Forbidden Feast: A Blakely After Dark Novella (The Forbidden Series Book 2) Read online

  The image of his cock getting harder and thicker, harder and thicker until it pops, is what sends me spiraling over the edge. My hips press high into the air and quake with orgasm. My own clear juice tracks down my thighs, desperate to be penetrated. When I think about him, I get so wet that it can ruin my clothes. I’ll wear a panty liner to work just to make sure that I don’t end up with a pussy-shaped wet spot on the back of my skirt.

  I climb into the shower and wrench the faucet, filling the stall with hot water and steam. I lay and open my thighs, letting the water clean me off. With a sigh, my head falls back and my muscles loosen. I’d better emotionally prepare myself for the last step between myself and Mystique Island: calling my parents to let them know that I’m missing Thanksgiving dinner. I’ll tell them that I have to.

  “Mr. Howell is making me,” I’ll say... and it’ll be true.

  Because I can’t go on like this, feeling as if my sex is going to explode any minute. I see the tent his erection is always making in his pants. I see the tantalizing shape of his prick through the fabric. I know that he wants me, even if he doesn’t know it yet. Even if he won’t admit it to himself. And he’s going to have me. No one else on that island will lay a finger on me until after Rainier Howell has his fill, and I have mine.

  He’s going to be the first man to ever slide between my lips and break me open. He’s going to be the only one good enough to turn me out.

  Chapter 3

  Rainier

  My secret haven gleams beneath the Caribbean sun, as far as the eye can see. In every direction sprawls white sand beaches, deep blue sea, jungle, and villas. My private jet departed from the Mystique Island airstrip not long ago, and my valet leads me to a customized suite with a deep in-ground Jacuzzi and beams for aerial yoga. The place is truly perfect. The owner of the island—a global power player by the name of di Reyes, they say—goes above and beyond to provide perfection to perfectionists.

  I’ve actually never met the man myself, though I’ve heard that he is always watching from the shadows. Enjoying the show.

  I head inside and shower and change, refreshing myself from the day of travel. My mask is provided, along with a tailored suit from one of my favorite designers, free of charge. The monthly dues are astronomical, but completely worth it. You get back everything you pay and so much more. Stepping from the shower with beads of hot water still tracing down my torso, I towel off and change into the suit on my bed. The shirt is a rich, silky blue, contrasting with my onyx hair and bronze skin like the designer was given a picture of me first. I shave and slap cologne onto my jaw and neck.

  Finally, I’m ready for the mask. It doesn’t hide as much of my face as I would like. The mask scoops down around my cheekbones, barely disguising the structure of my face, and my eyes are fully exposed. My mouth is fully exposed.

  Of course, it has to be. There’s plenty of things to see. And plenty of things to eat.

  My valet returns to the villa and wishes to guide me to the Thanksgiving banquet, but I turn him away. I’ve been coming to Mystique Island for eight years now. I know my way around. Their main event is always held at the same massive beach house.

  As I stroll toward the Mystique mansion, I pass a threesome in the sand, then multiple random couples in a halo around the entrance.

  In some ways, perhaps I’ve been emotionally stunted by all this, but I can’t regret the mind-blowing things I’ve seen and done here. I don’t know any woman wild and unpredictable enough to satisfy me as much as a thousand would.

  The beach house is decorated seasonally, and I traipse along a walk lined by pumpkins and husks of corn. How quaint. I have to appreciate di Reyes’ attention to detail. The owner must be a festive type, because he’s always throwing holiday celebrations. I have to wonder what will be on my plate this Thanksgiving. Definitely going to be hotter than a turkey.

  A familiar male voice calls out from behind me. “Rainier!”

  I twist as Rex McKenzie slaps an open palm on my shoulder, beaming. Rex and I are much alike. Both well-moneyed alphas, both built with dark hair. But there is a difference in Rex. Where I believe in excellence, he gets more through persistence. He’s not as strong as I am, either—emotionally, I mean. Physically, he’s not as handsome, either—but he certainly does try. And I have to say, as a look, it works. At least, it works for me.

  “You mean Mr. H,” I remind him. We’re supposed to be anonymous here. The glamour is ruined if the girl I’m riding suddenly asks me for an internship.

