Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever (9 page)

He stretches to reach into a drawer in a table next to the bed and returns with a condom, which he slides onto his humongous cock.

My Triple-G sees it and faints. My Fairy Hoochie Mama does the Beyoncé’ “Crazy In Love,” booty dance, “uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no, no,” her tiny round apple bottom bouncing like a rubber ball.

I allow him to whisk me out of my pants and panties as if he’s a fucking magician, and without stopping to look to align us, Tristan hits the sweet spot.

“Aargh!”
We grunt in concert as he fills me. His breathing is harsh, and his eyes are cloudy with lust. He squeezes out words with difficulty. “You’re tight. How long’s it been for you?”

“Three and a half . . . years,” I say through a groan. He’s only taken three strokes when I am convinced, this will be, hands down, the best sex I’ve ever had.

I cry tears of ecstatic joy as I grasp his forearms, and join in the syncopated rhythm, when he begins to move in earnest. We both seem to have lost the ability to form words, because all we are capable of at the moment is movement and sound. Words are superfluous anyway. All that matters right now is what we’re doing to each other. He speeds up, and I match him thrust for thrust.

I make so much noise, it’s embarrassing. Tristan has this way of moving his hips that’s so sensual, so carnal, it’s like dancing and fucking at the same time. He doesn’t know the meaning of simple up and down, he gets a serious swerve on that I can’t match, but I hold onto him and keep up as best I can. The sensation is unlike any
in my sphere of
experience. 

He grasps my head and kisses me hard, his tongue dueling with and arresting mine. He releases my lips with a pop and kisses a trail to my neck, still moving, never missing a beat. He shifts his weight onto his elbows and grasps the sides of my torso with his large hands, and his thumbs find my nipples and begin to make frenzied circles on the hardened nubs.
This man takes multi-tasking to a whole ‘nother level!
  I can feel my orgasm building deep inside me as he thrusts on and on.

I knew it would be different with Tristan, but I didn’t know it would be as enjoyable as this. He kisses me again as he continues the onslaught.
Oh, man he has superb stamina! 
But, who’s complaining? Certainly not me.
His tongue should be registered as a weapon because it’s lethal in its ability to exact pleasure. I feel so many sensations all at once, I fear I may explode into a gazillion pieces.

Somehow, Tristan knows what’s about to happen. “Give it up, Keisha,” he growls.
My body vibrates in an uncontrollable quiver beneath his. If he weren’t on top of me, holding me down, I’m positive I would
’ve
jack-knife
d
off the bed. My climax is so
intense
, I scream his name like a litany, not a cliché
, w
ith a
force
to rival Zena, the Princess Warrior’s
.
I clamp my legs
tight
around Tristan’s ass and give up the ghost.

He follows a few seconds later with a more dignified grunt and collapses onto me. Our bodies are slippery with a fine sheen of sweat, but I don’t care. I am so well-fucked, I’d drink a glassful of Tristan’s sweat right about now. My Triple-G feigns gagging herself with two fingers, but my Fairy Hoochie Mama, naked and sweat-slippery in her own right, lies comatose in her little bed.

Tristan and I are panting, attempting to slow our breathing—to bring our riotous thumping heartbeats back to normal.

“Wow .  .  . That was .  .  .” I don’t know if there are words in the vocabulary acquired through my liberal arts education to describe such pleasure. We are forehead to forehead, and I can feel, rather than see his smile. I’m afraid to open my eyes, as if doing so will erase the experience.

He raises his torso, still buried inside me, but he doesn’t separate us. He kisses the outside of each of my eyes, removing the tearful remnants. “Open your eyes,” he says, his voice soft. I squint up at him. “I’m sorry if I was too rough—but you’re so out of practice. Are you in pain?” His concern for me is heartbreaking.

I slip my figurative ‘big girl panties’ on, and answer him. “No.”

“Then why were you crying?”

