Zeke stepped out of the shadows as she walked past the tack room door. “Miss me?” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. It hadn’t been her imagination; his length pulsed against her backside, and she threw her head back as his hands covered her breasts over her blouse. “Did I ever tell you how good you look on a horse?” He was still whispering, but his words were muddled by the kisses he was dropping on her neck.
She groaned. “No. I don’t think you did.”
He continued to tease and devour her, and the lust kept tightly pinned since yesterday broke free. Before it did, her mind flickered over Jon; she wished he was the one unleashing it, that he was the one who would see her explode; but the cat sprang free as Zeke slid one hand inside her jeans, curled his fingers into her cunt and thrust hard against her ass as he found her arousal.
She turned on him. His hands fell away, and surprise registered briefly as she pushed his body back against the wall. She held his face, her nails digging flesh along his jaw, and she pushed her tongue into his mouth, she bit his lips until she tasted blood. He was unyielding, nor did he resist. When he put his hands up to touch her, she caught his wrists. She pushed her knee between his legs, and pressed her thigh up against his balls, and heard his breath catch. They were both panting, groaning. Fighting. “You don’t like it?” she asked him.
His eyes met hers. They were defiant. “You think you’d be doing it if I didn’t?” There was a smirk in his words.
“Fuck you, Zeke,” she hissed. She sank her teeth into his neck, his shoulder. She let his wrists go, and his hands fell to his sides. She ripped open his shirt and kissed and bit and scratched down his torso. She thought of Jon again, of his beautiful cock as she freed this one.
His hands were in her hair, and he was forcing her face to him. She bowed her back. “Suck my cock,” Zeke growled. “Suck it.”
She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to know what he tasted like. What he felt like. She blew a breath out on him, and he shuddered and pushed harder, but she evaded him and stood. “You’ve got it backwards tonight. I’m not the fuck toy this time.”
“Is that right?”
“You got the balls to back that up?” And his hand was on her throat. He flipped them around and pinned her to the wall he’d just been against. Her breath wheezed, and the pressure built in her head. The tigress roared, swiped a razored paw at an invisible foe. And Stella’s knee found its mark.
His hand fell away and he doubled, the air leaving him. She pinned him again, twisting one arm cruelly behind his back. His erection softened with the blow but still reached for her, and when she put her mouth on his again, his back slowly straightened.
They found the couch. She pushed him down and straddled his jeaned hips with her naked ones. She held his eyes while she removed her blouse, her bra, while she cupped and pinched her own breasts, while she settled her heat and warmth over him, sucked the full length and breadth of him into her sanctuary. When he tried to touch her, she slapped him away.
He watched. Watched her unselfconscious pleasure as she rode him, used him. And when his clamping muscles and face and voice told her he was close, she reached back and gripped his bruised, full balls, and squeezed them, pulled and squeezed until he yelped and came.
After he emptied himself, she moved her body up, she sat on his face, felt his hands on her ass, and she ground herself against his tongue, his nose. He didn’t object. He licked and sucked and bit her until she climaxed again, and again. She let the thought of the marks he’d wear on his body tomorrow push her ever higher.
When she was done, when the beast lay purring and smiling on its side, she let him go. She bent over him and smiled sweetly, she kissed his nose and cheeks and swollen lips, and said, “Thank you, hon. I’ll see you later.”
And she left.
Stella – (a working title)