Free The Safety of Nowhere by Iris Astres

her hips against him.
    “That’s right. Let me see that red ass bobbing up and down.”
    She pressed her face into the paddle he’d let go of, circling on his fingers while the nastiness took hold of her, shredding all her inhibition. He teased the flame with random brushing strokes and pinches on her breasts, the inside of her thighs. “That’s right, come now,” he ordered, and she did it, pussy spasming hard. Her body shuddered, her breath rasped, and her legs gave out, bringing her down.
    When it was over, blood rose to her face and burned. She crawled into the center of the bed and pulled her arms and legs into a ball.
    She couldn’t look at him. It was too embarrassing. She heard him though. He stood. He moved. His clothes came off, and he was on the bed, positioning himself beside her.
    “That was more than twenty minutes,” Dinah mumbled. She felt tight and wet and used. Her ass was tingling, her pussy soaked. Her postorgasmic high had quickly cooled into mortification.
    Gently he unfolded her, fought his way into the fray of her emotions, and subdued them all by pulling her into his arms, his big cock brushing the damp and tender skin between her thighs.
    With subtle pressure he pushed at her knees and shoulders until he had her on her back. “Look at me,” he urged. “We’re partners in all this, remember. I feel it with you. I want it with you. My body’s hot. My cock is hard and aching to push into you.”
    “Yes.” Dinah pulled at him, suddenly shaking with the need to fuck. “Yes, I want you.” And she had him, filling her and holding her and kissing her until she’d let go of restraint again.
    Malcolm gathered her against him, moving her from one position to another. There was no hurry in him, so Dinah let go of her sense of time and purpose too. She came alive to him, trembling on the edge of here and now. His movements were as deep and slow as moans. The rolling, tactile pleasure went on and on, and when sensation overtook her, Dinah shook with it.
    Malcolm trembled too. Jaw slack, skin glistening with sweat, he seemed to have cut all his tethers to this world, rising with her all the way, just as he’d promised.

Chapter Five
    Rocco Evers loved his boy.
    That was more than could be said for the bitch mother who ran out on him not two years after he was born. More than most men with a child who was “special.” And, no matter how often they claimed the contrary, it was more than the condescending in-laws who had somehow taken custody of his boy.
    Gordon was his son, and he’d always done right by him. No one better dare to contradict him on that point.
    Cindy looked like she might be about to, but as usual Joanne’s sad, gray mother preferred to do most of her talking without words. She was in the doorway, staring at him with that small, tight smile she always wore when he came for his son.
    She cast a worried glance over her shoulder and stepped onto the porch. Rocco stood his ground. She was a fool if she thought a closed door would keep him from his boy. “He hasn’t been feeling well.”
    “What’s wrong with him?” Rocco nearly spat the words. He knew it was a load of crap. Cindy wasn’t any brighter than the bitch she’d given birth to. Just like Joanne, she really thought a man was duty bound to honor any shit that came out of her mouth.
    Women were such fucking liars. Hypocrites about it too. Let them catch a man stretching the truth a little, and they’re hurt, indignant, disgusted like he’s the worst piece of scum that ever lived. But try to call them on their own unending bullshit—all the flimsy, made-up excuses they trotted out whenever something wasn’t absolutely to their liking—and he’s a brute, a real insensitive louse. He’d seen it way too many times.
    “Let’s cut the crap,” he said. “Gordon isn’t sick. He’s pissed at me. He has a right to be.” He leaned back on his heels, staring down at Cindy while he laid it out for her, real slow.