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Free Erotica That Filthy Book by Lily Harlem & Natalie Dae

 

Happy Friday y’all!

We are almost at the end of March, and we’re looking forward to the inevitable wave of friskiness brought on by spring; daffodils blooming around Hoxton Square, couples groping each other furtively in the bus queue, and the temperature slowly inching its way up to scorching…

To get us all in the mood for weekend of hot spring-time luuurve, we have not one but two authoresses with us!

We were delighted when the gorgeous Lily Harlem paid us a surprise visit whilst in London for Eroticon 2013 a couple of weeks ago (Hey Lily ~ we’re still suffering serious handbag-envy!) and we’re thrilled to have her on the blog today, alongside her writing partner Natalie Dae! The ladiez are here to prove that two filthy minds are infinitely better than one, so prepare yourselves for some seriously steamy stuff!

THAT FILTHY BOOK by Lily Harlem and Natalie Dae

 

ThatFilthyBook_lilyharlemOut of sight, out of mind. Or so I thought. But it turns out an old, dog-eared book with contents so filthy and so depraved that I’d been forced to hide it after reading, has sunk deeper into my erotic subconscious than I’d ever imagined.

Luckily, though, Jacob is up for exploring the new side of me that has risen to the surface after all these years. In a whirlwind of wanton adventures that pushes us to the limits of our sexuality, we begin to rediscover what it once was that had us screaming with pleasure and how to accept that nothing will ever be the same again between us.

 

REVIEWS FOR THAT FILTHY BOOK

 

FALLEN ANGEL REVIEWS - I recommend that every woman read this book, because unless you experience it for yourself, I am not sure I can convey the emotion this book evokes. Read the book. You won't be disappointed.

 

EROTICA FOR ALL - I really enjoyed That Filthy Book. Yes, it’s incredibly kinky, dirty and totally lives up to its name. But it’s much more than that too – fabulously well written, engaging and heartwarming.

 

BEYOND ROMANCE - If you want to be convinced that there is indeed (super-hot!) sex after marriage, buy this filthy but delightful book.

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

I stared at him, this husband of mine, his naked form rendered a silhouette from the brightness of the sun streaming through the hotel room window. The light filtered through his black tousled hair, glinted off his shoulders, giving him a glowing aura. This was our first time alone together since what felt like forever, what with meeting and having children in the blink of an eye. Ten years had passed—where had the time gone?—and here we were, away for two nights just so we could get back to being who we used to be; why we’d become a couple in the first place.

The sun had hung heavy in a blue swathe of cloudless sky earlier, the fiery orb almost lazy in its placement, as though someone had painted a picture and tossed in the yellow ball, not caring where it landed. Funny how the sky could be deceptive, making a person think it was hot outside when it was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Faint, puffy clouds had appeared since I’d first woken, too, and I marvelled at the way my body had gone back to its old, pre-children habits. Waking, having sex, dozing off again.

Now—around noon—it was time to get up, go out and do something, I supposed, but what I didn’t know. I didn’t have any energy for anything much beyond another languid fuck. A tress of my long blonde hair tickled my bare breast, the ends teasing my nipple. It sparked desire inside me again, and I wondered if my body would ever get enough this weekend. God, I’d been insatiable since we’d arrived last night. Perhaps shirking off the shackles of motherhood, of the responsibilities that came with the job, had freed my mind and allowed me to abandon everything. I had become what I once was—a woman who enjoyed a hot night of sex with her man, not giving a hoot whether her screams of pleasure could be heard; whether the banging of the headboard would wake someone.

But I hadn’t shaken them off. Not really. They still lingered, a shadow of feelings, whispers of our children’s laughter, thinking I could hear them calling me... Tess and Lucy, our two wonderful little girls. And then there were whispers of my fantasies, ones I’d held in check since I’d read a sexy book many years ago. Ones that had made me think I was dirty for wanting them. When I’d first met Jacob, I’d shoved away the feelings of guilt and let the fantasies surface, briefly. Our rampant sex had been too enjoyable, too damn hot to allow myself to dwell on whether what we did was right, but as the years had rolled by and I’d become embroiled in motherhood, kinky sex had fallen by the wayside, and the old trappings had moved in permanently. We can’t do this because we’re parents. We can’t do that because of the girls. We can do that because it’s too rude...

