Sin and Desire (50 page)

“Want to feel me to cum deep inside you?” And as I moan in agreement, he grabs my hair in his fist, thrusting deep inside me fast and hard. I feel the electric pleasure shooting throughout my entire body, and I feel his big cock jerk inside me as my pulsing pussy tightens around it, milking him dry as he finally releases his hot seed deep into my pussy.

              He moans loudly and thrusts hungrily as he releases all of his juices deep inside me, causing an explosion of my own pleasure beyond what I have felt before. I scream as I feel him filling me up, my body collapsing onto the couch with pure exhaustion. After a few moments of recovering, he gently slides out of me and lays next to me on the couch, each of us sporting a big grin.

“That was... amazing!” I pant.

“Well, hopefully that won't be the last time,” he responds as he gazes at my completely used body.

“It won't.” I assure him as he lays my head on his chest and drifts off to sleep, worn out from our evening of pleasure. Before I have a moment to think I am asleep too, my energy all spent.

              My eyes open the next morning and I momentarily forget where I am. The soreness I feel in my pussy reminds me of the night’s events. I rub my eyes, looking around and wondering where Noah is. When I smell coffee, I assume he is in his giant kitchen, so I make my way in there despite the fact that I am still naked. When I enter, I observe him sitting at the kitchen table in a full suit, reading his morning newspaper. I suddenly feel underdressed and slightly embarrassed.

“Look who's finally up,” he says as he looks me up and down, pleased at what he sees.

“Sorry... I didn't mean to fall asleep last night...” I start before he hushes me. He doesn't care that I slept over. He just smiles at me as he sips his coffee. His comfort with me still being there allows me to relax. He motions me to come towards him with his finger.

              As I approach him and stand in front of him completely exposed, he looks me up and down before beginning to unbuckle his belt. Is he really about to fuck me in his nice suit? I'm not sure how much time he has before he has to leave for work, although it seems like he must be the boss, so it probably doesn't matter when he decides to show up. He slides his slacks and boxers down his thighs, allowing his ready erection to pop out, standing proudly. I am still amazed by it. Had all of that really been inside me just last night?

              He takes my arms and positions me so that I'm straddling him in his chair, the head of his big cock resting against my clit. I can tell that I'm already soaking wet as he rubs it up and down my slit and I let out an eager moan, moving with him. His cock is now coated with my juices, and I have to resist the urge to try to take him all the way inside me in one big motion. Finally, I feel him positioning himself at my entrance, circling around it and teasing me.

“Are you ready for this again?” he asks, amused at how much I'm squirming against him. “Do you think you can take it?”

“Please!” is all I manage before he thrusts up into me hard, shoving every inch inside me in one harsh push. I scream as I feel both relief and the feeling of my pussy, stretching around him, still sore from last night. Soon the sensation turns to pleasure and I begin to rhythmically bounce up and down on him, riding him in the middle of his kitchen, completely naked and exposed in contrast to his nice suit. He meets my movements, thrusting his massive member up into me with vigor, looking down at my pussy squeezing tightly around his cock that is slick with my juices. He moans and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, worshiping my body as I ride him, my pace increasing.

              I can feel the pressure and tingling building up inside me as I take him all the way into my stretched pussy, my moans turning to screams of pleasure. He grabs me and begins to lift me up, then pull me down on top of him hard, his huge cock hitting my G-spot so harshly that I can't take it anymore; I am about to explode. I can tell he is almost there too, his breathing quickening as he takes me fast and hard, looking my body up and down as I quiver with the pleasure of him pounding into me.

“Ready to cum for me, baby?” he asks, knowing that I am more than ready; I'm desperate for release. I nod my head and scream out as he bounces me up and down on his cock like I'm nothing, rubbing my clit with his thumb as he thrusts into me with his massive cock. I can feel myself pulsing around his shaft as my body begins to release, and my juices coat him as my pussy tightens even more around his cock. I feel him jerk and begin to release his hot load inside me with a final, animal-like thrust.

“FUCK!” he screams as he fills me up with cum. Once we recover, I lick up the mess I've left on his cock, sucking it clean.

He pulls his slacks up and grabs his briefcase.

“I trust that you will still be here when I get home from work?” He says in more of a declarative tone than that of a question. I just watch him head out the door, still recovering from the best sex of my life.

The Billionaire in the Library – James

I slam my book shut and look up at the clock. 7:03pm. Monday nights are always the slowest. I start my shift at 3:00pm and things are hectic for about an hour, but then it all just ebbs away. Once the sun goes down and nightlife picks up, everyone forgets about the public library with the yellowish overhead lights and the warped windows. I’ve been working here since my freshman year at Montclair University. I had been accepted to a few schools across the country, but after all was said and done, Montclair was the farthest I wanted to be from my parents in Millville and the closest I wanted to be to Manhattan.

I’ve always found Manhattan to be a romantic city. Everyone there seems to have a love/hate relationship with it. What is romance without conflict, anyway?  I’ve never trusted myself to live there, though. Apart from the monumental rent, I worried I’d fall in love with the city so much that I’d never find the time to fall in love with a man. I go across the bridge when I can, but never stay too long.  Like diving into an ocean, I fear I might not know when to come up for air.

So I sit here behind the large, L-shaped composite wood desk at the dusty Bellevue Avenue library reading romance novels until my eyes bleed to keep my mind off of the romance missing from my own life. And the sex. Oh God, do I miss sex. It’s been three years since I’ve had great sex. It was my junior year of college and with my TA. Now, the fact that he was my TA was reason enough, but he was so spiritual, so selfless. He made love the same way he took pictures. Every shot was more than what it seemed, told a story, and captured a moment that seemed to live on the longer a person looked at it.

