Sloth

  Her pretty face twists skeptically. “Were you?”

  I laugh. “That’s Kellan business, don’t you think?”

  I turn into the narrow drive that leads around the side of the huge, brick library building.

  “I thought we’re doing business together,” Cleo replies.

  “Are you committing to that?”

  She hmphs.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  I find a spot on the second level of the parking deck and notice the thought of Cleo doing business with me has taken some of the tension out of my shoulders. More and more, I think she’s exactly right for what I have in mind. It gives me peace.

  I walk around the front of the car and open her door. She sashays out, her black shawl fluttering behind her as her boots click against the cement. Like every time I’m near her, it’s a struggle not to touch her in some way.

  She turns around to face me as I shut the passenger’s side door. “Were you?” she asks, hand on her hip. She looks like a superhero with that ridiculous long shawl and those boots. “Were you with someone before? Honesty, Kellan. If you want to work with me...” She licks her soft, pink lips. My cock twitches.

  I trail my hand down her lower arm, catching her by the wrist and tugging her lightly toward a covered breezeway that adjoins the parking deck to the side of the library.

  “I was,” I say as I slide my fingers through hers. It’s not a lie—exactly. “I was always with someone else before.”

  Sometimes several someones. The relationships were always regular; mutually beneficial and bordering on official at times. So much neater and tidier than what I’m doing now with Cleo. So much more... sound—in every way.

  She frowns at my answer, as if she’s turning it over in her head and isn’t sure what to make of it. Then she looks down at our joined hands. “For a domineering prick, you’re pretty big into hand-holding, aren’t you?”

  I grin, and quickly roll my lips together. “You’re mine for now,” I murmur to the top of her dark head. She tries to pull ahead of me, but I ignore that fact and focus on the warmth of her hand in mine, on her small-but-curvy body. I tighten my grip and force her to break her fast stride. She looks back at me, and I bring her hand to my lips. “I want to keep you close.”

  She snorts and increases her pace until she’s dragging me behind her. I’m surprised to find I’m feeling... lighter. The weight that seemed ever-present on my shoulders seems to have drifted off—at least until I see the mail bin at the top of the library’s brick steps.

  Emptiness yawns inside me: a crushing need for what I can’t have.

  As Cleo flounces to the glass doors, I drop another half-step behind. I slide the post card out of my back pocket and reach around behind her to toss it inside.

  She spins, a blur of black fabric to match her raven hair. “Did you just mail a letter?” she demands. It’s the same tone she uses for everything: some funky blend of incredulity and amusement—as if she’s ready and waiting to comment on any toe I put out of place.

  I murmur, “Kellan business.”

  Pain cries through me, and I tell myself to try to forget about the postcard. After all, there is no address on it: no mailing, no return. It, like the few others I’ve written since May, will be discarded.

  And still, the words echo in my mind.

  I’m sorry, Sloth.

  I’m so sorry.

  “HOLY SHIT, I THINK I GET IT!”

  I give Kellan my surprised bug eyes, which probably scare the crap out of him, because we’re sitting thigh-to-thigh on a narrow, padded bench in one of those little closet-rooms-for-rent inside the library.

  He’s got his right ankle resting atop his left knee, and my calculus textbook spread over his muscular calf and thigh. He’s only been at it for about thirty minutes, and most of the time I’ve been distracted by his huge shoulders edging into my space as he gestures to the pages. But just now, something clicked inside my head.

  “So... to find an antiderivatives for a function f, just reverse the process for differentiation?”

  The corners of his mouth twitch. He nods slowly as his eyes twinkle.

  “So you can usually find an antiderivatives by reversing the power rule. And the indefinite integral is like... a reference to all the different antiderivatives of a single continuous function. Because there isn’t just one. There’s a bunch of different ones. Even an infinite number?”

  His grins smugly. “I told you.”

  “I can’t believe it. I mean... Cannot. Believe. It.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “Kellan, you should be a math teacher. A professor!”

  He snorts.

