Page 45 of King of Deception

Deeper

Ella Rose

“And then Abel just ran!” Laughing, Armen was leading us toward the end of his story, “Later, at like… three in the morning, we found him passed out behind the generator.”

“Wow,” I tittered, turning to look at my date. “Didn’t peg you for a troublemaker.”

Nathan quickly defended, “We were what, nineteen?”

The exchanges between Abel and his friends fascinated me. Since I’d never had friends whose income surpassed mine by wide margins, I hadn’t exactly set any specific expectations.

Nate was a big-time corporate lawyer; Chad was a famous actor; Armen was a deejay with his own radio show and a lineup of parties; and Dean—the silent one—had… boats? I didn’t exactly know what he did for a living, but if anything, he seemed just as wealthy as the rest. That was the one thing that they had in common; billions of dollars.

And then there was Abel.

He knew his drinks, his fancy treats, and all the latest in everything. I was now convinced that plenty of studying was in order if someone were to become a waiter for the wealthy. It was almost as though he, too, came from money.

As the conversation went on, everything about Abel was intoxicating me. The way he talked. The manner in which his hands moved as he did. The dimple on his right cheek that was slightly deeper than the one on the left, appearing only a second before it as he smiled. The tone of his voice… the pauses he made… his soft laugh.

Physically, I was happy with cocktails, but mentally… I was completely drunk on him.

A few women joined us, and everyone resumed their dancing while Abel and I looked at each other and smiled. As if he’d read my mind, his hand reached for mine, slightly tugging. Without question, I followed him as we walked away from the group.

It was nearly two in the morning, and most of the guests around us were completely oblivious to whatever was happening outside their drunk, happy bubbles.

I let Abel lead me up the stairs, and we snuck all the way to the second floor before he turned to me, smiling. His hands cradled my face as he whispered into my mouth, “Kiss me.”

Mesmerized and ready to let him do whatever he wanted with me, I let my lips do all the talking. At first, I nibbled on his lower lip, teasing him. But then he began to claim my mouth harder and with more passion, all while walking backward, leading us toward a bedroom in the corner. I reached by his side and twisted the doorknob while he kicked the door open with his foot.

And into the darkness, we disappeared.

It was our darkness. A darkness that only we got lost in, filled with the soft light of our hearts. I looked at him, and I thought my heart had met his somewhere long before we came into this world–long before we collided. His firm lips didn’t leave mine for a second; it was like he was drinking me in; like he was intoxicated by me, just like I was by him.

Completely under his spell, my body reacted to his in a way it has never reacted to anyone–simple, subtle touches drove me insane with desire. They made me feel like I wanted to explore him–get my hands on every inch of skin. I held onto his neck for dear life and felt the softness under my palms–a softness that contrasted with the hardness of the rest of him. I kissed him back just as ferociously, played a game with his tongue, a game that was becoming a favorite of mine. His hands grabbed my ass and pulled me hard against him; there was no longer any space between us. I held the back of his considerably long hair and pulled on it slightly.

Detaching my lips from his, I kissed down his jawline, feeling his soft skin under my tongue and down to his neck. I sucked on his earlobe and bit it playfully, knowing that he liked it when I did that and personally loving the vibrating feel of his groans under my tongue.

In a swift move, he carried me–palms still embedded on my ass; my legs wrapped around him. He threw me on the bed, my loose skirt going up my thighs. I laid there, elbows lifting up my upper half and legs spread open. Staring at him, I was mesmerized by how he carried himself. How he moved. The way his arms and shoulders flexed. He was taking off his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it, putting on a show that made my center weep with need.

I was in a trance, watching every inch of skin be exposed in front of me–watching his fingers flirt with the buttons until they opened for him. I wondered how a body that carried all this strength–a soul that carried all this weight–touched something this softly. I thought I could have easily watched him move for the rest of my life. And that was a terrifying thought to have.

He must have read my eyes–those analytic eyes that were able to pierce through my soul and understand everything I was thinking because he continued moving, unpeeling himself from layer after layer. He unbuckled his black leather belt, never once losing eye contact with me, then came the zipper of his jeans.

Unzipping it, he smirked playfully at me and let his jeans drop to the floor, unveiling his black, short boxer briefs. He wasn’t touching me, but his movements, his body, and the way he was staring into my eyes were making my core and my center beat with need. I could feel my walls clench and unclench, suddenly aware of the emptiness that needed to be filled.

He bent down to take off his shoes, his back muscles now visible to me–fuck, the man was so ripped. He held so much strength it was driving me insane. Then, in nothing but his boxers, he stared into my eyes for a beat and held the waistband, very slowly sliding them down, finally letting his hard, glorious thick cock spring free.

My mouth watered at the sight. My mind went completely blank; my eyes focused on it, knowing that combined with his strength, he could drive me over every edge there was in the world.

What he did next pleasantly surprised me and made my hips grind against the soft mattress. He held his cock in his hands firmly and started stroking it slowly, going from the base to the tip and gliding his thumbs lazily around it while his eyes never broke contact with mine.

Watching him pleasure himself in front of me was more intimate than I could have ever imagined. I’d never seen a man so entranced and so confident in his own body. He knew his strength—understood it and knew the effect he had on me. I couldn’t help myself.

Feeling the need to somehow mirror his actions and fill the ache that was building inside me, I bent low, taking off my sandals and throwing them across the room, not caring for a second where they would land. My top came second, leaving me only in my bra and skirt—my eyes were still fixated on his hand playing with his cock. I tied my skirt around my waist in a tight knot and slid my panties off teasingly slowly, giving him just as good of a show as he gave me.

I spread my legs open for him, knowing that he’d immediately discover the effect the sight of him had on me. I ran my middle finger down my center, surprised by the extent of my own arousal; I brought the finger to my drenched entrance and spread my arousal all over my clit. With my back leaning on the back of the bed, I unclasped my bra at the front, exposing my breasts to him. Abel groaned and stared hungrily at my body in reply. I played with myself, hand squeezing and pulling on my nipple, and the other playing with my open slit.

Keeping my eyes fixed on him, feeling us share the same energy, the moment, and ourselves in our most fragile states, I plunged a finger inside myself, and my back arched, only now breaking eye contact with him. I was losing myself to the need and to him—his eyes, his body, his soul. I looked deep into his eyes, then looked at his long hard cock, and decided that it was enough. I needed to feel him, to touch him, to take him in my mouth.

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