“It depends.” I managed to peel my hands away and take them to the hem of my dress. “It depends on how late you keep me up.”
He moved back slightly, allowing me space to strip off the material, leaving me in a matching set of black sheer lace bra and panties. Through it I knew he could see my nipples and hairless mound, freshly waxed. He could see the small tattoo, a rose, that I had on my hip.
“Do you always wear underwear like this?” he said, not even trying to look me in the eye. His sight was fixed on my tits and I suspected his tongue would be soon following suit.
“Always,” I replied. “If I’m up to my hairline in plaster dust or dirt, you can guarantee I’ll have this sort of underwear on.”
“Do any of the men on site know?” There was an edge to his voice I hadn’t heard before. Jealousy? Possessiveness? I liked it. It made me feel powerful, which, given our height and size difference was unusual. There was a vulnerability to his manner, in his eyes that made me want to test and push, find out what I had to do to unleash the passion that scurried away until it came to being in bed.
“A couple,” I answered honestly. “But they’re not assholes. Not every man is an asshole.” His eyes moved to mine and his hands went to my tits, cupping them and squeezing softly, then pinching my nipples through the material. It was the only physical contact between us which made the dart from my tits to my pussy vicious and demanding.
“Maybe I am,” he said. “Maybe you are a rebound.” He peeled the cups of my bra down and exposed heavy flesh.
“Maybe I don’t care. Maybe I just want you to fuck me. Maybe I’m only here because I know it would piss my brothers off.”
The pinch he gave my nipples was harder, painful and I gasped, pushing my chest toward him as I needed more. Outside I heard the force of rain against the window pane, the air through the open window was cooler, the strangely warm April air rapidly cooling. I spread my legs and linked one around his waist, pulling him closer into me so he could feel my heat.
Eli moved willingly, which was good as there were few ways I could move a man of his height and build. He smiled wickedly, his hands leaving my tits and going to my hair. I’d realised the other week that he had a hair fetish, more specifically, a fetish for my hair.
“Goldilocks,” he whispered, looking at the hair in his hands. “And I know you like things ‘just right.’”
I dropped a hand and cupped the hard erection visible through his sweatpants, hearing his breath shorten as I made contact. “This was ‘just right’ last time,” I said. “You think you can keep those standards up?”
He answered with a kiss, a deep, slow, hard kiss that asked and questioned and warned. I responded by nipping his bottom lip and grasping his cock tighter then pushing down his sweats over his hips, making my intentions clear.
The kiss was broken. The man stepped back and looked me up and down, predatory. I lost the bra, leaving me nude except for my panties, which covered very little. “You like what you see?” I said, brazenly, confidently.
“Take everything off and turn round.”
I gave a slight huff for dramatic effect and pushed my panties down, kicking them off with my feet.
“Are you wet?”
“Why don’t you feel and find out?”
“Because if you don’t tell me I’ll come over there and find out with my dick.”
I dipped my fingers in between my legs and swiped up some of my juices, pressing my fingers together and parting them so he could see the evidence of what he’d done. I liked sex, I liked fucking and the physical release it brought and I didn’t need to be in a relationship to enjoy the power play as long as I was with someone who respected me. Eli did. Everything he had shown me with his actions so far had underlined that this was safe.
He took two steps towards me and closed the distance, the cool air stinging now, the rain falling harder and harder against the cars and pavements outside. He turned me round roughly, although his hands were gentle on my skin, leaning me over the kitchen counter. There was the sound of a wrapper opening and the brief loss of contact.
“I’m wearing a condom,” he said. “Tell me no now if you don’t want this.”
“How about I tell you yes instead and you get the hell inside me.” I could feel that I was dripping down my legs, my pussy swollen and aching to be filled. There was a sharp slap to my ass. I moaned, my breath catching in my throat.
“Spread your legs,” he instructed and I felt his cock move from my clit to my opening. He was big, in keeping with his size everywhere else, and I braced myself for the initial stretch. There was a pause as he fed one hand into my hair and rested the other on my lower back. I knew he was bending his knees, our height difference too great to make this anything like straightforward, but I no longer gave a crap about the mechanics. He was strong enough and big enough to take the control I handed to him.
The pinch as he breached me was welcomed and he entered me roughly, knocking me into the cabinets. I didn’t think about the bruises or the marks his fingers would leave as he pushed his hand onto my back to steady me as he moved in and out, his cock rubbing against the spot inside me that was certain to make me explode. He was big and powerful and it was only when I realised both his hands were now on my hips I understood that my legs weren’t holding me up.
My orgasm was like a dam breaking, gradual at first, the initial spasms slight and subtle, before the force took over and I heard myself cry out, the sound completely drowning out the pounding of the rain and I completely reliant on the hands holding me up.
“Fuck, Ava,” I heard Eli say before he thrust harder, chasing his own pleasure. He pushed me down to the kitchen surface and used his other hand to grasp my thigh, opening me up further so he could go deeper. I felt three more deep thrusts and then he started to still, his grip tight and he said my name, barely a whisper before he groaned.
His chest rested against my back, his hands now either side of me on the counter. Lips found my neck and rested there, the contact comforting and needed. “I should’ve had you in my bed,” he said. “I’ve been imagining you there for days.”
For a moment I thought he was inferring that I should leave, that being in his bed was off the agenda. I stiffened, then felt his hand creep underneath me to my stomach. “I’ll have you there next. Can you move?”
I exhaled and relaxed. If I’d been leaving after that I’d have dealt with it, but I’d have had to contend with my surprise. And disappointment.