He had asked me to pose for him as part of his master thesis.  It only took three photos for him to join me on the velvety leather couch, our hips moving to the beat of our own hearts, fluttering like butterflies in the wind. He was in impeccably good shape, tanned and muscular. My creamy white skin meshed well with his. He clutched my hand, our fingers intertwining with every thrust. I took every inch of him inside of me and felt completely and utterly whole. I climaxed three, maybe four times, and each time a coy smile stretched across his face. I felt free.

I never saw him after that night. Rumor had it I wasn’t the only student he had “pose” for him. He was asked to leave Montclair the next day after allegations started to build up against him. The betrayal that coursed through my veins from that point on drove me into the bed of every well-endowed co-ed on campus. I spent the next year and a half being passed around at parties, sneaking into dorm rooms, fucking quietly with roommates sleeping in the next bed. I went for young guys, mostly. They were always less offended to find out I was using them.

I always felt deadened afterwards, like I had been staring into a bright bulb for too long and the world was still too hazy to see. It was on my graduation day that I made a promise to myself never to sleep with another man just because I could. I wanted to feel something again. I wanted to feel that wholeness, the safety that comes when sharing a bed with someone who feels as passionately about you as you do him.

So here I am, twenty-six, single, sexually frustrated, and working at a deserted library on an early spring night in New Jersey. Lucky for me, there’s only an hour left of my shift. I turn to the book drop bucket poised at the slot connecting to the brisk air outside. There were only three books inside: a copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
, some doorstop on Russian literature, and volume of early-18th century British poetry. With a big sigh, I check the books back into our system and throw them onto the shelving pile. I return to my book.

“
She felt herself flush at the thought of reconnecting with the strapping man that took her virtue in the barn so many years ago. She had never divulged the event to anyone in her life, for fear she would be blasphemed as a common street walker, but she never forgot how her heart and loins throbbed when she thought of him, spoke his name softly to herself as she faded off to sleep in hopes he would visit her in her dreams. Perhaps this was a dream and his face looked familiar because she was willing it to. How she longed to feel his arms around her again, his rough cheek pressed against her own, feeling his member grow silently, pressed hard against her inner thigh
.”

The bells chime to signal someone has entered the library. I throw my book down and look to the door. It is sluggishly closing, but there is no one in sight. I tousle my hair from my face in an attempt to look busy as I bury my romance novel under the desk. Just as employing a bell to announce someone’s entrance, I feel it strange and oddly rude to shout “hello” into the silent rows of books. The clock reads 7:32pm. Who would be coming into the library at this time? Someone without much of a life, I assume.

The only solution I have to finding the mysterious consumer is to pick up the stack of books needing to be shelved and heading out into the wasteland of forgotten memoirs. My first stop is International Literature to drop off the giant Russian. It slides easily into place. I dart my eyes around the corner to look down the alley. Not a soul. I straighten up a bit and walk confidently to the next row: School Curriculum. While I don’t agree that
To Kill a Mockingbird
should belong in such a general area, it is on most curriculums and it is only ever high school students that check it out.

In a sea of
Charlotte’s Web
s and
Fahrenheit 451
s, our umpteenth copy of Harper Lee’s meal ticket is now resting soundly with its brothers. I hear a whispered dialogue, not far away, and my skin tightens. I absently shelve the British poetry book among the stacks in an attempt to listen in.

“I’m telling you, they don’t have it.”

“I’m sure they do. Why wouldn’t they?”

“It’s truly sad that I have to explain to you why they wouldn’t have a copy of
Playboy
at a public library.”

“But it’s a public library! They should have titles that appeal to the public, not just the prudes.” A shuffle. The voices belong to two men, possibly in their thirties, and devastatingly handsome—that is, if a voice can tell you anything about a person. “I’m going to look for someone.”

My heart stops as I look down at a copy of “Men’s Health Magazine” waiting to be returned to the rack. I flip my hair once more, straighten out my shirt and make sure my breasts look nice. They are, statistically, the first thing men notice, anyway. I almost jog to the magazine rack and bend down low to find the right spot for the lifestyle periodical. Above “Cosmopolitan”, but below “Time”. My eyes glance at the “Time” cover. Two very handsome, strapping young men. 

“
Billionaire Bromance,
” the cover says. 

I linger for a moment and sigh. I know the duo, but not by name.

They are this year’s Napster inventors, only instead of pirating music, they had invented a new form of social media where users can send voice messages using clips from movies. So, like, if you wanted to say, “Hey, sexy, you look great”, their database would produce a message of five different characters from five different films that have been spliced together saying your specific line. It sounds dumb when I explain it, but it’s actually pretty hilarious. It seems they sold to Facebook earlier this year and are now reaping the benefits.

“Excuse me, Miss?” I look up and see a towering demigod above me. He’s wearing a nice, fitted suit with a green shirt that compliments his marble jade eyes. He smiles at me, almost curious, and fingers his longish brown hair behind one of his ears.

“Uh, yes?” I respond, trying to sound too cool for my job.

“Do you have a copy of the Marilyn Monroe edition of Playboy?” he speaks with a self-awarded sense of importance. Every 80s, Wall Street yuppie lives within him at this very moment.

“No, I’m sorry.” I turn back to the magazines and freeze. I didn’t see it at first, but the man on the left of the “Time” cover looks mysteriously like the man lurching over me.

“Now, why do you think that is?” he asks, coyly, looking at his friend. His friend looks at me as if to apologize, but I miss it entirely as I can’t stop staring at his boyishly handsome face and his sandy blond hair. It almost looks fake, it’s so perfect, frayed out beneath a New Jersey Devil’s hat. I take inventory of the rest of his outfit: faded linen button down, tattered cargo shorts, and dirty Vans without socks. A far cry from his suited and manicured misfit friend. There is no mistaking it, though. These two are the “Billionaire Bromance”.