The Brilliance Bomb Ch. 01byStory_Spinner©
A special thank you to my partner in crime in this story - will_4_rp. You've been a 'brilliant' partner. :)
Lyla lay in the cool darkness of her bedroom, unable to sleep for the umpteenth time in months. She was tired, but even the comforting weight of her husband's warm arm did little to sooth her frazzled nerves and running mind. Something was... off. Maybe it was her. With a soft sigh she gently wiggled away from Matt's heavy arm and rolled onto her side. Frustration welled up inside her. By all accounts, she should be blissfully happy.
Yesterday had marked her seven years of marriage to her high school sweetheart. They had met after she had transferred her junior year and instantly connected. The rest was history. After two wonderful years of dating, Matt had proposed after graduation and they had taken the leap into married life. While everyone had scoffed that things wouldn't last, they had managed to remain together happily through college, both working to afford their little apartment. No kids busied their lives, both agreeing that, for now, they wanted to be financially secure. So it wasn't the stress of motherhood, she was happily employed, and happy too with Matt's progress as a construction foreman. But in the last few months, Lyla had felt increasingly frustrated and confused. Sex, which had always been better than nice, and sometimes quite brilliant, was now usually passable at best. Not for Matt's lack of trying, which made her feel horrible. How could she enjoy sex, however, with the "dark cloud", as she thought of it, beginning to gather around them.
Matt's dizzying rise at work had occurred alongside a tide of new contracts for his firm, subcontracted out from major players and home and abroad. And so it had come to pass: he was to work overseas, and scheduled to leave the following morning. For Iraq.
The argument that followed after they had first received the news hadn't been pretty. But it was nothing compared to the ugliness with which her imagination, in the weeks since the announcement, had been terrorizing her. Lyla was worried sick—some days quite literally. Matt had tried to sooth her frazzled nerves, of course. He'd assured her he would be fine; the work was all in the lushest forest of the Green Zone; it would mean a staggering injection of money for their savings; it would mean kids. But in Lyla's mind, the risks didn't outweigh the benefits and she resented him for not taking into consideration her feelings.
Yet the cloud had other origins too. Deeper, darker. Iraq had given it focus and intensity. But she knew. It was now just part of all that was off kilter in her life.
With a heavy sigh, she turned onto her side and gazed at his handsome sleeping face, his dark brown hair rumpled and sticking this way and that in the most adorable way. She reached out to ruffle it and almost stopped herself. His classic square and lean features relaxed in sleep, nose a bit too sharp a precipice, but dashing nonetheless. Still young, and working construction, his body was lean and strong, often catching the eye of other women. And she couldn't blame them. Her husband was something of a hunk. It must be in the genes. That handsome mug was duplicated, in an older, xeroxed, pre-digital copy, in his older brother Michael.
Michael...She tousled Matt's hair. Usually single, not eager to mingle, quiet, considered, more socially reserved—or so she imagined. He'd moved away shortly after she'd fallen hard for Matt. Something Michael, of course, had been implicated in. Perhaps he had even orchestrated it. And now they saw little of him, and heard mere whispers—driven, accomplished, successful, her mother in law dropped hints subtle enough to break the tiled floor of the kitchen, ever failing to annoy the hell out of Matt. Was he going to Iraq to show he could be successful too? Lyla shuddered.
Tousling again, she watched Matt's eyes slowly lift, bleary with sleep. He smiled sweetly at her, his arm returning to pull her soft, curving form against his lean, hard planes. "Hey, babe..."
She forced on a smile and touched his forehead gently, toying with his hair still and drawing out a low rumble of appreciation. "Shhhh... go back to sleep," she murmured softly.
Nuzzling the side of her neck, he shifted his big body and pressed his lips to her skin, sending a ripple of pleasure down her neck. She closed her eyes and relished the sweet, painful feeling, her heart aching. Her voice breaking: "You should be sleeping..."
