especially to someone who always seemed to find great pleasure in them. "We broke up."
I peeked up and was surprised by his expression. It wasn't amused or teasing or... anything. It was kind of blank.
"Ugh, tough break," was all Patrick said, and he didn't appear like was going to say more. Tipsy Patrick was much more likable.
I followed him into the kitchen with my empty tea-cup and deposited it in the sink, rubbing against his arm in the process. I turned to apologize and caught his glance. Never, in my life, had I seen such a sexually charged gaze in my life. He looked like the proverbial wolf that wanted to gobble me up, and damnit but my nipples were hardening.
I parted my lips to say something, some last bit of sanity, but then his tongue was in my mouth and I was against his wall, feeling his long body molded to mine, and it was so good. His erection burned and stabbed my stomach, grinding against the soft swell there and making me moan. I wanted to touch it, to feel the heat on my bare hand. I wanted so much in that moment.
He pulled his lips away from mine to suck hungrily at my neck, surely leaving marks. In that instant I didn't care. This wasn't my sister's ex-husband, or my archenemy. This was just Patrick... and he was devouring me.
He reached a hand beneath my skirt and palmed my pussy, groaning at the wetness there through my panties as if he were in pain. He sucked and sucked at my neck, trailing his kisses down my chest. Frantically he ripped open my shirt, latching his mouth back to my body before I could make a sound of protest. His mouth hungrily opened around my nipple through my flimsy bra, soaking the material and moaning into the wet patch. I thought I was going to die.
His hips frantically pushed against mine, the bulge hitting me in the most perfect place. In my alcohol-addled mind, all I wanted was him to rip down my panties and fuck me until I didn't know my name.
And then I spotted it.
My sister had proudly bought a cookie jar at some point during their marriage, thinking it was cute and homey and that when they had kids she could put cookies in it. I don't think Patrick had given it much thought, and I don't think it was there for any sentimental value or anything. I think he just took it because she probably left it behind, like so many of her disappointments. But that cookie jar brought me back to reality and sobered me up a bit.
"Stop," I protested weakly, sounding more like I was moaning for his cock. Which in a way I probably was. He ignored me, slipping a finger past my lacy panties and eagerly circling my soaking clit. I think I literally said "Guh!" and slammed my body back against the wall it felt so good. No one had ever touched my body like this.
Saying stop was harder this time, but I knew if I didn't do it then we'd be fucking and I couldn't let that happen. It was wrong, and Chloe would never forgive me, and I would never forgive myself. Plus this was Patrick. He was probably doing this to fulfill some strange, perverted sexual fantasy.
"Patrick, stop," I said more forcefully, nudging his aroused body from mine.
He looked up, confused, and ran a finger down my face. If I didn't know him better I'd think it was a gesture of tenderness.
"I have to go."
"What?" He looked genuinely perplexed and stared at his sopping digit that had been inside me like he couldn't understand.
"I can't fuck you."
His mossy eyes darkened at my language and he took a step closer to me. I held a hand out and pressed against his hard chest.
"It wouldn't be right. And I hate you."
I might have slurred those words but I think he got the gist of them because he smiled.
"Nina, come on. You want this."
I swallowed. "No, I don't."
"Yes, you do," he mocked back, plunging two fingers into my weeping cunt before I could stop him.
"Patrick," I keened in the most embarrassing tone. He laughed triumphantly.
I kicked at him a little and he thankfully removed his fingers from me and stepped back a little bit.
"What's the problem?" he asked, sounding incredibly frustrated. A peek at his impressive erection gave me an idea why.
"You're my sister's ex-husband."
He smirked a little. "The key word is ex."
I stared at him pointedly. "This is wrong and you know it is."
"I know I want to fuck you," he said shrugging, like he wasn't making me even wetter. Like he wasn't propositioning his ex-sister-in-law. Like I hadn't been the Maid-of-Honor had his wedding.
I squeezed my eyes shut and ignored his calloused hand on the soft flesh on my thigh. "Please," I begged, though I didn't know what I was begging floor.
My eyes popped open and spotted the cookie jar again.
"I just can't do this. I love my sister. I'm sorry."
I pulled my top up and my skirt down. "Can you call me a cab, please?
There were a few agonizingly awkward moments as I stared at his floor while he watched me. Finally he walked over to his phone and ordered a cab to come over. I thought he'd be angry with me- kick me out into the cold or something like that- but he told me to sit down.
He watched me contemplatively while we waited for the cab- which was taking forever- and strummed his fingers impatiently.
I thought we'd sit there in silence and probably never speak again until he cleared his throat and got me to reflexively meet his eyes.
"This is going to happen, Nina. I guarantee you'll be back before the week is out, begging for my cock."
I narrowed my eyes at him, but said nothing. I was too afraid he was right.
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