I stared at my surroundings to force my thoughts in another direction. The room wasn’t much, just a double bed with white sheets and a beige quilt. Low cabinets either side, the perfunctory wardrobe and a sideboard, all in light wood that matched the colour of the quilt and walls. A sea of beige. But it suited our needs. The decoration hadn’t exactly been on our minds when we’d stumbled through the door last night. Ripping one another’s clothes off had been the order of the evening.

“What are you thinking?” Jacob asked, remaining at the window.

And there he was, not even a flicker of movement indicating that he’d turned around. Just him, standing there, a god in front of a glass pane. I studied his reflection instead of responding, squinting to make out the faint, fine taper of hairs that ran from his belly button down to the curly thatch nestled above his cock. A long cock that was semi-hard, heavy- looking, and eminently touchable. I loved the feel of it in my hand, the way my fingers curled around its width, the softness of his skin on mine. A thrill ran through me at the thought of it, and I folded my arms across my breasts in an effort to stop me from fondling them. But why shouldn’t I? Too many nights we’d hurried, coming together in a rush before the inevitable interruptions came. Too many nights I’d denied myself the pleasure of having Jacob inside me.

Mum, I want a drink of water. Mum, I can’t sleep...’
Stop thinking of them. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do that.And I had, but casting aside the parental mantle wasn’t as easy as I’d told Jacob it would be. Wasn’t as easy as flicking a switch. They crept in, the two girls we’d created— smiling faces filling my mind, eclipsed by their worried expressions that made me think they weren’t coping well without us.

They’re with Jacob’s mum and dad. They’ll be fine.

My determination that we could do this had persuaded Jacob to come away with me. It had been a big thing, this, leaving the children behind, but if we hadn’t done it now we never would.

“Is it the kids?” he asked.

“No.”
I didn’t lie often, but if I admitted my thoughts then he would tag onto the worry bandwagon and we’d end up going home. I didn’t want that. I wanted the rest of the day, the night, and the majority of tomorrow morning to be just me and him. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Not after ten years of being devoted and never going out to the pub, never leaving them...

“I was thinking about us,” I said, throwing the sheet away from my body and sitting up. I stretched; a fingers-pointing-to-the-ceiling kind of stretch that chased away all the kinks and left me loose-limbed and pliant.

Pliant.

Now there was a word that brought a rush of desire to my cunt. Pliant made me think of suppleness, of legs and arms twisted in difficult positions, of torsos arched and backs curved. Jacob was pliant, always had been, and once upon a time I’d been able to bend with the best of them. But now, after the kids and getting out of my workout routine, a little weight had settled on my bones, preventing me doing all those delicious things I used to do. Like bending over to touch my toes and being taken from behind. Like widening my legs to such a degree it was as though I was being forced into that position. Not that I had been forced, but it was something I thought about every so often. Him taking me against my will, a scenario that thrilled me more than it perhaps should have. Just a little fantasy to keep me warm when Jacob worked away. And the book I’d read had planted it into my mind, yet I’d tried to forget what rested between the front and back covers, telling myself it just wasn’t proper to want such things.

“What about us?” he asked, lacing his hands behind his head and jutting his abdomen out until his cock almost touched the glass.

“Someone could see you like that, you know.” I’d avoided his question because...hell, I’d grown shy somehow, grown out of being able to tell him exactly what was on my mind. It made me feel embarrassed to say I’d been recalling the days when we’d fucked for hours, sweat-soaked and sore, falling asleep only to wake for more of the same. My mind had also wandered to the forced entry thing, hadn’t it? A flicker of fast images shooting across the air in front of me as though they were the real thing. Rough and ready sex. Pleasure-pain. Jacob speaking sharply, his hands also abrasive, palms scouring my skin instead of skimming. His cock a relentless shunt instead of a glide. Tongue an insistent probe instead of a gentle exploration.

