6. Lemon
SIX
LEMON
When the aftershocks from my orgasm start to fade, I’m shaking and so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.
What the hell just happened? I’m a wet noodle, my arms and legs so heavy I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.
And honestly, I don’t, because if I move, I’ll have to face reality and the fact that I just had epically great sex with a complete stranger.
I don’t do hook-ups or one-night stands. Hell, I don’t do situationships or friends with benefits. I’m a romantic, and although I might not have been a virgin, I’ve spent the last few years waiting for the right man and love to come knocking.
Meaningless is icky to me. I don’t want to do something as intimate as have sex with someone that I feel nothing for, and yet here I am naked, sprawled over the side of Atticus’s bed, and barely coherent. But instead of regret and embarrassment, I’m not feeling the usual sense of discomfort.
Right now, I don’t care that my tits are squished inelegantly beneath me. I’m naked, and I’m confident that this isn’t a good angle for my body, but seriously, who has the attention span to give a crap when you’ve just been fucked six ways from Sunday?
He told me to call him Sir. I mean, seriously.
Sir. But I did it, and it was hot. God, it was so hot, and now even though my body is wrung dry—or more appropriately, sopping wet—from the four insane orgasms he gave me, I’m already wondering if there’s a red room of pain hidden somewhere in this apartment and if I want him to take me there.
I don’t feel him moving, or moving me, but the next thing I know, I’m in his arms, my cheek pressed against his tattooed chest while his heart beats calmly beneath me.
“Are you on birth control?” he asks.
“Yes,” I croak, wondering why he’s asking, then immediately realizing that it’s because we just had sex.
“I’m clean,” he says softly.
“Me too,” I tell him, feeling hazy and disconnected, but in a floaty, just-took-some-really-good-drugs kind of way. Or what I think really good drugs feel like because I’ve never taken anything stronger than a Tylenol.
“Sixty-six days,” he says.
What? Did he say something? I feel like he did, but I don’t think it was a question. “What?” I ask.
“You have sixty-six days left on your lease with your roommate?”
“Oh,” I say, finally comprehending, even though I’m still not sure why he’s asking.
“Princess,” he says, and I hear the amusement in his voice. “I wore you out, didn’t I?”
Inhaling, I sigh and try to nod, but I’m not sure if I actually move my head or if I just think I do.
“Sleep,” he says, chuckling softly, his fingers running gently through my hair as I close my eyes and wonder if when I wake up, this will all have been a dream.
“Princess,” a low, gruff voice calls, dragging me from sleep.
“I bleached the counters, Avery,” I mumble, nuzzling my face back into the pillow.
Laughter vibrates through my pillow, and I freeze. Pillows should not move. They also aren’t normally this warm or smooth or…oh god. Snapping my eyes open, I bolt upright, feeling my eyes go wide as I scan my surroundings.
“Settle, Princess. You fell asleep, but it’s not too late. I just didn’t want you to nap for so long you were up all night,” a male voice says.
“Atticus,” I blurt, turning to the beautiful, tattooed, and very naked man sprawled beside me in the middle of his massive bed.
“Settle,” he says again, only this time his voice is lower, rougher, and more demanding.
My heart starts to beat wildly as the fuzziness of sleep melts away and memories of everything we did before I passed out fill my head. We had sex. Good sex. No, great sex. Great…unprotected sex.
“We weren’t careful. But you’re clean?” I shriek, feeling the sticky wetness between my very naked thighs.
“Of course. I’ve never had sex without a condom before,” Atticus says calmly, like it’s totally normal for him to have sex with someone he just met. And maybe it is, because I don’t know anything about him.
Although that’s not strictly true. I know his sister. I met his brother and his brother’s PA. I know he likes to be called Sir.
Heat fills my cheeks as I say the word over and over in my head. “Sir. Sir. Sir.”
“What are you thinking about, Princess?” Atticus asks, his eyes hooding until they’re sexily staring at me like I just offered to do something really dirty to him.
“You like to be called Sir,” I say, wishing I had a filter and could keep some of the things I think inside of my head.
“Yes,” he replies simply.
My lips snap shut because I didn’t expect him to be so…blatant about it. I thought maybe he’d deny it, or be embarrassed, or insist it was a sex thing. But his expression hasn’t altered, his breathing is calm and relaxed, and—
“I’m your Sir. Or Master if you’d prefer, although I like Sir better.”
“Master,” I choke out, then immediately shake my head.
“Sir,” he agrees, like it’s a done deal.
“Sir,” I say, testing the sound of it.
“Yes, Princess,” he replies like I asked a question.
“I don’t understand,” I tell him slowly.
