The Safety of Nowhere by Iris Astres Page B

of his weight by lifting up against him. It was like he’d said it would be: she felt molten at her core, liquid on her skin, just as he’d promised. She heard him sigh or growl, or maybe he’d said something. Dinah turned her head and felt him nibbling from her neck out to her shoulder.
    He moved inside her, shallow nudges that sent ripples through a growing pool of sexual excitement in her belly. His chest was hot. The night air on her breasts felt cooler, and her nipples gathered tight. Dinah flattened both palms onto the bed and reared against him hard. His free hand slid over her stomach, worked itself between her thighs, and pressed against her pussy.
    “Good?” he asked.
    Dinah rolled her forehead no against the mattress. “You,” she said. “ You say it’s good.”
    The air rasped out of him, almost a moan. He shifted, rising slightly higher over her. “You know it’s good to fuck you. Feel how good it is.” He pulled back, thrust a little deeper. “Imagine you’re the one who’s fucking.”
    Dinah closed her eyes and tried to understand what is was like for him. She really wished she knew. He worked himself more deeply into her, and something flickered in her mind, the clench of hot, pliant flesh around an aching cock.
    “Oh.” That tiny flash of understanding was incredible. She grabbed his hand and ground her pussy hard against it. One knee raised for leverage made her pussy lips spread open and her ass cheeks part.
    “More,” she said, and he obliged her. Sensation swamped her like he’d flipped a switch. He thrust. Her consciousness slid from her body into his. Penetrating force. Clenching heat. Fucking, being fucked, and back again.
    “I want to hear you lose control,” she said in a breathy, broken voice. “I want to feel you sweat and jerk and shout with it.”
    Malcolm’s arm cinched under her more tightly, and his weight descended, putting pressure on her to the bone. He pulled back and pushed into her, long, pounding strokes that scattered all her other torments. Worry. Dread. Obliterated by the hammering force.
    “So good,” she said. “You say it.”
    “Good,” Malcolm repeated. “Fucking you. Using you. It’s good.”
    “I’m using you,” she said, correcting him.
    He hesitated. “Are you? Are you using my cock, Dinah?” He stroked into her deep.
    “Your cock,” she said. “Your breath, your weight, your muscle, your heat, your taste.” She turned her face to one side, and he kissed her.
    “That’s your taste,” he said.
    “I want to fuck you.” The words were part of the sexual contact; she didn’t really know what she was saying, but his arms tightened a fraction more.
    “Do you want to fuck me? With your own cock? Fuck me just like this?”
    The image was so hot it made her spread her knees and arch a little more.
    “Yes, I want to.”
    “Then you will.”
    She moaned. He fucked. She circled on his hand. The heat between her legs intensified until it was too thick and hot and good and she was coming hard. The pleasure moved inside her like a tide. She let it drag her under, down and down and down into a world of unbridled extremes.
    When she resurfaced, Malcolm’s cock was still moving inside her. “I’m coming, Dinah.” He pulled away and shouted. His whole body jerked and quivered as he came onto her sweat-soaked skin. And it was wonderful to hear him lose control and feel him tense and shake and then collapse.
    * * * *
    When she’d regained some of her senses, Dinah pulled her pillow free from underneath the bedspread. She cradled it against her face and closed her eyes, exhausted.
    Malcolm got up long before she’d even opened her eyes. He kissed her cheek and cleaned the cum streaks off her back. She didn’t move or comment. Nor did she pay particular attention to the sounds he started making in the kitchen. This numbing aftermath of sex was good, because it meant she didn’t have to think or move.
    “Have some of this.” He sat beside