I want to tell him, they were tears of joy because it was just so lovely, but I can’t. I may never see him within the parameters of a sexual experience again after today. He doesn’t need to think I’m a weak, pathetic little ghetto girl who can’t take having a one-day—since it’s not night—stand with a real man. Now I know without a doubt Byron was a chump who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.

“I must’ve gotten sweat in my eyes,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, but a sniffle, followed by a shuddering, involuntary breathing spasm that occurs only after crying, gives me away.

Tristan presses a gentle kiss onto my forehead and rolls off, carrying me with him. I bury my head into his chest, and he holds me close until I am able to control my chaotic emotions.

I believe I fall asleep, because the next thing I know, I’m lying face down. A pair of strong hands massage my achy muscles with warm oil. It feels divine.

“Mmm, you really know how to pamper a girl, Mr. White,” I murmur.

“That would be part of my duty as your Dom,” he says. “Everyone focuses on the role-playing, the toys—some of which are admittedly implements of pain—but a good Dom wouldn’t put any more on you than you can bear.” He leans over me and kisses a trail across my shoulders. “And I . . . am a good Dom.”

“I’m sure you are.”

His hands are so talented, I can’t refute how good he is, so I don’t. Firm fingers traverse my lower back to my glutes, then he palms my ass like he’s testing for ripe fruit.

“You have a beautiful spankable ass, Keisha. And your skin is a gorgeous, warm shade of caramel, like the undertone of a Nicoise olive. My favorite.” Before I know what he’s doing, he brings his hand down onto one of my cheeks with a loud thwack.

I gasp, and I’m about to turn around and cuss his ass out, but what comes from my mouth is a moan. Of pleasure.
Well, I’ll be damned if that shit didn’t feel fabulous.
I turn my head to look back at him, and blink in disbelief.

“Okay,” I say. “Do that again. Just like that, but no harder.”

“You’re quite demanding,” he says. “You sure you’ve never been a Domme?”

I grin up at him impishly. The kinky fucker looks damn sexy with his just-fucked hair and narrowed, blue eyes.

“No, but I’d like you to do that again,” I say. I see a fleeting look of relief on his face, before it morphs into lust, and he gazes at me through hooded eyes.

“As you wish, Ms. Beale.” He says and runs his hand down my back to my behind, where he circles the opposite cheek and then gives it a whack. He repeats that motion several times, until I’m throbbing between my legs like I wasn’t just fucked into oblivion by him a short while ago.

Tristan takes a deep breath and shifts so that he covers me with his body, but holds himself as if in a push-up, careful not to crush me into the bed. I can feel his rock hard erection pressing into my ass crack as he moves my hair to the side and kisses my shoulder.

“I can smell that you want me to fuck you again,” he whispers into my ear, and begins to trail kisses around my ear and down my neck.

Our warm
skin together feels
almost
feverish
, we’re so hot
—
both in temperature
—
and turned on
.
Tristan’s
chest hair tickles my back as his hand moves down, his fingertips barely touch my skin, skims my waist, over my hip, and back to my waist. He pushes my knees apart with his, and my breath hitches.

His erection slides between my legs, and his hand travels up my thigh to my behind. He caresses my ass again, and then trails his fingers down between my legs. One arm goes under me, and he hauls me into a semi-kneeling position, as if I’m worshipping in supplication at an altar. The way he has my ass all tooted up in the air reminds me of Ayla in
The Clan of the Cave Bear
.

Stretching his hand again to the drawer in the bedside table, he grabs several things and lays them on the bed near my head where I can see them: the sleep mask he bought at my store, two lengths of black ribbon, and a condom. He shifts most of his weight on his knees, but I am still pinned underneath him.

He covers my back with his chest again and whispers to me. “Will you trust me to make you feel good again, Keisha?”

I don’t hesitate. I’m just ready to feel his cock inside me again. “Yes.”

