Make Me Forget (L)

(L) – This story contains strong language. 

 

This setting was almost something out of a dream.  The moonlight streamed in through the big windows, colliding with the golden glow from the single lamp I’d turned on.  I sat in this conjunction of blue and warm light, lazily playing the piano.  As a musician, I could no longer resist the draw of the beautiful baby grand sitting untouched in the sprawling living room.  So here I was, delighting in the soft, sweet notes as my fingers moved over the smooth keys.

At last I finished the song, and for one prolonged second, drank in the fading vibration of the strings inside the piano.

“That was beautiful.”

I jerked around at the voice and found Chris standing there, his suit jacket tossed aside, a subdued shadow in his eyes.

My mysterious husband, the powerful billionaire I’d been forced into marrying only three months ago, and with whom I had only once had a sexual encounter.  In the low, cozy light of the lamp, his usually brilliant gray eyes were dark, and I liked how the shadows accentuated his strong jaw and black eyebrows.  Despite my uncertainty about him, I still longed to get close to him.  That one time when he ravished me and then hurried away before I could even get my voice back remained burned into my memory, and I replayed it every day and night.

Feeling shy, I tried to smile.  “Thank you,” I responded, rising from the stool.  “I’m sorry, I should have asked you if it was okay to play.”

He breathed slowly and deliberately.  The sleeves of his white shirt were folded up, revealing his tanned, sinewy forearms, and his hands were in his pockets.  “No.  Actually, this is one of those times where it’s better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.”

I had to chuckle.  “I knew there were situations where that principle was useful.”  I took a step nearer to him.  “But what do you mean?”

“I mean that if you’d asked, I would have said no,” Chris replied.  His voice—strong, deep, achingly masculine—sent a flutter through my insides.  Yet the usual stentorian power of his voice was absent right now, replaced by a quiet gravity.  “That piano belonged to my wife, and it hasn’t been played since . . . ”  He paused.  “Since her death.”

Shock raised my brows and brought an exclamation of pain and pity to my lips.  “You… were married?”

He languidly rubbed his hair back from his forehead.  “For six months.  She was killed in a car accident.”

“I’m so, so sorry,” I breathed, compassion flooding me as all his aloofness suddenly made sense.  He was still grieving.  “I mean… I know words can’t change anything, but still, I am sorry.”

“It was over three years ago,” he explained.  “Having no one around to play… maybe it helped dull the pain.”

Sighing, I searched for something comforting to say.  “I haven’t experienced that exact kind of loss, but I have known pain.  Everyone does at some point.  In that way, I can understand a little bit.”

“I was in therapy for a while, but I stopped going.  Life just got hectic, and I was busy.  I guess I buried the pain,” he mused.

There were only a few feet between us, and I closed the space by placing a hand on his arm.  “Do you think… perhaps, hearing it played again could contribute to your healing?” I asked gently, gazing up into his eyes.

He held my gaze.  “Maybe.”

“Ah, I’m just… so sorry.  If I had known… I wouldn’t have been so heartless as to just come in here and play,” I said apologetically.

“No, no, it’s all right.  You’re… not upset?”

I tilted my head.  “About… ?”

“Well, finding out I was married before.”  Chris watched me.  “It was never mentioned in the arrangement.”

“I’m not upset,” I said honestly.  “As long as you’re not.”

His face relaxed.  “I’m not.  Hearing you play… it was so different from her style.  She was amazing, but so by-the-book.”  He smiled faintly.  “Take the music away, and she was stuck.  But you… Just now, it looked like you were perfectly at home.  Did you memorize the piece you were playing?”

“In a way,” I said with an abashed smile.  “I composed it.”

Chris looked at me with surprise.  “You’re a composer too?  So many things I don’t know about you.”

Hesitantly, I responded, “I’d have thought you knew everything about me, after all the checking you did.”

“I guess there were some things I didn’t think were important, and how wrong I was.”  The way he said it made me look up at him again, and I saw this intensity in his keen eyes.  “You’re so unlike any woman I’ve ever known,” he said softly.

I swallowed, that longing for him bubbling up in my deepest heart.  “I figured I wasn’t quite your type, especially since you’re surrounded by beautiful and successful women all the time.”

He moved a little closer to me, not touching me, just looking down at me.  “They might be beautiful and rich and popular, but they have zero heart, zero feeling.  You’re the first woman to actually give me a kind word about my wife’s passing.  With you… I don’t feel like I have to hide my pain behind this fake, uncaring front, out of fear that you’ll mock me for it.”

“I would never mock you,” I declared, meeting his eye.

He was breathing faster, and that alone raised my heartbeat.

“I believe that,” he husked out.  “Lara, you don’t know what feelings you stir up in me.  That one day… when you… when we…” he stammered, his breath catching.  “When I had you in my arms, I almost felt whole again.  You eased the pain.”

I felt tears in my eyes, which was a strange incongruity to my aroused body. He was inches from me, so close that I felt the heat from his chest and could see the pulse in his throat.

“Make me forget,” he pleaded hoarsely.

“Oh, Chris,” I whispered, and slipping my arms around his neck, I met his lips with mine.