  “Seriously! How did you know how to explain it to me? I’m an idiot with this stuff. I wasn’t even good at algebra.”

  He looks down at me through his long lashes, and I feel my body temperature spike. With his deep blue eyes, his high cheekbones, and those sculpted lips, he’s just so... striking. His skin is smooth and tanned, with just a little stubble on his jaw and cheeks—more than most college guys have, I can’t help noting. His hair is short and soft-looking, and just a little wavy: the just-rolled-out-of-bed look, which contrasts nicely with his dressy clothes.

  He lifts a shoulder, and I swear that simple motion makes sweat pop out on my forehead. “You caught on fast,” he says.

  “Yeah, cause you have serious skills.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Too cool for school?” I tease. I’m getting better at hiding my awkwardness from him, I think.

  And immediately I think maybe not, because he’s just... staring at me. My cheeks and neck are red now. I can feel them burning.

  “I won,” he says softly. His eyes are steady on my face.

  A shiver runs across my shoulders, the kind of chill I felt once when someone was looking at me through my bedroom window back at home. I feel breathless. Helpless. Like a rabbit in the eyes of a coyote, I can only pant here, frozen.

  I lick my lips, trying to think of what to say. When nothing comes to mind—because I can’t decide what I want and my heart is beating too loud for me to think anyway—I shrug and, in a strange, high voice, say, “I don’t understand it all...”

  “I won, Cleo.”

  I watch his jaw tighten as he casts his eyes away from my face and down to the space between us. I study his hair as he reaches out and grabs a strand of fringe hanging from my shawl. He rubs it gently in his fingertips. When he looks back into my eyes, his luscious mouth is frowning.

  “I really make you nervous.”

  “You really do.”

  I can’t help noticing he briefly looks away. His eyes are on the brown carpet below our feet as his fingers travel smoothly up my forearm, caressing the inside of my elbow before running up my shoulder. His thumb strokes the hot skin of my neck, and then his gaze is back on mine.

  “Don’t be nervous,” he says, rough but soft. My heart pounds as he finds my throat with his mouth. “I’ll be careful with you.”

  This is a bad idea. It’s all I can think, but the words stick in my throat as his mouth moves softly, gently, warmly over my jaw.

  “Give me a few weeks.” Hot breath tingles over my throat. “Three.”

  I’m panting now. I feel his thumb over my nipple, making it harden through my bra.

  “Why?” I rasp.

  “Because I need you.” His tongue traces my ear. “I’ve got you in me, Cleo. Now I need to get you out.”

  He squeezes my breast, and I feel a burst of warmth between my legs. “That’s what I’m scared of.”

  “What?” He nibbles my earlobe.

  “Being subject to your... whims, or whatever.” The word fades into a gasp as he kisses my throat, hard then tickling.

  “This is a business plan, Cleo.” He kisses my chin and finds my lips, his low words blowing warm into my mouth. “I won’t be living here in Chattahoochee for much longer,” he breathes. “I want to get you settled before I leave.”

  He drags
his lips over my cheeks, my nose, my brow, until my stomach is somewhere below my knees.

  “How do you know... I plan to stay?” I ask him as he strokes the skin above my shirt collar. My voice quakes so much, it sounds almost like a sob.

  “Do you?” While his eyes burn into mine, his hands smooth my hair back firmly off my forehead, a soothing motion one might use to calm a child.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Would you deal long-term, Cleo? Would you run dealers? Or do you just want something temporary? Something easy?”

  The word ‘easy’ makes my neck flush. He snakes an arm around me, pulling me against his warm, hard chest as his hand delves between my legs. He flattens his palm against the inside of my thigh and presses, light but firm, until my legs swing open.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  “The pay is good,” he murmurs to my hair. “The three weeks you’re at my place, I’ll make it twelve K.” His mouth covers mine, and he kisses me so hard and well, it makes me dizzy.

  “What?” I break away. My heart is racing. “Why?”

  His hands frame my face. “That’s thirty-six thousand dollars, Cleo. Deal to your regulars, and sleep in my windowed room.”

