Page 42 of Beautiful Savage
He opens the garden door, and we step outside.
The moonlight hits everything at once. The bougainvillea climbing the stucco wall, deep magenta turned silver-purple in this light. The jasmine vine on the western wall, its perfume thick in the humid air. A citrus tree in the corner, leaves dusty but catching light. The stone bench at the garden's center, old and weathered, the kind that's held countless conversations and silences.
This is the garden my father painted. The one in that watercolor hung above Gunner's bed.
I'm about to fuck in the intersection of my father's art and Gunner's family territory. The thought makes my pussy throb with urgent need.
I cross to where he stands near the door. My hands find his face, pulling him down to kiss me. His lips are warm, responsive. The kiss shifts quickly from greeting to intent. His tongue claims my mouth. I moan softly against him.
My hands go to the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head. Moonlight transforms his body into something classical. Marble and shadow. Each scar darker in this light. Each line of muscle more defined. I can see his cock straining against his jeans now. The outline makes my mouth water. I work his jeans open, slide them down. He springs free, already thick and hard. The head glistening with precum in the moonlight. He steps out of the jeans.
He's naked in the garden. I can finally see all of him in this silver light. His cock juts out proudly, thick and long. A bead of moisture at the tip that I want to taste. The bullet wound at his ribs speaks of a moment he should have died but didn't. His knuckles, crosshatched with white lines, tell stories of fights won and lost.
Each one is a thing he survived. My mind flashes briefly to what a hardware store owner's body must be. Smooth, undamaged, unmarked by anything harder than manual labor. Gunner's body tells stories of violence survived, of a life that's extracted payment in flesh. The scars make him real in a way unmarked skin never could.
His hands find my shirt. His shirt. And lift it over my head. My nipples immediately harden in the night air, tight and aching. My underwear follows. He groans softly at the sight of how wet they are. We stand naked in moonlight, completely visible to anyone who might look down from those windows. His cock twitches at the sight of me.
I've spent a lifetime covering myself in Pristine. Wrap skirts and modest necklines. The costume of a woman who doesn't want to be noticed for the wrong reasons. Tonight I'm naked and dripping wet in a garden where his entire found family could witness me.
I kiss him again, deeper this time. Feel his cock pulse against my stomach, leaving a wet trail on my skin.
I walk him backward until his back hits the stucco wall. The bougainvillea cascades above his head. My mouth moves from his lips to his chest, kissing each scar like a benediction. The shoulder first. My tongue traces the ragged edge while my hand wraps around his cock, feeling it jump at my touch. Then the bullet wound at his ribs, perfectly round. I sink lower, kissing down his abs. They contract under my mouth.
My hand strokes his cock. The weight of it. The heat. The way it pulses with each heartbeat. I want to take him in my mouth. Want to taste the salt of him. But he catches my wrist before I can drop to my knees. The discipline that won't let him finish before me, even now.
He turns us, pressing my back against the rough stucco. The texture scratches my skin, grounding me. I know I'll have marks tomorrow. Then he's dropping to his knees in front of me.
"Fuck," I gasp as his mouth finds me already soaked.
His tongue works deliberately, focused, devastating. He licks from my entrance to my clit in long strokes that make my knees weak. Then focuses on that sensitive bundle with perfect pressure. His hands grip my hips. Hold me against the wall as my knees threaten to buckle.
"Your pussy tastes so fucking good," he growls against me. The vibration makes me cry out.
I look down at his face between my thighs. Moonlight catches his cheekbones, his eyes closed in concentration. Behind him, the garden spreads out empty and silver. Above us, theresidential windows. Adrian's apartment. The staff rooms. Any of them could look out and see me splayed against this wall with Gunner on his knees. Could witness exactly what he's doing to me.
The thought doesn't make me want to hide. In Pristine, I was the appropriate version of myself. Invisible, modest, never displaying hunger. That woman would be horrified by being this exposed.
But I'm choosing visibility now. Choosing to be seen like this. Pussy dripping, completely naked and wanting. The risk of being seen doesn't diminish my arousal. It amplifies it.
His tongue finds exactly the right spot, circling my clit with perfect pressure. I shatter. "Oh fuck, Gunner, yes!" My orgasm rolls through me in waves while I stare up at the moon. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him harder against my pussy. The garden is silent except for my ragged breathing and the obscene wet sounds of him licking me through the aftershocks.
He stays with me through it. His mouth gentle now, until my grip on his hair loosens.
I pull him to his feet. Kiss him deeply, tasting myself on his mouth. Then lead him to the bench at the garden's center. His cock bobs heavily as he walks. The old stone is smooth under my palms, worn by years of sitting. I push him down to sit. Then climb onto his lap, facing him. My knees on either side of his hips.
His cock presses against my entrance. Hot and hard and perfect. I'm so wet that I coat him immediately.
"Mine," I whisper. Not asking but claiming.
His answer isn't words. His hands find my hips and pull me down onto him.
I position myself. Then lower with deliberate slowness, savoring the stretch as his thick cock fills me. The fullnessis almost too much, the burn perfect. We both exhale at the connection.
His head drops back. "Christ," he breathes.
I start to move. Riding him with slow rolls of my hips that make us both gasp. His cock hits deep, pressing against that spot inside that makes me see stars. The bench creaks softly under us. For the first time during sex, I'm above him. Looking down at his face. The angle changes everything. I can see every micro-expression. Every flutter of his eyelids when I clench around him.
I increase my pace. Watch his jaw tighten.