The first contact with his mouth almost made me lightheaded.  In seconds, we were kissing passionately, the sounds of our eager moans so very needy.  His hands were all over my body, sliding up and down and pulling me flush against him.  I loved every tiny aspect of it—the strong, broad chest pressed against my torso, his quick breathing and heartbeat vibrating through me, his delicious hot mouth and tongue claiming me.

I held him, my fingers tangled in his black hair, my sighing gasps almost stifled by his masterful kisses.  The sensual sounds he made deep in his throat shot little stabs of pleasure into my core.  In moments, I sensed him hardening against my belly, and it filled me with hunger.  This man—this strong, swaggering, handsome, authoritative man—stood here in my arms, broken and searching, needing me.  I alone offered what he had been without for so long: love.

I pushed him to the sofa, and he sank back, taking me with him.  As my lips feverishly explored his mouth and jaw, I fumbled to unbutton his shirt.

“Chris, I’ve been aching to do this,” I whispered.  “I want to be with you.”

“You’re too amazing,” was his husky rejoinder.

Perhaps the situation was peculiar.  If he hadn’t been the decent gentleman I’d gotten to know over the past three months, or if my personality was colder or weaker, I might never have found myself doing this.  But in spite of the arranged marriage, which had come out of nowhere, there was a lot of promise in this relationship.  Not only had he won my trust and my confidence, but he was worthy, I believed, of my body.  Now my sexual nature took over, and I was determined to give him everything.

I was a horny wreck, having dreamed for countless nights about him claiming me.  Between kisses, I stripped him of his shirt, unbuckled and pulled off his belt, and pulled his slacks and boxers down.  He kicked his shoes away and peeled off his socks, then helped remove my skirt and sleeveless top.  When I sat there straddling him in only a skimpy beige bra and a blue thong, he swallowed hard, his chest heaving.  My heart raced, and my hips writhed as I looked at my naked husband.  I had to join my skin to his.  Quickly, I unhooked my bra and threw it aside, then lifted myself enough to slide my thong down.  My hands shook.

“Good God,” Chris whispered as I placed myself on his thighs again, our warm skin connecting.  “Lara… you’re fucking beautiful.”

That tender feeling swelled in my heart again, and I resumed kissing him.  I squirmed, realizing that his cock was beneath me.  When I dragged my moist, shaved vulva along his length, he groaned.

“I’m all yours, Chris,” I declared in his ear, humping him.  The friction was delightful on my clit.  “Let me show you my love.”

His hands landed firmly on my bare ass, and he squeezed the two peachy cheeks.

Finally, my starvation for him won out, and I found his dick with my hand and directed it to my pussy.  He half-choked as I eased him inside me.  It took some working, but I was leaking arousal and so ready to be filled.  The stretch was incredible.

Once I had him in me up to his balls, I began moving, rocking my hips gently, my hands on his shoulders.

“Oh my God, baby… you’re… so tight…” he gasped, his head falling back.

“You feel so wonderful inside me, so big and throbbing,” I murmured, finding it hard to talk while I concentrated on pleasuring him.

He growled and bent forward to suck my breast.  A little yelp of delight broke from me; his mouth was warm and wet on my tit, and I loved it.  He switched to the other, even daring to bite down on my nipple.  Then he lapped at it soothingly before I could register any pain.

I rode him more vigorously, the wetness building up between our joining crotches audible as we slapped against each other.  It was almost obscene, the way he gripped my hips and helped me move while I did things to his cock that he probably only ever dreamed about.

My brain flew back to the other time we made love—the first time.

 

**********

 

It had been about two weeks after we got married.  Although we were still practically strangers, we both recognized a clear sexual attraction to each other. One day, it culminated in an explosion of intimacy.

Chris had come home for lunch and found me baking in the kitchen.  Seeing him in his suit always turned me on, and maybe my shy, slightly flirtatious behavior drew him in.

I was washing pans while he ate lunch, when suddenly he got up and came over, spun me around, and kissed me roughly, muttering, “My sexy little bride, I can’t stay away from you anymore!”

Even if I could have fought him, I didn’t want to.  I kissed him back, and that made him feral.  He shoved my leggings down, lifted me onto the counter, and proceeded to lick and devour my cunt like it was his last meal on earth.  The pleasure overpowered me, and I moaned his name.

Then he stood up, undid his belt, pulled his erect dick out of his dress pants, and slid into me deliberately.  I screamed, grabbing his shirt.  We fucked each other hard, passionately, needing to feel oneness.  Yes, it was an arranged marriage, but I was a romantic girl who still wanted a honeymoon, a wedding night.  Maybe this was it.

He pounded me, looking deeply into my eyes, his thumb working my clit.  His cock slid over my G-spot again and again until I felt close to passing out.  With a wordless cry, I orgasmed and creamed his cock while he shook, cursed, and shot his load deep inside me.

Slowly, our passion ebbed out, and we breathed together.  I felt his breath on my neck as he slipped out of me.  Then, he kissed me again, much more gently this time, set me on my feet, buckled his belt and tucked in his shirt, and left without a word.