  “Right, right.” Rex laughs and releases my shoulder. “Excited to be back for another year.” This is only Rex’s second year on Mystique Island. Last year, he went nuts. He told me he was going to try to make sure to get some invitees and try to take them for himself. That’s a rather selfish way to see the island, but there’s no talking to Rex when he wants something. His emotional weakness keeps him from any growth.

  The doors stand open at the top of the pathway, and we cross the threshold, into a warm atmosphere bubbling with chatter, mostly amongst men in masks. Where are the women?

  Wait. I see them.

  Nude, masked women stretch across the long, wide banquet table. Some lie on their stomachs and some on their backs. Some have their legs stretched open already, some kneel on their knees with their asses in the air. It’s a smorgasbord and dozens of men are already lined up or seated there, burying their mouths on whatever hole is exposed, then moving on to another.

  “Thirsty, gentlemen?” a waiter wonders, extending a platter of champagne flutes toward us.

  “Insatiably,” Rex replies, rubbing his hands together and pushing past the waiter, toward the bar of women.

  “Excuse my partner,” I tell the waiter, clapping him on the shoulder and bowing slightly to show respect. “He’s new.”

  “Yes, sir,” the waiter says. I bid him a good night and step by.

  Near the end of the table, I see one plate no one is devouring. I can’t imagine why. Her ass is amazingly fleshy, pillowed out beneath her hips, and her breasts are plump and firm. I’ve never seen a more natural curve in my life. Her hair is a wild and loose brunette, and her lips are distinctly bare of lipstick, like she yearns to be kissed as well as fucked. She wears nothing but sequined black pumps and a sequined black mask.

  My cock springs to attention and I make a bee-line for this neglected honeypot. Finally, I can drown all my anxieties in some stranger’s tight, wet pussy, and stop nearly assaulting my poor assistant.

  I saunter over to the waiting woman, her wide, gossamer thighs cocked in the air, her pussy unopened. She lies next to a dark-haired woman who is also unattended, eyes closed, legs up, waiting. The other women on the table are otherwise in various stages of sex. One is having her ass eaten and doesn’t notice me at all, nor does her partner. One is being furiously ridden by a man whose pants are still fully on. Another is eating out his plate.

  “Don’t bother with that one,” the last man grunts from between a blonde’s thighs. His tongue fans eagerly over her clam and she whimpers and writhes.

  My eyes shift to the busty brunette. I don’t even see the unattended woman beside her. I want to feel her naked lips on mine. I want my fingers in that hair.

  “What do you mean by that?” I ask him, not giving his opinion much credence. My hand goes to the buckle on my belt. My hard dick presses against my zipper, ready. And the brunette is wet. I can see her lips shimmering, and I haven’t even spread them open yet. Someone needs to get on her now.

  “She won’t let anyone touch her.” I almost can’t hear his words as he grinds his face on snatch. “Too scared. You should just go home, sweetheart.” He stands, opens his pants, and slides his erection into the blonde with no preamble at all, just pounding away instantly. “This ain’t the place for a meek type,” he pants.

  The brunette’s throat bobs as she swallows heavily and I lean closer still. I reach out and skate my fingers along her kneecap. She steels herself against my touch, as if
it’s too much to bear. “Is that right?” I ask her, peering down at the beautiful woman in the mask. That delicate jaw and those pouty raw lips... For the first time in eight years, I want to slide off an invitee’s mask and learn more. “Are you scared?” My fingers travel down her smooth thigh and her legs crack open obediently for me. An intense rush of blood straightens and lengthens my cock. The brunette presses her lips together, then releases them again.

  “No,” she whispers. “I’m waiting.”

  I trace one fingertip over her sweet labia and open her soaked pussy lips. My finger grazes her clit as it goes and I lick the juices off. “Waiting for me?” I wonder. She’s dizzying. She tastes like fucking honey.

  “Yes,” the brunette answers, and I grin, settling into the chair in front of her.

  I bow my head and skate the tip of my tongue over her pink slit, flicking the hard clit at her apex. Her body jolts and I let out a husky laugh against her plump, bright pussy lips. She must be throbbing for release. And she was waiting for me...

