the pearl


Aisha pushes him down onto the bed, straddling his hips with those long toned thighs, and Clay knows he could just pull down her panties and thrust up into that hot sweetness, but that'd put her completely in charge.

And that just ain't gonna happen tonight.

He slides his hands up her thighs to her waist, then slides them up further to cup her breasts, thumbs stroking her nipples through the thin fabric of her camisole. She makes a noise deep in her throat and tips her head back, eyes closed, back arching to get more of her body against Clay's hands. Her hips thrust downwards, pressing against Clay, and he thrusts upwards in kind, pushing his semi-hard cock up against that gorgeous heat he can feel through layers of clothing.

He slips his hands down just far enough to reach the edge of the camisole and starts to pull it up slowly, keeping his fingers on her body even as he pulls it up. She reaches down, her hands tracing over his, and pulls the shirt up and off, letting it fall on the bed even as she leans forward just enough to tease him with her breasts — so close to his mouth, yet not close enough.

He growls at this — an actual growl — and surges upwards, grabbing her shoulders and rolling over, pulling her down onto the bed and underneath him. Her breasts press against his chest and he knows he's wearing way too many clothes, but it's just a little more power he has over her — just a tiny bit more.

She spreads her legs and wraps them around his waist, her hands deftly unbuttoning his shirt. "C'mon, Clay," she says, her voice almost a purr. She slips one hand into his shirt and runs her fingers through his chest hair. "Come on..."

He laughs and pulls away her hands, pulling them above her head, holding them in place with one hand. "Wait..." he murmurs, leaning down to kiss her, roughly, sloppily, all spit and lust. His other hand holds her hip, and he hooks his thumb into the waistband of her panties, dragging them down as far as he can.

"C'mon, Aisha..." he says in a rough masculine imitation of her words. "Let me taste you."

Aisha actually bites her lip and shivers a little at that, and her legs drop to the bed, spreading even wider.

He grins and kisses her again, another filthy rough kiss, then starts making his way down her body, sucking and biting his way down, rubbing his face against her skin in order to get more of that gorgeous, intoxicating scent that only the most dangerous women have. Like blood and fire and gunsmoke and sheer raw power

He pulls down her panties quickly, nearly snapping the elastic band, and spreads her legs wide, looking down at her like he's gone for years without a woman, rather than just a few days. He glances up to her face, and grins when he sees not embarrassment or anything remotely resembling shame, but lust sparking in her eyes and an impatient furrow to her eyebrows. C'mon, Clay, he can see in that frustration. Come on.

He slides down on the bed and holds her open with one hand, stopping to look again just before leaning in to give one long lick upwards, tongue flicking at her clit. She groans and bucks her hips up against his mouth, her hands running through Clay's hair.

He dips back down, tasting her sweetness, then slowly licks his way upwards, teasing her clit over and over.

He knows that, soon she'll be whimpering for him to fuck her, soon he'll be sliding into her, soon she'll be hot and wet and tight around him, but, for right now...

C'mon, Aisha, he thinks. Come all over me.

This The Losers story was written by Kate Bolin. If you liked it, there's plenty more at And you can feedback her at