 

**********

 

Now here we were, making love for the second time ever, and my heart felt at peace.  It had taken time, but Chris had opened up and revealed he needed me.  I needed him too.  His protection and kindness had done much for me, rescuing me from a dysfunctional home.  As I rode him and gazed into his eyes, I felt such love for him.

Abruptly, Chris stopped me, his hands heavy on my ass.  “I want you in my bed,” he said softly.  “For good.  Can I take you there?”

We’d been occupying separate rooms, so this invitation filled me with joy.  Nodding, I sniffled and kissed him.  “Oh yes, yes, darling.”

Being much taller than me and muscular, Chris had little trouble standing up while carrying me.  His dick remained inside me, my legs tight around his hips, as he walked to the master bedroom.  Carefully, he lay me down and stretched his manly body over me.  I adjusted to the new angle, trembling when he moved a bit, and he sharply teased my G-spot.  He kissed me deeply, luxuriously, not thrusting yet, just soaking in the union of our bodies.

I caressed his damp hair, which fell wildly over his forehead.  “My husband,” I murmured.

“My wife,” he rejoined, tone deep.  “Are you willing to make this marriage real?  Can you bear with a man who is still figuring out how to be gentle and love again?”

Moved, I touched his face.  “If you will let me into your heart and believe that I meant every word of my vows to you, then yes.”

“Oh, Lara…” and he inhaled and kissed me again.  His hips started to rock, and his cock, buried in me to the hilt, churned up the deepest spots of pleasure in my being.

“Oh God, Chris!  It feels so good!” I burst out.

He grunted.  “I’m going to devote my life to fucking you and making you feel good,” he promised.

“But… I wanted to pleasure you,” I objected, trying to grin coyly.

“You are,” he declared, his eyes glimmering with passion.  “Wanting me and being with me… that’s what I need.  You’re healing me, Lara.  Damn it, the way you look at me is enough to make me want to lose it.”

“Then lose it,” I pleaded.  “Empty your heart of all the pain.  Chris, I want to share it all with you.”

He gasped, his face contorting in a strange combination of gratitude and torture, and I saw tears in his eyes.

“You were sent to help me, I know it,” he whispered unsteadily.

I pulled his head down and kissed him, tasting his tears and his subdued sobs.  My own eyes filled again as he shared with me the deepest parts of his soul.  Through it, our bodies never stopped moving.  He seemed desperate to be one with me, and I welcomed it.  How long I’d yearned for the same thing!

Finally, he grew calmer.  “Thank you,” he said, his voice cracking.

I smiled tenderly, then reached around with both hands and gripped his flexing ass.  “You haven’t let it all out yet,” I observed between breaths.

He looked perplexed, then his eye gleamed.  “You dirty girl,” he growled, his thrusts a little more energetic.  “So you want me to empty all of myself into you?”

“All of it,” I encouraged, one hand darting to my clit.  “Every drop of your essence!”

“It will be my honor,” and he joined his hand to mine on my clit and rammed me incessantly.

His dick was perfectly angled on my G-spot, and I felt an orgasm rushing in like a runaway train.  “Chris!” I cried, coming undone as he took me.

“Yes, Lara, baby!  Cum for me!  I want to cum with you!” he grunted, pounding me.

His voice, his thick manhood sliding in and out of me, his heavy masculine body on mine—it sent me over.  While the breath was pulled out of my body and my pelvic muscles clenched uncontrollably around him, I felt Chris tense up.  I remembered to breathe, enjoying the wetness dripping from my battered pussy, and listened in delight to Chris as he roared and released his cum inside me.  I felt him pulsing, and I held onto him as our most intimate parts throbbed together in mutual pleasure.

We fought for breath, smiling gently into each other’s eyes, conscious of our sweaty skin bonding us even closer.  Chris didn’t get off of me, but nuzzled my jaw and neck and softly kissed my lips again and again.  We didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just lay there, tangled together, our mingled ejaculate a testament of our love.

Chris smoothed my messy hair.  “You’ve done something better than just helping me forget,” he whispered.  “I’ve known lots of women since my wife died, even had some relationships.  But not one of them ever cared for the real me.  They wanted whatever they could get out of me—money, usually, and a few were bold enough to tell me they wanted to sleep with me, though I never did.  Yet here you are, kind, gentle, demanding nothing of me, and actually seeing me as a person.”

“Because you are a person—a wonderful, noble, unselfish man who is worthy of love,” I said earnestly.  “You may be a very wealthy and very influential man, but you have emotions just like everyone else.  I’m sorry that others have ignored that and not tried to understand you more deeply.”

“Then you still want to be with me, even though it might take some time to work through my feelings for my first wife?”

I inhaled and exhaled slowly.  “Do you want me to be with you?” I inquired, looking him right in the eye.

He raised my hand to kiss my palm and looked at me again.  “Yes.”  He paused, a little glint in his eye.  “I wouldn’t have fucked any woman I didn’t intend to keep with me and cherish with all I have.”

I smiled, my heart light.  “Then, yes, Chris.  I’m staying, and I’ll love and cherish you just as much.”

A smile lit his face too, and he kissed me again with the ardor I had so long dreamed of.