  “Well,” I breathe against her. “Can’t let dinner get cold.”

  I spread her open wider with two fingers in a V and lap my tongue hard up and down her cunt.

  “Oh, fuck,” she whispers dizzily. “It’s really happening. It’s really happening. Oh, god.”

  I lap at her harder and her fingers twist in my hair. She whimpers and begs and my dick feels like it’s going to split like the Hulk. I unzip and set him loose, grasping myself and working my hand up and down my own shaft for some relief. A man takes the seat next to me and starts eating out the girl beside mine, but I don’t notice. I can’t even think. I drown in this perfect pussy.

  Chapter 4

  Ella

  Rainier’s mouth on my pussy is the most exquisite satisfaction I’ve ever felt. My fingers are in his hair and my groans join the chorus of moans and shrieks as he works me closer and closer to our first orgasm together. I don’t even care if we never do this again—if he never knows that it’s me—if I have to quit my job because I become obsessed with him after this. I don’t care. All I want is tonight. It feels so good... He sucks on my clit like it’s hard candy, dragging me feet-first toward an orgasm in public, on a fucking dinner table, right next to another woman. But I can’t stop him. I don’t want to stop him. I don’t care where he makes me come... as long as he makes me come.

  The orgasm arrives too suddenly for me. I want to draw this out, in case he tires of me and this is our only encounter all weekend. But my pussy is so sensitive, so ready, so excited, I’m barreling toward the end of the tunnel whether I like it or not. His tongue rakes over me again and again and I cry out and press my sex harder into his mouth.

  “I’m going to come,” I whimper, and then everything melts into a sea of shimmering light. My eyes roll back in my head and warmth floods my skin and I cry out, “Oh, god! Oh, god, yes!” as Rainier devours me right here, right now. It’s so good. It’s everything I imagined it would be, and now I’m boneless and sweaty and numb. I want to push the mask off my face, but I know I can’t.

  Mr. Howell can never know I did this.

  Due to my numbness, it takes several seconds to realize that he’s still between my legs, sucking at my clit and licking my slit. “Jesus Christ,” he murmurs from between my legs. “That was the sweetest juice I’ve ever tasted.”

  “You can be my first,” I venture hopefully, gazing down at him. He pulls off my pussy and peers back at me without understanding. His lips are swollen from such expert face. What a fucking man.

  “Your first... here?”

  “My first ever,” I softly correct. “I said I’ve been waiting.”

  Rainier cocks his head to the side and an intrigued smile kinks one side of his lip. “Yes,” he answers, standing and letting his pants slip down. “For me.” I see his manhood waving in the air like a spear and it is everything I imagined, too. It’s broad and veined, chiseled and smooth. I want it inside me. I want him to pop me.

  His plush mushroom head skims over my womanhood, finding the hole by touch. He presses himself against it and there is mild resistance to him, but I buck my hips to give him more friction. His bare skin on mine scatters all my thoughts to the wind.

  “Are you sure?” he breathes thickly, and when I gaze up at him, I see that some of his perfect hair is out-of-place. It fills my heart to see. “I can be rough.”

  “I know,” I say, and he furrows his brow at me, but his prick is also right at my opening. Now is not the time for critical thinking, even for a billionaire.

  His staff breaks through, startling us both. I gasp and he grunts, clenching his jaw. “So tight,” he grumbles, almost wincing, squeezing himself deeper into me. I know it can’t hurt him, because I’m insanely wet. It must just feel like a fist around him. “Legs up,” he commands, and my heels rise off the table immediately. I love when he gives me commands.

  He hooks his hands beneath my knee caps and splits my thighs further apart, then thrusts his full length into me, all the way to the hilt. I scream and think I might black out from the intensity of his girth. He strokes into me again and again, finding a smooth rhythm but he doesn’t try to be gentle with me at all. His thrusts come with more and more swiftness and heat builds up in my core. But it’s still not enough for him.