  One hand slides down to stroke my neck, his fingers dragging lightly over flaming skin. I can feel his forehead brush my cheek as he runs his lips along my jaw.

  He breathes, “You are beautiful... you make me want...”

  His lips trail down my throat, tickling. When he nears the indention of my collar bone, I feel the soft heat of his tongue and mouth. He moves slowly... softly... taking great care as he sucks my throat—increasing the force until my skin feels like it’s bruising and my body like a rope about to snap.

  His arm snakes underneath my shawl, and I feel the weight of his wide palm spread over my thigh. His fingers burn through the cotton of my leggings, then drift to the crease between my legs.

  I grip his shoulder. “Kellan...”

  I clench my teeth as he settles his fingertips on me, tracing my most tender place as if he’s learning braille.

  His mouth sucks toward the collar of my shirt.

  I grip the solid muscle of his shoulder. “I—I can’t.”

  His thumb strokes the line of my lips. His fingers part them; he’s working his way inside, teasing against the fabric of my leggings.

  With the hand still between my legs, he wraps his other arm around me and he pulls me onto his lap. The arm that’s not across my belly, reaching between my legs, is around my chest, kneading my breast. His hard length presses against my backside.

  The cotton of my leggings is wet and pliant. The pressure of his fingers is just right, making me lift my hips. I swallow back a moan.

  “Kellan... I can’t—” If I do this with him, I’ll be snared. I can tell already, from the way I feel about him. He’s a dangerous temptation, in so many ways. I don’t need that. Don’t want that, I try to tell myself.

  “Tell me ‘no,’ Cleo.”

  He rocks himself against me, then peels down the waist of my leggings so he can reach inside. His palm brushes my mound as his fingers find their mark. He strokes down toward my center. His finger smears my slickness, making me quiver and pant.

  “It’s okay...” he rumbles. “Focus on my fingers.”

  He spreads my lips and glides down through my moisture... skating. Then he’s dipping down and curving. His fingertip is pushing into me. He adds another, shoves them deep.

  I groan and buck against him.

  “That’s right.”

  He shifts his hips, so his huge cock pushes harder against my ass.

  “Cleo... You’re so warm inside... so tight.” His fingers wriggle deeper. I let my legs fall open. I can’t help it. He pushes even deeper as he whispers filth into my ear and glides his thumb over my clit. My body catches fire.

  I feel the outline of him pressed against my ass: the long, thick shaft; the plump, round head.

  I feel his fingers curl inside me.

  “Ahhhhh.” I don’t mean to make a sound, but a moan spills out, turning the air around us into honey.

  “You like getting finger-fucked,” he growls. “You love it.”

  His thumb glides up and down my slit, then rolls around my swollen clit. I rock my hips, pushing my ass against his hardness.

  “What if I rub a little faster... here?” His thumb drags, heavy and slick, over my swollen nub. “What if I quit teasing you,” his low voice whispers, “and try something like this?”

  He bends his wrist a little, and I can feel another finger push inside. “I can feel how much I’m stretching you,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Oh.” He’s right. I’m full. So full. I feel both paralyzed and electrified. Like I’m gripping a live wire.

  He pumps his fingers, shoving them in, then dragging them slowly out. I arch my back. “Oh God, please...”

  His thumb, encircling my clit, is deft and slick. I rock mindlessly against him.

  “So full...”

  He pulls his fingers almost out, the tips of them only just inside... teasing. I clench, wanting him deeper.

  “Say my name,” he orders.

  “Kellan,” I pant.

  All three fingers thrust at once. My pleasure squirts against his expert hand.

  “Deeper.” My voice cracks.

  He slides out a little. Strokes back in.

  His thumb is playing in my moisture, painting my clit. My throbbing clit.

  His fingers stroke against my walls, making me dizzy.

  “You want my cock inside you. You can’t take much more. You’re so tight, Cleo. So greedy. Look how fat this clit is. Your cunt is so tight around my fingers, I can barely move them.”

