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Beneath The Skin

By´╝ÜDaryl Banner

~ Daryl

BRANT

They call me a player, but really I’m a lover.

I fall in love seven days a week.

Give me a few minutes and I’ll charm my way into any woman’s heart. Give me a few hours and I’ll have her flat on her back, headboard dented, panties on the lampshade, and begging for more—guaranteed. It’s all a game, and when I play, everyone wins.

Until the day I’m knocked off my feet by Nell, the bangin’ chick with the killer bod from the art school.

No, it isn’t some love-at-first-sight kind of thing. In fact, I hate how she looks at me with those sharp, gorgeous eyes and suddenly I’m tripping over my feet, my swagger lost. With just a flick of her long, dark hair, she deflects all my advances. She doesn’t laugh at my jokes. She makes me feel like I’m the joke. She’s playing the same game I do, but all the rules are different—and not in my favor.

What is it about this woman that drives me crazy?

I want to slip beneath her skin the way she’s so deftly slipped beneath mine.

Now, she’s got her hands on a new art project.

I’d rather she had them on me.


BRANT


Every chick who passes through my bed, I love her so hard.

So, so, so hard.

“You look pretty today,” I would tell the girl straddling me … if only her hand gripping my neck let up any.

“Harder!” she cries out, her hair thrashing everywhere as she twists and writhes atop me as if some ancient sex demon were possessing her. I’d happily take credit for her otherworldly pleasure if I thought I had anything to do with it. This crazy chick’s in another dimension.

“I can’t breathe,” I try to tell her through the chokehold.

“Oh, God, I’m so close,” she moans for the eighth time since she ripped off my favorite shirt—which I will mourn later—and threw me onto the cold, tiled floor of the art studio. If it weren’t for the privacy screen we’re behind, we’d be in full view of the empty studio, which I’m pretty sure is about to hold a class in less than ten minutes.

It’s okay; I’ve handled worse time constraints. “Keep it down,” I rasp through her clenching hands. “Someone will hear—”

“Harder!” she commands anyway. This crazy woman has the brute strength of a she-monster with eight vaginas.

Am I fucking her, or is she fucking me?

But I’m not one to back down from a challenge, even if I’m being slowly strangled to death. I make do, gripping her hips and performing a series of thrusts that beat any ab workout I’ve ever done. I’m getting close, too. I don’t know what the hell kind of flying horny mantis yoga position we’re in, but this shit’s not for beginners. Seriously, I think I’ve already herniated my spine in three places.

“Oh, GOD! Brian! Oh, Brian, fuck!”

“It’s Brant,” I choke out.

When she comes, her grip on my throat tightens so much, I feel veins popping, and tears of exasperation flood my eyes. And as my face becomes a roadmap for the blind, the woman emits an inhuman shriek (of pleasure, I hope?) that might have just rattled the privacy screen and made every nearby brush quiver in its jar.

We just exorcised a demon here.

“Thank you,” she murmurs vaguely, eyes closed. Then she mercifully lets go of my throat and I suck in my first breath in an hour. “Oh, that was so good. That was so, so, so good.”

I’m still moving my hips, trying to get myself there now that I have a supply of oxygen to my brain. “I’m pretty close myself.”

“So, so good,” she finishes, then slides off my body.

My hard, wrapped cock pops out of her, wagging desperately in the open air. “Baby … You’re not gonna leave me hangin’ here, are you?”

“It’s just that this class is about to start, and I need to be down the hall for my own,” she complains after giving her phone a smirk. “Fuck, I’m gonna be late, too.”

She slips on her top, but only pulls up her jeans halfway before I’m at her back, gently running a finger down her arm.

“You gonna be so cruel to me, sweet thing?” I murmur in her ear, feeling her arm prickle at my touch. “My big guy’s feelin’ all left out. Don’t you want him to cross the finish line too? Hear the whistles and the roar of the crowd?”

“We’re about to hear the roar of a classroom.”

“My big guy’s still excited to see you,” I point out, poking her with it.

She giggles, then peers down, as if needing to check. Yeah, all eight inches of my “excitement” are pressed firmly against her thigh. I can see her eyes counting them.

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