  He slams his body down on mine and the table shakes. “There,” he growls, laying on top of me now. I hurry to unbutton his shirt, even though he didn’t tell me to, because I want to see and feel his skin on mine. This might be my only chance... and I want to feel Rainier Howell through every cell of my body. Even if he doesn’t even know. Even if I have to go to work on Monday and pretend like he wasn’t bare inside me on Thanksgiving.

  “More,” he growls, peeling himself off me, leaving me dazed and disoriented for a moment.

  “Wh—” My heavy, lust-fogged eyes struggle to open, but he’s already repositioning me the way that he wants me to be. He hoists me and flips me onto my hands and knees, pulling my torso as flat against it can get against my thighs. Both my pussy and my asshole are absolutely exposed now, but it’s the furthest thing from my mind. Having Rainier inside me is like a drug, very literally. I can’t think straight, and now it’s the only thing on my mind.

  “Shh,” he pants, aligning his sex with mine and thrusting us together again. All my thoughts spill and mix into nonsense immediately. He thrusts into me like I’m not a virgin anymore, and I don’t care, because it’s him and I’m on the verge of orgasm again.

  We slam together again and again and it’s almost too much. I blurt, “Tell me I’m a good girl!”

  Rainier hesitates. Even his thrusting slows to a halt, and for a moment, his palms are on the sweaty small of my back and the world fizzles back into existence around us. The cacophony of fucking intrudes. I’m aware that I’m on a dinner table, not in a bed. That I’m wearing a mask and presenting myself in public.

  “No,” Rainier denies me. My heart breaks. What? “You’re a bad girl. A good girl could take my cock, couldn’t she?” He thrusts into me again, as if in revenge, and I see stars. It’s too sweet. “But you’re a bad girl.” A sting flashes across my ass cheek as he rains down a powerful smack. My pussy opens responsively and he sinks deeper into me with a loud groan through his closed mouth. His hands wrap around my hips again. “Now you’re being good,” he tells me, thrusting into me slowly and fully, enjoying himself. His thumbs grate over my hips, relishing their girth. “Now you’re being good. Good girl... whoever you are.” He sinks into me to the hilt and freezes with me shuddering around him, stretched to my breaking point. “Who are you?”

  “No names,” I remind him in a whimper. “No names.”

  “Bad girl,” he says, thrusting again. My eyes roll and an orgasm trembles at my center. If he quits stopping, it’ll be any second. “I’ll just call you my bad girl then.”

  “That’s not very nice,” I tell him, and I kind of mean it. I love pleasing him. I want to be good. I want him relishing my p
ussy because I’m such a good girl. “I want to be a good girl.”

  “Then be good,” he commands me, hooking his finger into the side of my mouth and pumping into me with brutality again. He plays my body like it was his instrument, fiddling me to the edge in a matter of seconds. “Be good for me,” he breathes, and I feel one of his fingers fondling my asshole now.

  His dick grows—impossibly—and he lashes another spanking down on me. I know he’s going to come soon, because he’s losing control of himself. His body gleams with sweat and his hair is wild now. He looks like another man. Ten years younger, even. I bind the table cloth in my fists and my pussy gives up an orgasm through Rainier’s sheer force of will. My body was reluctant when I remembered that we were in public halfway through—but I’m still no match for his skill. He draws an orgasm out of me like a scarf from up his sleeve, just more and more and more through some magic I don’t understand. His cock is so big now, so close, my body is rigid with the tension. Even though it’s too much, I want it. I want him to stretch me out. To teach me. To fill me.

  I know when he spills into me. I feel his rhythm change, his breath change, and a rush of wet heat brims in my pussy. I could almost come again just knowing that he’s experiencing that same crushing pleasure inside me right now and my eyelids shut. Happy Thanksgiving to me.

  Chapter 5

  Rainier

  There’s a literal clusterfuck occurring all around us now, an alternate reality of faceless sex, but I can’t bear to part with the virginal, voluptuous brunette in the black sequined mask and no lipstick. She’s so raw and magnetic. As I slip out of her, the banquet hall clicks back into focus though, and I remember that we aren’t the only two people in the world, and we are expected to part ways now. Most couples do, anyway.

  But I don’t want to. She’s bowed in front of me, crumpled against this table, and I just savagely filled her. In all honesty, I lost control.