She slid both hands through his hair and tugged at his hair until he lifted his face to gaze into her own. His lips came down softly against her mouth, just a feathered brush. "Lyla... I'll be back. I promise you, I will. So soon. You'll hardly have time to miss me." He assured her again, and again. Her eyes stung as tears threatened to spill.
Tilting her head back, she sniffed softly and swallowed hard. She didn't want to fight, and so she said nothing. Sensing her struggle, Matt dipped down and kissed her cheeks and nose, then back down to her lips, pressing more firmly until she opened up to him and, unconsciously, moaned. His body tightened in response. His sweet little Lyla. A girl's face, a woman's curves. Her silky skin arched beneath him, brushing his chest, her tongue stroking his own. A lone, silent tear broke free and traced the softness of her face, glittering in the near dark. He brushed it away. "I love you," he murmured, thickly, and she smiled at him, her slender throat working to control the welling of emotions.
"I love you too. Even if you are a stubborn ass," she forced herself to joke.
His smiled flashed, and then, in the darkness, she was lost to another of his kisses. Clinging to him, she pressed close, rubbing everything she could muster against him. Her thighs shifted to cradle his body against her own, opening, wrapping her legs around him, meeting the slow grind of his hips with circles of her own, her long t-shirt riding up, his naked body burning like kindling in a fire. "Make love to me, Matt," she breathed, terrified.
Terrified that somewhere between her own messed up feelings and this trip, she was going to lose him, and however it happened, it would somehow be her fault.
Matt was not the kind of man you had to ask twice for a fuck. One minute, he was lying there, sucked into sleep, and dreaming of running through the fields with the family dog, aged 9, beside his brother, overtaking him in the race for the finish. What was that dog's name? The next, his weeping wife had woken him up. He needed sleep, but the unbidden erection under the covers begged to differ. The huge journey tomorrow would be arduous, even with so much free booze on the company tab to keep the boys happy for the duration. And yet... The sight of Lyla crying, and – if he was honest – the curve of her sweet, perky breasts pressing through the thin fabric of her baggy bedtime t-shirt were all he needed by way of encouragement. His cock was saying yes before he'd even left the golden fields of his dream.
"OK," he thought, "And as I'm going away, here's one to remember."
Moving fast, he pinned her arms on either side of her head, and rolled onto her, knocking her halting breath out of her. He used one hand to grip her wrists together, kissing down her face to lick up the tears, then sucking at her neck and the panting hollow of her throat. His other hand, work-rough and powerful, slid hard down her torso between her breasts, then bunched the hem of her t-shirt and yanked it up between them, hard, exposing her to the moonlight creeping around the edge of their ill-fitting drapes. Now she gasped, arching her back, and he dove in to suck eagerly at the long, pink nipples extending from each solid mound. Meanwhile, his stiff, rough fingertips slid down across her belly, into the tropical space between her legs, and up to the short, abrasive fuzz of her slit, now stretched wide by his quarterback's thighs.
This time she did more than just yelp. Crushing her gasping mouth with his lips to absorb her delighted shock, he propelled his index finger deep into her soaking hole. He smiled: she was so fucking wet. Ever the teenage boy, this detail of their love-making – her body's desperate need, which he always assumed was for him and him alone – never ceased to give him a cheap but potent thrill. He moved his hand 90 degrees right as it slid in and out with some force, then 180 degrees the other way, there and back, there and back, like a key in a sticky ignition, before coming back to the middle and where he'd begun. Now he slid his middle finger in too, and used the pair to make their favorite bedtime gesture – come here, come here, they beckoned her. Come...
He rubbed his cock, by now fiercely hard and bursting to fill her in one pumping move, firmly against her leg and mound, wetting itself on her flooding juices as she bucked against his fist. All the while he bit and sucked at her lips, her painfully stiff nipples, her bare, blushing neck...
"Come here, come here," he teased her as his fingers flickered faster inside, right in the spot she loved best. He felt her widening inside, felt her ballooning open to receive him.