How come being here had enabled my old self to at first poke me with a tentative finger, but now jabbed with urgent pressure?

“I don’t give a shit,” he said on a laugh.

It took me a moment to realise what he meant. I thought back to what we’d been talking about. His cock on the glass. Someone seeing. A surge of desire swarmed over me at that. Being watched—was it something I could handle one day? Oh, not having a third person in our life. No, I’m too jealous to share our time together, even if it involved another man. But being somewhere, knowing we could possibly have an observer?

I think I could. Maybe.

“We’re too high up, anyway,” he went on.

I smiled at the fact he was oblivious to my thoughts, that he had no idea I had suddenly become someone who wanted a whole lot more from her sex life than what we’d been doing. It wasn’t that Jacob was crap in bed, nothing like that, just that... God, I wanted more time to explore, more time full stop. And what the hell would he think about my fantasies anyway? Were they too ‘out there’ for him? They wouldn’t have been years ago, but now...

I wasn’t sure I even had the courage to share them.

“Come and stand with me,” he said.

“What, naked?”I stood, hesitant to do as he asked. What if someone spotted us and called the police, telling them a couple in The Grand were indecently exposed in the window?

Admit it. Although scary, it is exciting.

“Yes, naked. Come on. All that’s out there is the street, and that’s way down below. Nothing opposite, unless you count the buildings half the size of this one. We’re in a five- hundred-room hotel, love. A tall one.”

Sod it. This weekend I was supposed to be my real self, find the woman who’d been lost amidst school runs and after-school clubs. And if I dug beneath the guilt I could feel that the thrill of being naughty, a rebel, was still with me. But what about the girls and...

Stop it.

I walked to the window, stood behind him and peeked around his arm. He was right. Too far up for anyone to see us, yet still it felt too naughty. It was one thing to fantasise about it, but to actually do it... What if someone had binoculars?

“I’m telling you,” he said, as though he’d read my mind, “no one will see us. D’you really think anyone would give a toss if they did? They’d probably see us as two dirty, middle-aged people anyway. If they’re young, that is. Remember how we used to think that about people our age?”

I cupped my hands around his biceps and pressed my cheek to his back, his skin warm and soothing. He smelt of his recent shower, all flowery hotel soap and alien-smelling shampoo, and the faint aroma of clinically washed towels, totally absent of the scent of my usual fabric softener. Home was intruding again, so I switched the images off.

And yes, I remembered thinking that. Remembered thinking it was gross that older people ‘did it’. Yet here we were, older and still doing it. Funny how your perspective changes.

“Hmmm,” I said. “But with age comes a better understanding. Love helps, too. It goes deeper than it did years ago, pardon the pun.”

He laughed, a low rumble that reverberated through my cheek and sent ripples of lust to my pussy. I wanted him again, hard and fast, no foreplay or sentimental sweet nothings. Just pure, honest fucking. I stared at the way his ear curved, recalled how the lobe felt in my mouth, sweetly soft and fleshy. A wave of love consumed me. How was it possible I could care for him more than I did back then? I thought I loved him as much as I could, full to bursting with adoration and respect, yet every day, every month, each new year brought a stronger connection.

God, I was so damn lucky.

My eyes stung, the emotion getting a better hold on me than I wanted it to. No time for sentimental tears, just time for us. The thought that it would take until tomorrow to fully relax struck me as typical—it would be time to go home and leave this weekend behind. Except this time together would remain in our memories, and we could whisper about it in bed at night when we felt the need to recapture it. I’d have to be content with that because there was no way we could stay here longer. Jacob had work to return to, and the girls had school. His parents were going away on Tuesday, a leisurely cruise in the Mediterranean for a week, and with my parents living in the arse end of nowhere in Scotland, getting them to come down to babysit wasn’t an option.

I was a bundle of contradictions, wasn’t I? One minute I’d forgotten our home life, the next I hadn’t. It was the idle times, that was it—moments where I allowed my mind to wander and think things I shouldn’t. Swallowing deeply, I told myself to enjoy what remained of our weekend together—otherwise, I’d regret it later.