“What don’t you understand? I like things a certain way, and one of those things is that I like to be called Sir and that I want you to do what I tell you.”
“I need to go,” I say quickly, sitting up and scanning the floor around the bed, looking for my clothes.
“Why?”
“Why?” I question.
“Yes, Princess. Why do you need to go?”
“Because I called you Sir, and we had sex, and I quit my job and…” My words trail off when he cups my cheek and drags me into his lap, his hard dick poking me as he settles me on top of him.
“Settle, Princess. Let me explain how this is going to work.”
“What?” I gasp. “Stop telling me to settle.”
Smiling, like I’m amusing him, he pinches my chin between his finger and thumb, dragging my lower lip down as he runs the pad over it.
“I’ve been searching for you for a long time.
I didn’t know it was you I was looking for, but I was still searching, and now I’ve found you, and you’re even more perfect than I expected. ”
“You sound insane,” I whisper.
“Possibly. But you feel it too. That’s why you trusted me with your body.
It’s why you knelt for me and called me Sir while you looked up at me with those guileless eyes of yours.
I’m a possessive man, Lemon, and I see the value in things.
You’re priceless, and you’re mine. I know I’m moving quick, but the best things happen when you least expect them, and I had no idea that when I woke up this morning, I’d end up meeting the woman of my dreams.”
“The woman of your dreams?” I say breathlessly.
“You gave yourself to me today, didn’t you, Princess?”
“I…”
“I asked to worship you, didn’t I?” he prompts.
“Yes, but…”
“Yes, what?” he growls.
“I…”
Narrowing his eyes at me, he waits expectantly.
“Yes…Sir,” I answer, not sure why I say it, but not hating the way it sounds or feels either.
“Yes, you did. You’re my perfect princess, and I’m your Sir, and that’s all we need to worry about right now. Those are the important things, and everything else is just details, isn’t it?”
Just like before, he waits patiently, and I respond the way he expects me to. “Yes, Sir.”
“Exactly. So let’s get cleaned up, and we’ll go and pack you some things.”
“Pack some things?” I question slowly, feeling like I’ve lost all control of this conversation.
“I’m more than happy for you to stay naked, if you’d prefer,” he answers easily, like he really would be fine with that.
“What?”
His fingers slide off my chin and down the middle of my throat, pausing as he slowly spreads his hand wide until he’s collaring my neck. “In fact…I know the perfect thing for you to wear with nothing at all.”
Dropping his hand, he moves backward, sliding off the side of the bed until he’s standing on the rug, his hard dick bobbing up and down, precum beading at the head. “Stay here. I have something for you.”
Turning, he steps into what I’m assuming is his closet or bathroom, and for a second, I contemplate running until I remember that I’m naked and I have no idea where my clothes are. Before I can even formulate a plan, he steps back into the bedroom with something hanging from his fingers.
“Come here, Princess,” he beckons, holding out his other hand to me.
Unsure what to do, I place my palm on his, and when he closes his fingers around mine and tugs, I let him help me off the bed, pausing when I’m standing in front of him, both of us completely naked.
“Kneel for me, Lemon,” he says, his voice husky and soft.
“What?”
Still holding my hand, he gestures to the soft rug on the floor at our feet, the same rug I knelt on when he asked me to before he fucked me into oblivion.
“Kneel.”
The steely demand in his tone vibrates through me, and I glance at the floor, then him, before I find myself clumsily sinking down to my knees again.
“Jesus, Princess, look at you,” he praises reverently. “Who am I?” he asks.
“Err,” I falter.
“What do you call me?” he prompts.
“Sir?”
“Whose, Sir?”
I pause. “My Sir?” I question, unsure where this is going.
“Say it again,” he orders.
“My Sir,” I repeat, more confidently.
“Yes. You’re my princess, and I’m your Sir.”
“Yes, Sir,” I agree, getting into this strange game we’re playing.
“Lift your hair for me.”
Gathering my hair, I twist it into a pile and hold it on top of my head, wondering what he plans to do and if it involves me sucking his cock.
I’m not opposed to that, and if he does want me to give him head, then I’m quite glad that he doesn’t intend to jizz in my hair. Sperm is not fun to try to wash out.
Instead of ordering me to open my mouth or shoving his dick in my face, he leans forward and clasps something around my neck.
“What is that?” I ask.
“It’s yours,” he says.
“I don’t understand. Why do you have a necklace just lying about? Is this some kind of weird game? Is this like a souvenir you give to all of your hook-ups?” I gabble, suddenly offended as words pour from my mouth at a hundred miles an hour.
“Who am I?” he snarls.
“My Sir,” I answer, surprised at the ease the words fall from my lips.