Lyla now desperate, her hands grappling free – of course, he let them – and racing down for his cock, locking on, rubbing it one above the other on its thick, oh-so-fucking-satisfying length, and pulling him in towards his pumping fingers, to take their place.
"Matt, oh baby, I'm... oh God... I'm... I'm..."
Lyla was often overwhelmed by that force of Matt's passion. And tonight, it was just what she needed. She needed to be overwhelmed, to be taken, to be his. He was doing just that, showing her how much he wanted her supple feminine body. Her soft skin, the curves he enjoyed so much, from her tits, to the dip of her waist, rounded hips and tight, heart shaped bottom.
She squirmed and bucked against him as he played his signature move, one which he had perfected over the years that never failed to drive her to edge in little to no time. His mouth and hot breath against her skin were driving her wild and as she struggled to free herself, she felt herself teetering on the edge of oblivion. That maddening throbbing ache between her slick thighs was building to a crescendo. She gasped and pulled him closer, her nails sinking into his back.
A shudder worked it's way down her body as her hips jacked up off the bed, words beginning to slip past her lips with little thought and all feeling. "Matt, oh baby, I'm... oh God... I'm... I'm..." She gasped and dug her shoulders into the bed, arching up and shoving her chest against his as the first contractions of her orgasm stole her breath away. "Yeeeess!" She hissed, just as the blunt head of his cock quickly replaced his fingers.
She cried out, moving under him in the throws of passion as he grabbed a hold of her thighs and pushed them up and out. His name burst past her lips, her nails racked up his back as his hips thrust forward and every inch of his delicious length filled and stretched her out. "OH!" She yelped, her spasming pussy milking every sweet inch, making him grunt and moan.
Matt felt calm. Sometimes, playing football, it had been like this: everywhere around him, a turmoil of flesh, activity, the ecstasy of physicality. But as he considered his move, made his play, everyone else was muted, once removed from the action. He, meanwhile, slipped effortlessly between their semi-frozen forms, pure thought, seeing the plays, feeling the possibilities. As Lyla came, her muscles gripping him over and over, he assumed control of his body. He could have just made his play right there. Scored the perfect touchdown. But for Matt, there was always a better play to be made. At least, that was always his plan.
Keeping her impaled, he brought his knees up, and pulled her a little closer and higher toward him, so he was kneeling in front of her spread-eagled form. His arms, sinewy and hard, supported him with no effort as he watched Lyla, still writhing. The muscles in her tummy were undulating like a belly dancer, her body only now beginning to be wracked less fiercely by her early orgasm. Tears streamed from her eyes, which now opened again to look up into his. If Matt had been brighter, he might have recognized that this was the first time she'd been quite this captivated and electrified in a long, long time. But Matt was a man of deeds, not reflection. A man of action.
Supporting himself on just one arm, he moved the strand of hair that was playing in her eyes back behind her ear, and as he did so she turned her face sharply to follow his fingers, catching her own scent He smiled, and allowed her to suck greedily on their sticky thickness, as she began to squirm again.
Slowly, so slowly, he withdrew his not inconsiderable cock until just the fat, bullet-shaped tip was inside her, threatening, given their bodily angle, to ping out of her with a shower of her juice. But he held it there, enjoying the sight of its lurid bulge just within her burning, tight hole, and began to move his hips, just an inch or two forwards and back, teasingly slowly. His other hand, meanwhile, trickled down the other side of her face and then, player with her breasts, stopped each from jittering with the fast, regular movements they'd been making by holding a nipple firmly and lifting it slightly, then letting it all fall back. She bit him as he did so, and moaned dark sounds into his other palm, so he knew she was just where he wanted her.
He did this 24 times. Always 24 times, 24 feints, and then – pow – his whole length, plunging into her with violence and power that made her back arch and her mouth open in a scream that couldn't come out because the air had left her body already. And then carefully back out again, slowly, as her body rested, unable to relax to quite the same extent, and he began the process again. But this time, to just 23 little thrusts, and when he struck, it was with two of the slow, agonizing movements, and between them, when sunk inside her, he circled his hips, screwing her the way the name entails, churning her up like a thick, exotic cream, before striking again.