“Do you think we ought to do some sightseeing or something?” I asked, wondering, if he’d answer in the affirmative, whether I could muster the energy to get dressed let alone waltz through the nearby park or visit the art museum. We’d promised ourselves an afternoon of appreciating art, gazing at the beauty created by others and discussing how each piece made us feel inside.

“We could do,” he said. “After.”

“After what?” I smiled, my bunching cheek squashed against his shoulder blade, my breasts heated from his skin. The rest of me felt chilled, as though I needed the whole of him wrapped around me, arms and legs a warm embrace.

“After I fuck you against this window.”

I gasped, widening my eyes at what he’d said. It seemed he’d returned to his old self more easily than I had. I wanted to answer that he could fuck me against anything he liked, anytime he wanted—he didn’t have to ask. He could just grab me, pin me down and forge into me. I wanted it hard and fast, hot and panting, my body at his mercy. Whatever he wanted to do to me, he could.

There it was again, that urge to give up control to him completely. A fuck where I had no say in it. His rules, his pleasure. It flooded my mind like a cloud of dangerous desire.

But again I didn’t say anything about handing over control. The words wouldn’t come, stuck in my throat as they were, a big ball of unspoken needs that swelled to be released. Pushing, expanding.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Like you used to. Dirty and rough. While there’s no one but me to hear you.”

A sudden bout of insecurity gripped me, a closing fist around my heart, creating a flutter of panic and the inability to breathe properly. I’d been so free and easy before we’d had the girls, so ready to try anything, do anything; caught up in the first flush of love. And now...

“I can’t.” I squeezed my eyes closed and waited for the feeling to pass.

“Can’t?”

He covered my hands with his, the warmth of his touch giving me a jolt of longing. I imagined those hands roving my skin, seeking out my special places, erogenous zones that he knew by heart. My pulse thrummed, loud in my ears, the throb of my heartbeat an almost violent smack against my ribs. I cracked open my eyes, peeked around him to see his fingertips pressed down on my hand, the ends white where he held me so tightly. Did he hold me like that because he’d anticipated a negative answer? A rush of guilt took over me, heating my cheeks and bringing on the need to cry. I was spoiling this, wasn’t I—by not keeping to my promise to play the game as though we were free spirits who could do anything we wanted?

“I feel stupid,” I said quietly, wanting him to take over, to talk to me dirty and remind me how it was done.

Because I had forgotten.

“Stupid? Why?”
His chest inflated, his back rising beneath my face, and he held his breath. “Because...because I’ve forgotten how to do it. And if I say what I want, it might not come out right and I’ll feel silly.”
He turned, just that movement alone soaking my cunt, and cradled me against him.

Hands on my back, he rubbed them up and down, the motion soothing, chasing away the goosebumps, giving me the sense that everything would always be all right when he held me like this. He was magic, my husband, this man who had promised to take care of me until the day he died, ensuring I was never sad, never had reason to cry. I was the kind of woman who floundered without him near, who, when panicked or insecure, only needed him to walk in the room and everything bad would melt away.

“You never have to feel silly with me,” he said, the words low and reassuring. “Never. I’ve told you that before. Did you forget that too?”

How could I? He’d said it often enough, and I wondered then whether he got tired of his constant encouragement, of always having to work to make me believe him. He was devoted, I knew that. Knew it deep inside me, where I kept the special memories, the nuggets of love he’d shown me, those private moments between us that no one else knew about. Small touches, glances in a crowded room, even in the supermarket, where the gap between us was too wide and I wanted nothing more than to rush to him, to have his arms about me.

To have the cushioned feeling of being adored.

I embraced him, splaying my palms on his back and resting my cheek on his chest. His heart beat wildly, a manic rhythm that matched mine, as though we both anticipated what was to come. We knew I would give it a try, that I’d utter words I hadn’t spoken in years, in a voice that was husky and all kinds of sexy.

We just had to wait for me to fully come back. She was there, simmering below the surface, filling my mind with all manner of filthy things—she just needed that extra push to come out, that was all.

