Home > The White Chapel (The Chapel Series #2)(8)

The White Chapel (The Chapel Series #2)(8)
Author: Marilyn Cruise

His tongue encircles me there, licking, twirling, pulling, driving me wild, and I tremble in utter pleasure before I come quickly and intensely, crying out because the feeling of utter ecstasy has to find its release somewhere. Oh…

Michael stands up and picks me up. He holds my legs up, one in each arm, and I feel his firm biceps against the backs of my thighs. He pushes me forcefully up against the wet shower wall, pinning me against it as his lips crash to mine.

He tears his lips away from mine and tugs on my earlobe with his teeth. “Can I fuck you now?” he whispers.

I nod almost imperceptibly, my mind still in a fog from where he already took me.

He lifts himself into me, filling me to the brim, every deep corner of my most intimate part throbbing with pleasure. It’s so tight. It’s so…oh…

He starts to move, slowly, tauntingly, lifting me up, and guiding me back down around his thick, hard erection, each thrust deeper, each stroke rubbing my vagina, more agonizingly delicious than the previous one.

His lips find mine again, the scent of me, the taste of his saliva, and my arousal, all there, stripping me of logic and thought, reducing me to a woman of pure emotion and unadulterated lust. Each languid stroke massages my insides, heightening my sensation, sending me higher and higher as his chest crushes me to the wall.

Just when I think it can’t get any better, he speeds up even faster, each shove more forceful, sending me quickly into another orgasm, and then another one until it feels as if I will never come down. Each time he thrusts, I let out a grunt, a moan as the air spills out of my lungs, but I don’t care anymore about censoring the noises he brings out of me.

“Oh!” I yell.

“Say. My. Name. Scarlett.” His voice is demanding, his grip secure underneath my hips, his pounds relentless.

I cannot move, only feel and experience the pleasure of his long, thick cock stroking me, slamming into me, in and out, in and out, his grunts unbelievably erotic as he crashes into me again. And again. And again.

“Michael,” I shout, as I come, a thousand explosions detonating all at once.

And he finally comes, yelling my name as he pours into me with three final, deeply penetrating, earth-shattering thrusts.

I feel his chest rise and fall against my breasts, his panting breaths flutter against my cheek, and hear the sound of our labored breathing and the drops of the water beating down on his back. He holds me still for a few moments longer as we slow our breaths.

I’m exhausted from so much pleasure. But I can’t help that I want more. He has brought me so high, I don’t know how to come down. Not even now after I have found my release. Many times.

He pulls out of me and sets me ever so gently down onto the floor.

“I hope I wasn’t too rough with you,” he says, stroking my cheek, kissing me tenderly. “I couldn’t help myself. I never want to hurt you, is what I mean.” He gets a worried look on his face.

“Never,” I say with a smile, my entire body still trembling.

“You are mine,” he says. “Now, for real.”

 

 

4

 

 

I pull the blankets and pillows off my bed and drag them downstairs where Michael helps me lay them in front of the still ablaze fireplace. He spoons behind me, and I lie nestled in his arms, completely relaxed, completely naked, and grinning from ear to ear. The fire crackles loudly as the heat of the flames warms us in this cold, dim house.

“So you’re an Eagle Scout?” I ask.

“My father loved taking me to scouts, and it was one of his dreams that I become an Eagle Scout one day. Unfortunately, he never saw the day when I finally did.”

“How did you manage to pass it?” I’ve heard it’s a lot of work and a huge commitment.

“Remember Harold from the last night?” he asks as he glides the tips of his fingers across my shoulder and lets it trace down my arm, leaving a trail of tingles.

“Yes,” I say, remembering him and his less-than happy wife.

He presses his soft, warm lips to my shoulder. “He’s my father’s brother, and also my godfather. So after my father passed, he took over the task of raising me.”

“Okay.”

“Harold was also an Eagle Scout, so it worked out well.”

“Was your mother supportive?” I ask.

“Well, she wasn’t against it, but she didn’t really take interest either. After my father passed, she completely changed.”

“How so?” I ask.

“She used to be carefree and happy, and would sing and dance at random. There was never a day where she didn’t make me laugh, and I felt like I had the perfect mother. But when Father passed, she retreated into herself and became an angry, bitter woman who was obsessed with keeping secrets and keeping up appearances.” He slides his hand underneath my arm and rests his hand on my stomach.

“Why do you think it changed?” I ask.

“I think she worried about losing what her family had built up for centuries. My father wasn’t good with money at all. He spent much of her fortune on lavish vacations and toys like airplanes and boats. She probably felt she needed to maintain her European heritage and when he died, she became obsessed with building the Kovak Empire back up again.”

“So you weren’t close to your mother?”

“Not after my father passed. I was to blame for that, though. I pushed her away because she refused to honor my father’s memory,” he says.

“That must have been very painful for you,” I say, hoping he doesn’t close up at my probing question.

“It fed my anger for her, that’s for sure.”

I feel we’re in too deep territory right now so I try to guide the conversation into a lighter direction. “So tell me what life was like for you as a young child,” I say.

“I had a wonderful upbringing. Having relatives in Europe and here, I traveled a lot. I spent many summers in Romania with my mother’s family on their estate, until my parents separated when I was about twelve or thirteen. While they lived apart, they went to counseling for years, but they just couldn’t make it work.”

“Why not?” I ask, hoping I’m not being too nosey. But who can blame me for asking when this is the first time he’s really opened up to me about personal things?

“According to my father, my mother never truly loved him. My mother would say the marriage ended because my father was a dishonest man and because he swindled all her money. But in reality, they were just two individuals who had never really learned to love each other unconditionally.” He kisses the top of my head. “What about you? How was your childhood?”

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