I pulled back, fingers smoothing his neatly trimmed beard. It was much softer than it looked. “The Psych Ward. Well, it was called the Swedish Behavioral Health Center, but since they locked me in my room and all the gardens were surrounded by walls with barbed wire, I’m pretty sure it was a nuthouse.”
“Don’t call it that,” Steve’s mouth was over mine for a long, wonderfully lazy moment as his full, pink lips explored mine, slipping his tongue in and out of my mouth. “You’re not crazy. You had a good reason to be terrified. And you got out. And you’re here.”
“My parents were called, I guess. Some busybody shrink recognized my last name and called them. They wouldn’t come, of course. My mother … oh, god!”
My dream date and bearded sex god’s long fingers had found my clit and he was carefully exploring it, pulling back the little flesh covering and stroking up and down, circling it, and then around the entrance to my passage.
His fingers came up to slip into my mouth. “Make them wet, sweet girl.”
My eyes closed as I suckled them, my tongue exploring along the thick fingers pressed between my lips. When he pulled them from my mouth I whined a little bit, making him chuckle. Which, unfortunately, pushed the hard length of his jean-covered cock against my embarrassingly wet center. Steve slid one finger inside me, and then another as I yelped, nails digging unconsciously into the golden skin of his shoulders.
“My mother, she uh…” I shivered as his fingers tunneled into me, stroking and searching for sensitive spots, pausing when I stiffened, or moaned. “She told me they were disgusted with me. She told me not to call again until I did something to be proud of.”
Steve's fingers never stopped moving, even when the big hand on my ass began gently pushing me against his erection again, the rough denim material rubbing my aching clit so well, my swelling lips parting for the length of him, even covered up.
“Your parents are worthless,” he promised, kissing my denials right out of my mouth. “You are brave and perfect, and I’m going to fuck you until you agree with me. But not tonight.” He laughed when I whined in protest, cringing as the noise came out of my mouth. “Oh, you’re still coming, sweetheart. Don’t worry about that.” His fingers were moving faster inside me, his other hand on my waist now, moving my hips and driving me into the now-wet crotch of his Levi’s. “Ask me nicely, now. Ask for your orgasm and I’ll give it to you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweet girl? Such a good, good girl, aren’t you.”
“I don’t…” I was going to town, grinding down with the urging of his hand, scooping low to rub against his cock, then rising up slightly to feel his fingers play inside me. God, they were so long, and thick! It already felt like his cock was inside me, stretching and pulling in a way that burned. And stung, but it felt so good. And I hadn’t felt good in a long time.
“Shhh,” Steve’s voice was a bit hoarse, and I was pleased with myself for pulling him out of the stern demeanor he always used on me. “Be my good girl now and come.” His fingers twisted oddly and pushed higher inside me, higher than anything I thought could go inside my cunt, then my back arched and my nails dug deeper into his shoulders and I was coming - oh, my god it was so perfect and such a relief and I couldn’t think of a single thing but how good he made me feel and….
There was a sharp pain on my breast - my nipple - and it almost startled me out of my orgasm. It was Steve, sucking on me too hard because it made me gasp and come again. I’d never liked pain. I’d been in pain too many times to find it sexy but this time … I asked for it. I begged him to suckle me harder and wailed like a freaking bobcat when his calloused thumb pressed down hard on my clit….
Oh, great.
I opened my eyes to find I’d slept through most of the day. Again. A good day’s sleep. Cautiously checking myself, I found I was dressed in my usual tank top and sleep shorts. There was no sticky come between my thighs. Or bruises or bites or hickeys. Looking for evidence of the night before, of that wild dream, I found nothing.
“Maybe I am crazy,” I said.
Chapter 3: Make Me
In which Aura discovers there’s just something about a man in a tool belt.
Istood in front of the mirror, the comforting light of evening barely, softly illuminating my room.
The dream (nightmare? sex dream slash nightmare?) rose up in full technicolor replay and I buried my head in my hands. God, Steve? Really? The cranky-ass handyman? Why on earth would my sexually deprived subconscious pick him to dream about? And so vividly that I swore my breasts hurt. The sound of a hammer got me staggering out of my bedroom and over to the balcony, surveying the area around the cabin.
Well, speak of the devil.
There he was, the stupidly hot handyman, using the distinctly unstable ladder from my tool shed to nail up a little white box on a post about fifty feet out from the porch. He pulled out his phone, clicked something and the box flashed brightly, on and off.
“What the hell?” I hissed, yanking on a top for a bit more coverage. Striding down the stairs and out the door, I was halfway through yelling, “What are you doing here, Handyman St-” in my most authoritative tone when I was lit up like a film premiere, lights suddenly blazing all around the perimeter of the cabin. I turned around in a circle, able to see nearly all of the sensors surrounding me from the deep front porch. Turning back to him, my head tilted questioningly.
His perfect face was expressionless, as usual. After double-checking the stability of the white box on the pole, he climbed down, absently flipping the hammer in his hand.
If I tried that I would brain myself right into a coma,I thought crossly.
“Setting up your security perimeter,” he answered casually.
“My what?”
He was walking up to me, not stopping until he was on the step just below mine, making my gaze even with his.
“Your security perimeter,” Steve answered with a surprising level of patience. “Anything larger than the size of your average raccoon will light up the entire yard like a football field. No one can approach this place without setting off half a dozen alarms.” He pulled out his phone, tapping something into it. “I had to adjust the sensitivity so every squirrel doesn’t set it all off, so….”
He trailed off, absorbed in the code he was entering and I gaped at him. Omigod, did this mean last night was real? Did I tell him about Mr. Psycho and the Ha-Ha Hotel? I was so embarrassed that I physically cringed away from him. “Wh- you’re- I-” I cleared my throat and started again. “Why are you doing this?”
Steve looked at me blankly. “Because your boss or buddy or whoever paid me extra to put in a perimeter alarm.”