“Tell me. Remind me what I used to say,” I whispered. I held my breath, knowing I would blush when he recited words from the past. How had I become so...boring? So shy?

“Ah, that’s easy. I’ll never forget.” He held me tighter, his warmth oozing into my skin like the heat of bath water. “Some days I sit and remember, think about the old days and wish—”

“That I was like that again?”

Oh, God. I’ve made him as boring as me, having to turn to daydreams in order to get his jollies. How long has he been thinking of the past?

He took a moment before he answered. Weighing up how to phrase it, I’d bet.

“Not necessarily that, no. Just wishing that you’d let yourself go every so often. Not be so good all the time.”

“Good?” I lifted my head and stared up at him, into dark brown eyes that melted my knees with their long, thick black lashes. “Is that what I am now? Good?”

God, I was boring. I’d slipped into that rut people talked about. The one where the wife became staid and unyielding in the bedroom. Where a bed was just for sleeping, maybe a quick fuck once a month. The rut I’d always vowed never to get into. But that rut was deep; it went so far down that I couldn’t see over the damn top when it came to talking dirty. I bristled, knowing exactly what he meant, knowing I ought to keep my mouth shut because I’d let things spill out that weren’t intended for him. No, what I wanted to say was a torrent of sentences berating myself, and I couldn’t do that, not in front of Jacob. He said it hurt him when I put myself down. Like a physical pain deep inside. If I ranted now, I’d do so knowing I’d upset him.

He stroked my face with both hands, staring down at me as though I was the most precious thing to walk the planet, and I felt wretched. For letting him down. Becoming ‘one of those women’. For allowing us to change.

“Tell me,” I said, disliking the begging tone that rimmed the words. “Come on. Tell me what I used to say. Help me say it again.”

I was desperate now, truly desperate to recapture what we’d once had. The thought of how we’d been lately... God, it was shameful. I wanted to say the words so badly, but something blocked their exit. They were all there in my head; delicious, filthy sentences that would make any grandmother’s toes curl; ones I’d read in a book many years ago, yet when I opened my mouth to force them out, they lodged in my throat. Frustration added to desperation made me whimper. I felt so helpless, useless, a stupid, insecure bundle of nerves.

He smiled, a stretch of those beautiful lips that showed his straight teeth, all except the one canine that stuck out a little. “Let me see. What did you used to say...?”

My heart contracted with love for him. He was doing what he always did—making everything okay again. Taking the pressure off me and having the burden on his shoulders. How the hell had I been so lucky to find him, to keep him? My eyes stung, and I blinked, swallowed hard and prayed the tears wouldn’t fall.

He glanced up at the ceiling, a teasing gesture that had me wanting to grasp him around the neck and force his gaze back to me. I wanted to reach up and touch the knobbly scar beside his eye, to brush my thumb down his cheek. His pretence of being deep in thought drove a spike of new frustration into my gut, yet I smiled, because as well as doing this for me, he was playing with me. Enjoying it, too.

“Fuck my cunt,” he said, lowering his head so his gaze met mine again. “Fuck my cunt, that’s what you used to say. Jacob, come over here and lick my wet pussy.” He brushed his lips over mine. “Remember that?”

I blushed—damn it, I knew I would—and memories came flooding back. Me on the bed with my legs open wide, my clit aching, throbbing, the need for him to lick it, suck it into his mouth, so strong it took my breath away. Me bending over the bed, hands on the mattress, feet apart on the rug, begging him to fuck my cunt from behind. I’d said those words and more, my God I had, but could I say them again?

He continued. “Jacob, suck my nipples. God, yes, suck them harder. Suck them until they hurt. That’s it, baby, bite them. Hold them between your teeth and pull. Harder. Fuck, Jacob, fuck I’m so wet...”

And I was wet now. As I shifted slightly from foot to foot, my labia glided and juices seeped, dampening my inner thighs. My channel clenched, a sharp spasm that coincided with my clit expanding. I dug my nails into his back, drawing them down to his buttocks, and counted to ten. He kissed the top of my head, his hands exploring, casting warming circles on my arse. We stood this way for what seemed a long time, me rolling those words around in my head to test them; see how they sounded years after I’d last spoken them.

