Kennick:A Volanis Brothers Novel

By: Meg Jackson


The August of 1981 was one of the hottest, wettest months Kingdom had ever seen, though it didn’t surprise anyone. The last days of July had been so muggy and humid that precipitation clung to you the moment you stepped outside, and everything seemed to be covered in the same glistening sheen of anticipation.

The month of August came on a great roiling thundercloud that stayed for a week before finally lightening to a persistent drizzle. It was only when the third week of summer’s last month arrived that there was any respite – and it was a glorious respite, the full bloom of the sun tempered by the drier air, the sky blue and blue endlessly through all the long days, and star-strewn through the short nights.

It was on one of those brilliantly canopied nights that Pieter and Rhonda managed to meet once more, under that sky so full of stars that the stream, running thick as a river, was bathed in a cold, gracious light. His mouth was soft and warm, his half-clothed body was pressed against hers, their hands were entwined above their heads.

With the air still warm, she didn’t shiver when he pulled her dress away from her softly undulating body, her hips moving up and down against his, her thighs parting so he could slip between them, the cold zipper of his pants the only chill, the only obstacle between two willing bodies. His mouth moved down her neck, licking each inch tenderly, tasting the soft heat of her, his hands moving to her breasts and cupping one gently, then firmly as he thrust against her, wanting to bring her close, so close, before entering her.

She moaned into his ear, her hand finding the top of his jeans and pulling uselessly down, their position giving him all the advantage, all the control. Smiling against her flesh, he felt her need for him, the words she couldn’t say out of modesty – I need you, I want you, please, come inside me…

Instead of yielding to these unspoken pleas, though, he teased her more, moving downwards until his mouth closed over one small, hard nipple, her back arching upward. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see where her fist grabbed at the grass and dirt just outside the blanket, next to his discarded shirt; his lower stomach pressed against the heat of her sex. She was wet for him, he could feel her against his bare flesh, his own manhood churning with impatience. But he wasn’t ready to enter her yet.

No, first he wanted to taste her other breast, suck her sweet bud into his mouth and feel each mound from underneath, cupping his hands around their soft bottoms and lifting, moving his mouth away only to graze her nipples with his thumbs.

“Pieter,” she moaned his name, the most she would ever say. His woman, his oh-so-unexpected woman, was shy, even now, after they’d showed each other everything, all their scars and all their most beautiful parts. Her thighs were tightening around his chest, her hips thrusting, and he moved downward further, covering her stomach with kisses, hearing the battery-hum buzz of her body under his tongue, until he was between her legs, his hands tracing up and down her thighs, milky white in the moonlight.

And the taste of her was so sweet in his mouth, her tender sex spread wide for him to lap at every inch, catch every drop of her desire on his tongue. He closed his lips around her hard clit, sucking it in until her hands buried themselves in his hair and she was pressing him forward, demanding her release, his tongue flicking out to provide it.

Her thighs closed around his ears and all he could hear were her distant moans, the blood that pumped through her faster and faster as she pulled him harder and harder, his tongue rolling across her tenderness, circling it and flicking upwards, and then rolling once more, again, again, until she was bucking against him, her nectar warm on his chin, her thighs rigid and her hips straining bolt upright.

Only then did he make quick work of that zipper, releasing himself, hard and throbbing with need for her, and pulling himself up buried his nose in the small of her neck as she opened for him again, still gasping from her orgasm as he filled her, feeling her pussy contract and stretch to fit him, massaging every inch of his cock as he plunged it into her.

“Oh, baby,” he moaned into her, unable to hold back as her hips moved with him, her slit wet and sucking him in with each thrust, harder and harder, his hands wrapped around her tightening, wanting her to swallow him whole as he came, bursting inside her, the sensation driving her over the edge once more so that they came together, her pussy milking each drop of cum from his cock.

When it was over, he stayed inside her, the feeling of her radiating heat around his wilting cock the perfect ending. Slipping out at last, he rolled over and they lay, breathless, staring up at the sky and the endless stars. He reached out in the dark, taking her hand in his.

“Pieter,” she said, and the tone of her voice startled him from his near-dozing state. It was strained, worried, anxious. Not at all the tone he’d expect from Rhonda after one of their toe-curling encounters. Usually, after, she was dreamy and thick-lipped, cooing in his arms.

Now, he raised himself on one elbow. Her face told him even more than her voice; her dark chocolate eyes were narrowed under worried brows, mouth screwed up in fear. Instinctively, he brushed his hand through her hair, holding the back of her head.

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