  He demonstrates, and I groan and arch my back. I’m clutching his arm. Wrapping my feet around his calves. I throw my head back, panting.

  “I love you like this. So helpless. I bet you would do anything to keep my fingers inside you. Would you call me Master?”

  My mind struggles to think beyond the pleasure in between my legs.

  “Call me Master, Cleo.”

  I clutch his hand. I’m rocking against him, desperate to feel his fingers deeper. He’s right: I’m so needy I’m about to scream.

  He pulls one finger out. His thumb, stroking my clit, freezes in place. He pulls out a second finger, and I bark out, “Master!”

  “That’s right.”

  I’m aware of the pressure of his length against my backside. He draws his third finger out and I whimper. He huffs, a smoky sound, and eases me down to the floor.

  I’m on my knees, my shawl hanging around me, my leggings pushed down past my hips. I feel him join me on the carpet. His chest brushes my shoulders. His arms wrap around me and his fingers trace the band of my leggings. Goosebumps cover my back.

  His fingers sweep back into my leggings; he peels them down further. He pauses when he gets them to my knees, and his fingertips dance over my ass. His dick is a velvet sword, brandished against my backside as he pulls my boots off, then slides the leggings off my feet. I hear a whoosh as he tosses them behind us.

  His hands grasp my shoulders. “Get down on your hands and knees and show me that ass.”

  He reaches between my thighs, stroking through my wetness as I hear a rip, and then a snap of latex.

  I press my palms against the carpet and thrust my ass into the air. I no longer remember why I thought this was a bad idea. I’m so wet, I’m gushing on his fingers. He pushes two of them inside me and then starts to pump, delicious pressure given and removed at his will.

  My clit throbs with my heartbeat, and he strokes it sometimes, gliding mercilessly over me while he rubs his huge, condom-sheathed cock against my ass. I center on how stiff and long he is, the head of him rubbing up and down my crack.

  He draws his fingers from my folds, then plays at my clit with practiced grace. I sag down on my elbows as my knees tremble.

  “That’s right,” he murmurs, rubbing
his length along my ass. “Open those legs for me.”

  His voice is so smooth. Hypnotizing. I obey him frantically, spreading my legs a little more. He hooks two thick fingers into my pussy, finding my G-spot and rubbing slowly.

  “Kellan...”

  His fingers writhe inside me, moving all at once in slightly different directions. With the small part of my brain that isn’t drugged numb by the writhing of his hand, I can feel pressure against my asshole.

  “God!”

  He rubs his thumb in a warm, wet circle, making my muddled mind race with want. With fear.

  “Relax,” he purrs. “You’re going to like this.”

  And then, at the same time the pressure gives and his thumb invades my virgin hole, he stuffs his big, thick dick into my cunt.

  Stars explode behind my eyes.

  I slide down to the floor.

  He twines an arm around my hips, pinning me against him as he thrusts so hard and deep my eyes roll back into my head—then drags out slowly, inch by hard, thick inch, then punches in. I screech, because I’m not sure I can take him... but I am. Thrust in—my toes curl—slow draw out. I clench around the head of him.

  “More,” I whimper.

  “Told you.” The words are warm and husky on my nape.

  He thrusts again—and my legs quiver. I’ve never felt so full: as if I’m stretched around him. He’s so deep... When he moves in and out, my body melts around him.

  “Oh my God...”

  “You’re tight,” he rasps. “You’re like a fucking... virgin.” And it kills me, how his voice shakes on the word.

  I clench around him and he moans. He pushes deeper, freezing there for a long moment. I feel him trembling behind me—feel him take a deep, slow breath—and then he drags his cock back out and slams in hard.

  I gasp, he groans—a symphony of sin.

  The arm that’s holding me against him tightens and he starts to fuck like a machine. His cock is a piston, pumping in and out with so much grace and force my body can’t withstand it. I’d be in a puddle on the carpet were he not holding me against him.

  I can feel myself shaking... sweating; hear my own moans rise up in the room. They mingle with his loud breathing, the moans he makes when I clamp down around him.