“Fuck my cunt,” I whispered, tasting the delicious filth of those words on my tongue. “Suck my nipples,” said with a little more courage and a little less embarrassment.

“Just a bit louder, love. I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

I knew he had, knew he was doing what he always did. Encouraging me. Letting me know I could do anything I wanted if I put my mind to it. I lifted my head, a surge of desire swelling my folds, and swallowed the last of my nervousness.

“Do it, Jacob,” I said, staring straight at him, a challenge to myself to see this through. “Fuck my cunt and suck my nipples. Hard.”

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

In what seemed less than half a second, Jacob had spun me around and pressed my back to the window. His big hands were firm and determined and radiated brute strength, the action just rough enough to send yet another wave of giddy excitement through me—that damn book again.

The thick, tempered glass was cold, a shock of ice that brought more goosebumps. My heart was beating so hard and so fast that the sound of my pulse drowned everything out except the rasping of our breath. It was the accompaniment to the dull thuds, a sexy scratch of noise that scuffed the air, our own form of music.

“Fuck, it’s good to hear you’re back,” he said, bending his head to lick up and down the column of my neck. “I’ve missed you.”

God, I’d really let things go, hadn’t I? There was no time to ponder that now, because his wet tongue was working wonders on my libido, preventing anything other than what he was doing from filling my mind. His breath heated my skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck, and a small shiver went through me. It spread inside and out, encompassing me as though it were a live being coming out of hibernation. It left me giddy and hyper-alert, sensitive to everything related to heat—the mugginess of our close proximity, the slowly warming glass at my back and arse, the hotness where our bellies and chests touched.

I clutched his arse, massaging with slow kneads, pulling him towards me a little more so his erection pressed against my lower belly. He was so much taller than me, and the need to have that hard length between my folds prompted me to place my arms around his neck and stand on tiptoe.

“I need to feel your cock on my cunt,” I said into his ear, more forcefully than I’d intended. I was still trying on my old self, seeing if it fit me these days, and for a pleased moment I realised it did.

Very well.

Bolder, I went on. “Need it rubbing up and down my slit. Wet from my juices. You like that, right? Yeah, you like it, don’t you, Jacob?” I smiled a small smile as he stiffened further, and it gave me courage. “Fuck, yes, you like your cock covered in my wetness. Like me licking it clean.” I raised one leg, bent at the knee, indicating I wanted him to pull me, hold me over his rigid length. “Come on, Jacob. Lift me up so I can press my sopping pussy against you.”

His sharp intake of air made my smile grow wider, and a stutter of breath huffed out of his mouth and onto my neck. I had him right there, right where I wanted him, and it hadn’t taken much effort at all.

Back into the swing of things, growing more daring by the second, and adoring the fact that he was loving my words so much, I said, “I want to get off just by sliding up and down. Just from your fat, wide cock head brushing my clit.” The thought of it snatched the air from my lungs for a moment, but I recovered quickly enough to say, “And you remember when we did that before, don’t you? Yes, you remember. You came too, my pressure dragging down your foreskin...”

“Jesus, Karen. You’re fucking killing me here.”

He lifted me, settled my slit against his cock, and grabbed my arse. Pressing down, he applied light force and, my God, I could’ve come just from that. I buried my head in the crook of his neck, willing myself to calm down. It was difficult, though—my clit throbbed in time with my heart, and that thought returned, the one about someone using binoculars, and I found myself more turned on than ever. This wasn’t indecent exposure, it was decent— fabulous, exciting and off-the-charts hot.

Not being so ‘good’ now, was I?

He began to move, sliding and rubbing through my slick folds. I hooked one ankle over the other and gripped as best I could, thankful that he was holding me so tight. I was weak with desire—all my energy had been diverted to my cunt. All I could think of was the pressure of his shaft working over my clit and the sensation of my pussy moistening further for him. It was so wet I imagined it dripping down my thighs, trickling to my knees and soaking onto the plush carpet.