Sex by equation. It should be the opposite of sexy, but to Matt, it was sex. Not that Lyla was complaining. As he moved quickly again, she clutched at the sheets to bear down on him, matching his short stabbing thrusts with pelvic movements of her own; and then when he took her fully three times, she opened her legs and hips as widely as they'd go, allowing gravity to pull them far from home, and moving with him, in contrary motion, intensifying every last circle, breathing his name, his sharp, dirty scent, and grinding out their love.
But she knew how to subvert the game too: Lyla had moves of her own. Matt never made it to anything more than a High School reserve quarterback, and the reason for this had been that he'd lacked the concentration and commitment to follow through on his instincts through disciplined preparation. If he'd worked through all of the permutations, God only knew what Lyla would have experienced. A burst of pure brilliance, perhaps. But before that could occur, in the sack at least, he'd begin to lose control, and the slow, delicious plunges would become more frantic. Lyla's eyes opened, as he moved down through the upper teens of the fuck, seeing the strain on Matt's face as he tried not to let it all go as he screwed her deeply into the mattress again, sweat dripping from his hair into their slickened, interlocking parts.
She smiled coyly up at him, but knowingly too. Time to intercept. She knew where to touch him, and how to move, to short-circuit the night to the conclusion she knew - as she began to tighten inside yet again - she so desperately needed.
Lyla was lost in their perfect moment. It hadn't happened in so long she had almost forgotten how good they were together. While not perfect, it had always been enough to made her heart swell with love and body sing with pleasure. His trained look turned her on further, because know the power was in her hands.
Over the years she had learned some of triggers and it never failed to draw a deep sense of satisfaction from her. With her coy little smile, she lifted her legs up and wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him down. Their bodies slapped together as he pressed his face to her neck and let out a soft growl. She purred, panting as she tightened herself all around him and squeezed him with her thighs, slowing his motions and running her tongue across the slick salty skin of his neck.
He strained to above her, fighting against her hold, which in reality he could easily break, but was lost in the sweet sensation of her velvety wet walls gripping him so tightly. "Is it good?" She breathed into his hear, tilting her face to suck on his earlobe, her breath tickling his skin. "You like my tight pussy holding you Matty? Tell me you love it baby." She purred, earning her a grunt as his big hands slid down her sides and gripped her tightly.
Using his hips as leverage, she bore down him with her own sure movement, impaling herself and grinding her clit against him with each gyration. Her nipples poked into his chest, moving back and forth, slick with sweat. She wanted to tweak his nipples, run her mouth over them and truly tease him, but knew she was right there with him. "I love you baby." She whimpered, his hot breaths making her quiver,
"Uh huh...right there Matt!" She urged him on, her nails raking down his back as she felt him harder and pulse within her. Her own spasms began, the sweet little inner flex deep inside as she eased and relaxed her hips and let him go. He took over again, bucking against her, his breath hissing out, loud moans followed by his body tensing against her own. She struggled to breath as he worked her hard and felt herself tumbling right over with him. Her name burst past his lips, a hand fisting her hair as he pulled her tight to him and filled her, spurting deep into her again and again.
Moments later, his great body sagged against hers just as her legs hit the bed and slid down. She hugged him close a moment before her rolled, easing his weight off her smaller frame. She breathed in deeply and tried to regain her breath. "C'mere." He murmured thickly, his own energy drained. She wiggled closer, turning to her side and letting him pull her close.
His nose pressed to her hair, nuzzling as he spread his fingers wide over her flat belly and cupped her against his body. Now tired, Lyla yawned and snuggled, in that moment completely at peace and refusing to think of tomorrow. For tonight, they were brilliant. With a soft smile, she welcomed sleep with a gentle yawn and let herself go.
Send private anonymous feedback to the author (to post a public comment instead).