“Good,” he says simply, and proceeds to tie my outstretched hands to the iron filigree headboard with the ribbons. Once that’s done, he places the mask over my eyes. “
Tactile senses are enhanced when other senses are taken away.
Removing one will do for now. It will force you to concentrate on those that remain,” he declares.

I don’t answer. I just squirm trying to create more friction where he’s rubbing against me down there.

He laughs. “All in due time, Ms. Beale.”

I hear the foil rip and the sticky sound of the moist prophylactic rolling onto him, or maybe I just envision it. Who the fuck knows? Then I feel him insert his bulbous head into my slit, and I almost come from the anticipation.

“I’m going to fuck you like this, Keisha,” he murmurs, and with his hands, he cups both my breasts, holding me in place. I can’t move, but he can. He slides into me to the hilt, pinioning me beneath him. I am blind and helpless, but so wanting.

He pulls back, and stills.

“Feel what I’m doing to you,” he whispers. “And remember it.” His voice is hypnotic, his words seductive, his breath intoxicating. I feel the head of his throbbing erection slipping out of me, and I clench it as hard as I can with my vaginal walls, because I don’t want him to pull all the way out.

He reaches nimble fingers around to stimulate my clitoris, circling. “You’re so wet. So ready. I like that very much.”  His breath is soft against my skin, igniting the moist places where his tongue has been lavishing the nerve endings on my neck with glorious attention.

He moves to nuzzle behind my ear, as his hand continues its assault to my nether regions, round and round. I push my hips up, grinding against him, mimicking his downward motion. I am jarred by spikes of endorphins that course through my blood that delivers jolts of intense pleasure. I strain harder against both his finger at my entrance and his cock against my ass, not sure which one I want more.

“
That’s it
,” he
says
, his voice soft but commanding. He inserts two fingers inside me, stroking what has to be my g-spot
revving up the energy concentrated in this one small area
, and I come all over his hand. I moan so loud I’m sure Mrs. Naven can hear me downstairs.

I squeeze my eyes shut and attempt to get control of myself, trying to absorb all the delicious sensations his fingers have exacted from me, making me feel as if napalm has coursed through my body and laid all my nerve endings to waste. I don’t get a chance to recover fully.

He slams into me, rests only a split second, and then begins a constant, steady, tortuous rhythm. It’s absolutely exquisite. I moan again, and his hand, upon which I released my womanly essences, clamps over my mouth.

My tongue darts out to taste the saltiness of my own vajayjay for the first time, and it’s not nasty—it’s hot—but it’s not something I’d want to do on the regular, either.
Fuck, I’m doing all kinds of uncharacteristic shit with this man.

“Good, huh?” He breathes against my ear. Then I hear him lick his fingers. “Mmm. When I’m done here, I’m going to eat you up, baby. I might even fuck your mouth while I’m eating you, Keisha,” he says, his voice trembling from the relentless pounding he’s laying on me.

What? I’ve never heard it phrased quite that way, but damn it sounds fantastic! I moan at the thought, involuntarily biting his fingers. He hisses and I release them.

“You sure you’ve never been a Domme?” He whispers again, and then increases the tempo, going deeper. I groan, delighting in the way he circles his hips and drills into me, repeatedly. I fear the pace will drive me insane, but I begin to feel the familiar quiver of my insides, heralding my release.

He senses this and pulls back. “I don’t want you to come yet.”

“Please,” I whine. I am wound tighter than a spring, and I’m not sure how even he can take the way he withholds what he so effectively dishes out.

“I want you to remember this as you think about my offer.” He buries himself deep inside me again and stops.

I groan. “Please, Tristan.”

“What do you want, Keisha?”

I groan again.

“Huh?” He circles his hips, double-time.
“Tell me,” he demands.

“I want you to finish
it
,” I gasp.

His rhythm increases yet again to match his erratic breathing, and I don’t even know if I’m breathing. “Your wish. My command.” Tristan says and continues his intense, punishing assault on my severely underutilized body. I am so close to the culmination of that acute crescendo of sensation called an orgasm once again.