“Talk to me some more,” he demanded, his lips just touching my left temple. “God, talk to me some more, love. Talk dirty, talk filthy, whatever comes into your head, just say it. I want to hear it. I want to hear all of it.”

A whole host of words tumbled through my mind. Foul, rank words, utterances suitable for porn films or worse. Words I wouldn’t have said to him before when we’d talked dirty. But we were older now, life had moved on. We had been through so much together.

As though my inhibitions had become as transparent as the window I was pressed against, I suddenly found it easy to let loose these new words. This was Jacob—I could say anything and it would be okay.

I took a deep breath; surprised by how husky my voice sounded when I started to speak. “Your cock is like a steel rod fucking against my clit. But I want more. I want you to ram it anywhere you want. Take me and do whatever you want with my body, Jacob. I’m yours. What I want doesn’t matter—this is all about you and sating your needs.”

He grunted, and, although he kept one hand tight on my arse, he slid the other upwards and tangled it in my hair, squashing it between my crown and the glass pane. He pulled me closer, my head and my arse, as if he couldn’t get near enough despite the fact that the fronts of our bodies were connected completely.

“Yes, that’s it, harder, rougher,” I gasped. “Do whatever you want. I’m just a rag doll. I’m here for your pleasure. It doesn’t matter what I feel. Hurt me, overpower me, drag me to hell with your most primitive desires and fuck me into oblivion. To a place that’s so dark and hot that I won’t even remember my own name. You own my cunt, my mouth, my...my arsehole. It’s all yours. Fuck me harder, Jacob, so much harder!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, easing his head back to look at my face.

His eyes were wild and flashing; swirling vats of lust. It thrilled me utterly to see something so new and exciting in irises I’d stared into so many times, and knew like the back of my own hand.

“I’ve got to get inside you, now,” he groaned. He bent his knees and shoved his cock deep into my cunt.

I cried out at the forceful stretch of his invasion, but he silenced me with a savage kiss, his open mouth hot and wet and frantic. Against my cheek his breath was hard and fast as he pistoned his hips back and forth. Squeaks from my sweat-damp skin rubbing on the window filled my ears, and I had a fleeting mental image of what my soft, pale body must look like from the outside—my flattened arse pressed to a bloodless white with a big, hairy hand digging into the left cheek and creating dents. My pussy and the dark cleft of my anus exposed and my spine and shoulders shifting with the force of his thrusting.

Gasping for air around our passionate kiss, I locked my hands at his nape. My pussy squeezed him tight, building up to a fantastic orgasm. I remembered how much I enjoyed fucking while we were standing. His rock-hard pubic bone bashed into my clit so perfectly, dragging it upwards with each sublime thrust. Why had we gone for missionary so many times over the last few years when this was so divine? What else had we forgotten that was so good?

“More,” he said sharply into my mouth. “Come on, tell me more of what I should do to you, Karen.”

I willed my mind to work. It was hard when I was flying high on the thrilling ride to climax, but there was a scenario in my head. Like a seedling bursting through the soil, it stretched to my mouth.

Out it spilled.

“Don’t say my name.” I gasped as a particularly forceful thrust had his glans stroking my G-spot. “You don’t know me. This is a dark alley. I was going home after seeing friends for the evening. A lone lady, vulnerable, heels loud on the cobbles.” I paused to heave in a breath, my lungs desperate with the effort of talking as he pounded into me with fervour.

As if sensing my struggle, he slowed his hips but increased the depth of penetration. Every time he was seated to the hilt he jerked, hitting my cervix and reeling my clit into a wondrous state of building pressure.

With a little less air being shunted from my lungs I carried on. My lips touched his neck, just a fraction below his ear, where he smelt masculine and raw and the texture of his skin was smooth but tough. “You saw me, walking into this alley. You were rock-hard for a fuck, so hard, but you were sick of your own hand. Tired of getting yourself off while you looked at porn. So you decided to just take me against my will. It didn’t matter that it was me, it could have been any woman, but I happened to be there, that night, when you were feeling hard and brave and desperate. So damn desperate.”

