Double Dealing: A Menage Romance(89)
His hands left my legs to disappear from view, but from the sound of the brass zipper of his jeans being pulled down, I knew exactly what he was doing. Reaching, I found the hard shaft, intimidated again by his size. How I at one time had fit both him and Francois inside me seemed impossible, but in the month since we'd last had sex, I was aching for Felix in any way I could get him.
“Hungry, are we?” he asked, grabbing my questing wrist.
I nodded, and Felix pulled back, letting me uncoil on the bed while he got to his knees. Taking me by the hair, he fed me his cock, my mouth stretching to feel the steely velvet skin of his shaft slide past my lips. Instead of letting me pleasure him, he was in total control, holding my head still as he pushed in and out of my mouth, each time stopping before I could gag. I was powerless, but wanton and begging for more.
I moaned around his cock, turning over to get to my knees, my * aching for release. I reached between my legs, my fingers rubbing at my wet lips while Felix pumped in and out of my willing mouth, his fingers entwined in my hair. He was rougher than we'd ever been before, more powerful and controlling, and I loved every second of it.
Finally, he pulled back, his chest heaving and his skin flushed with arousal. “Not your mouth,” he growled, moving around me in one panther-like motion to get behind me. “I need more.”
“Me too,” I gasped as he seized me by the waist and plunged all the way inside me in one powerful thrust. I thought I'd been ready, but still I was nearly split in two by his cock, the pleasure highlighted by the razor's edge of pain that jolted up my spine at the same instant. Felix didn't pause, but pulled back, my body already craving him again when he paused, the head of his cock just inside me. “Don't stop.”
He plunged back inside me and drove white streaks of pleasure through me, impaling me on his cock. We gave in to our animal instincts, our bodies taking over as we grunted and heaved, his cock hammering into me with powerful, body-shattering thrusts that left my * quaking even before half a dozen breaths had been taken. I was left clawing at the blankets, desperate for more and for release simultaneously, joy and happiness flooding my heart.
My orgasm built quickly inside me, long repressed and sorely missed. Felix was there soon as well, his breath ragged and his cock swelling, driving us both to the edge. My breath caught in my throat again, and suddenly I was there, screaming Felix's name even as he cried out my own, until everything else in the universe was obliterated, and I was left dazed on the bed.
Afterward, we cuddled, his previous power and controlling force gone and replaced by the tenderness and gentle caresses I had come to expect from him. “You've never been so controlling before,” I whispered, tracing the light hairs on his chest. “What happened?”
“I don't know,” Felix replied. Thinking for a moment, he chuckled. “I guess after being made to act and be a slave for so long, I was unwilling to give up control. Was I too rough?”
“You weren't,” I said comfortingly. “Actually, it was sexy. I've never seen you as powerful as you were tonight, and it's a side I'd love to see again.”
“That you will,” he said, kissing my forehead tenderly. “That you most certainly will.”
Chapter 41
Felix
Christmas is one of my favorite times of the year, and for the first time in four years, I was actually celebrating it with my family. We were at the house on the Rhone, and it felt like I was finally complete again.
Despite Jordan's help, not all of my issues were dealt with so easily as unlocking my memory with an Aerosmith song. It had taken me most of the spring and summer to deal with my night terrors, and long sessions with a psychologist who was willing to be even more confidential than normal, considering the scope of what I revealed to him.
A lot of my tension had fallen away when we learned that Vladimir Ilyushin had died of mysterious causes during an airplane flight to St. Petersburg, and my safety had seemed that much more assured. With his specter gone, I was finally able to hear the sound of hissing gas or a punctured tire without freaking out or feeling the need to piss my pants, which I was very grateful for.
Jordan and I had decided to skip the idea of a honeymoon after our wedding, which was carried out in the old Romani style, as per Jordan's wishes. For her, getting married by a family member — in our case, my mothers — was more than enough for her. We filed the paperwork with our local government office, and that was it, we were married in both the eyes of the law and the Romani people.
After that, a honeymoon seemed silly to both of us. After all, when you have a Winnebago, millions of dollars in various accounts, and four other houses throughout Europe, taking a week to go down to Mallorca seemed somewhat pointless.
Right after Thanksgiving, an American tradition that I had happily carried with me to my Romani family and expanded to include a gigantic one-hundred-person strong feast at our Albanian estate, Jordan came to me, telling me that while she was happy to have spent the spring through fall there, she wanted to go back to France. “It's the place I most associate with you and Francois,” she said simply that night as we lay in bed together. “And while he’s buried here, I'd like to remember him as he was during the Christmas and New Year's holidays.”
“Then we can go on Saturday,” I said. “Would you like me to invite Syeira and Charani?”