“So how did it happen?” he whispered, breathily. He kissed across my cheek and nibbled the shell of my ear, the tempo of his hips a wonderful rhythm that kept my orgasm within reach but also under control. “I need to know. Tell me how we got to this stage. The me-fucking-you stage.”

I shut my eyes to the harsh daylight of the room. “I heard your footsteps behind me and turned, scared. When I started to run, you chased me, grabbed me, hauled me against a wall and ripped off my skirt. You were so big and strong and so damn determined.” The image in my head was scarily vivid. I could see us wrestling, limbs tangled, and hear the sound of material tearing. Jacob all horny and powerful; me scared and helpless. “You tore off my panties. I screamed for you to get off me, let me go home. But you clamped your hand over my mouth, you didn’t care. You wanted me. You wanted to fuck my pretty cunt hard and fast.”

Gripping his tense biceps, I built up to that moment of bliss, where climax is inevitable; a beautiful knowledge spreading over me that satiation would soon be mine.

“Ah, love, talk while we come. Keep telling me the story.”

I shook, feverish with need now. “You’re thrusting into me, your big, bad cock penetrating my pussy, your hands groping my breasts, harsh and cruel. I bite your shoulder. You’re furious and twist me to face the wall. My hands flail against sharp brick. The wall is cold and gritty. It smells of damp and rotting food.”

“Then what? Tell me, then what?”

“You fuck me from behind.” I was almost shouting now, the syllables juddering as his pace increased. “You don’t care that I’m not wet for you, you shove into my poor abused pussy over and over. You’ve still got a hand clamped over my mouth so I can’t scream for help and you ride into me like a marauder. I’m overpowered... I’m... Oh, God, Jacob...I’m...going to...”

“Me too, me fucking too.”

We came together. It was intense and furious. Our groans and shouts of delight unmuffled and uninhibited.

“Ah, yes, that’s it, oh fuck, yes,” I cried, actually sinking my teeth into his shoulder.

“Oh, baby, fucking fantastic.” He jerked, lodging deep inside me as he spilled his seed high into my body.

My pussy clamped and squeezed him, clit bobbing on his pubic bone, drawing out every last, luscious spasm of ecstasy. Suddenly his mouth was on mine again, and he kissed me, deep and profound.

Running my hands over his sweaty shoulders, I clung on, forcing my breasts into the coarse hairs on his chest and battling for breath and sanity.

“Oh, God, that was something else,” he said, shuddering within my embrace.

As I slid my palms over his hot back, I was aware that every one of his muscles was taut and tight.

“You made me completely lose it then,” he murmured. “I felt like a horny teenager again, doing it for the first time. All control left me.”

I giggled breathlessly.

He pulled back and grinned, but kept his cock pumping slowly within me. He looked down. “Ah, fuck, that looks so hot.”

I followed his gaze. His veiny, mauve shaft, rising from his black pubic hair, slid backwards and forwards through my paler pubes. It was slick and shiny and still hard and solid. I could just make out the glossy nub of my clit jutting from its hood.

The sight of Jacob entering me was sublime and I would never tire of it. But suddenly I was aware once more of my position against the window, and the memory of the binoculars comment. I went to move my legs from his hips. But he grabbed both my thighs, kept me wrapped tight around him.

“No, don’t move. Jesus, I feel like I could come all over again.” He looked up and grinned, then ducked for a kiss.

I accepted it happily and a delicious flush of accomplishment filled me. I’d done it. The old Karen was back. I could still talk dirty. I could still make Jacob lose it with words.

But, my goodness, where had those words risen from?

Where on earth had that depraved image of being taken against my will come from? I’d described it so vividly and it had sent me reeling into one damn fine orgasm.

Was there something wrong with me? Then I realised.
 It’s the book. That damn filthy book.


 

 

THAT FILTHY BOOK is available from all good retailers in ebook and paperback, including:

Total-E-Bound

Amazon US 

Amazon UK 

All Romance eBooks 

Barnes and Noble

Kobo



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