Chapter 22
SEAN
The feeling of Maeve falling asleep in my arms is the both the best and most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced.
I’ve never fallen asleep with a woman before.
Never held anyone afterwards. Every sexual encounter I’ve ever had has been done the moment we both came, with no expectation of anything else afterward.
The feeling of her, small and fragile, warm against my bare chest as she sleeps, is so good that I know if I allowed myself to get used to this, to want it, I’d never be able to live without it again.
I’ve never been anyone’s first, either. I’m kept awake by that, too—by the memory of her, slick and hot and wet against my tongue, the taste of her still on my lips, the painfully arousing knowledge that I was the first man to ever taste her, the first to give her that pleasure, the first to make her come.
I wanted to do it over and over, but I knew one was all she could take… for tonight, at least.
No. This can’t be a habit, I remind myself. I’ll ruin her if it is, ruin myself. I’ll never be able to let her go. The carefully constructed plan to win her her freedom that I came up with on the way back will be destroyed, because I’ll do anything to keep her by my side if this goes on for long.
I nearly came just from the taste of her.
I was so painfully hard while I went down on her, aching for friction, for pleasure, so close to erupting that I had to free myself and make myself come at the end, or I would have lost control.
Despite that, I’m hard in minutes from the feeling of her against me, the lingering taste of her, and the memory of what we did.
The sky is just starting to lighten when I finally drift off, exhausted enough that sleep claims me despite the turmoil in my head. I don't dream, or if I do, I don't remember it. There's just darkness and then—
Sensation.
Warm. Wet. Perfect.
I surface slowly, groggily, my body responding before my brain catches up. There's pleasure radiating from my groin, building with each passing second, and I'm hard, so fucking hard it almost hurts. For a moment, I think I'm dreaming, that my subconscious has conjured this to torture me further.
Then I hear a soft sound—half hum, half moan—and my eyes fly open.
"Fuck." The word comes out strangled.
Maeve is between my thighs, my fly open, her ginger hair spilling over my legs as her tongue slides up the side of my aching cock.
I look huge in her small, delicate hand, and the sight of her lapping at me like a kitten has my shaft pulsing, my balls so tight I’m in danger of erupting on her face at any moment.
At some point, she must have undone my jeans, freeing me, and now she's—Christ, now she's—
"Maeve." I reach for her, my hand tangling in her hair, and I'm not sure if I'm trying to pull her away or hold her there. "What are you doing?"
She pulls off me with a wet sound that goes straight to my balls, looking up at me with those light blue eyes. Her lips are swollen and slick, and the sight of her like this—on her knees between my legs, looking thoroughly debauched—nearly undoes me.
"Returning the favor," she says, her voice slightly hoarse. Then, before I can respond, she leans down, wrapping her lips inexpertly around the swollen tip of my cock, lapping at the pre-cum flowing freely from the tip. It’s clear she has no idea what she’s doing, and I couldn’t care less.
The most expert of blowjobs would pale in comparison to the sheer erotic pleasure of seeing my innocent wife lapping at my cock while she waits for me to wake up.
"Jesus Christ." My head falls back against the couch, my body warring with my mind. This is wrong. I should stop this. I should—
She does something with her tongue against the tip, and rational thought abandons me.
"Maeve, you don't have to—" I try again, but she makes a sound of disagreement, the vibration traveling through me, and my hips jerk involuntarily. "Fuck, leannan, you need to stop."
But I don't pull her away. Even as the words leave my mouth, my hand is still in her hair, and I'm not guiding her off me. If anything, I'm holding her there, and we both know it.
She pulls back again, and this time there's a challenge in her eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"
No. God, no. "Yes."
"Liar." She runs her tongue along the underside of my cock, base to tip, and I groan aloud, the throbbing in my cock so intense that I don’t know how I’ll survive if she actually does stop. "You gave me something last night. Let me give you something back."
"This is different," I manage, though my resolve is crumbling with every passing second.
"How?" she mumbles, her mouth still trailing over my shaft.
"Because I'm supposed to be the one with control here." Even as I say it, I know how absurd it sounds. My control is crumbling. Not where she's concerned. "I'm supposed to be protecting you, not—"
"Not what? Not letting me make my own choices?" She wraps her hand around me, stroking slowly, and my breath catches. "You said last night was about me. This morning is about you."
"Maeve—"
She runs her tongue over me again. “I want to taste you,” she whispers hoarsely. “I want you all over my face. I want what you wanted last night.”
Every rational thought flees. The thought of my cum marking her pretty face, her lips swollen from sucking me, has me seconds from coming whether I’m ready to or not.
I let my head fall back, my fingers tangled in her hair, and when she wraps her lips around my cockhead again, I know there’s no stopping this.
This time I let myself feel it. Really feel it.
The wet heat, the pressure, the way she's tentative but eager, learning as she goes.
The fact that she's doing this for me, that I'm the first man she's touched like this, is almost too much to process. She catches me with her teeth once or twice, but I don’t fucking care. There’s nowhere else I want to be right now. The Council could burn to the fucking ground and I wouldn’t answer the phone while my wife has her mouth wrapped around my cock.
"That's it," I murmur, my hand gentle in her hair now, guiding rather than holding. "Just like that. You're doing so good, sweetheart."
She makes a pleased sound, and I feel it all the way to my spine. My other hand grips the edge of the couch, knuckles white, as I fight the urge to thrust into her mouth. I need to let her set the pace, even though every instinct I have is screaming at me to take over.
She’s clearly playing with me, trying different things—more suction, less suction, using her tongue, using her hand in combination with her mouth—and I give her feedback, small sounds of encouragement that seem to spur her on.
I’d let her play all day if that meant I’d keep her mouth and tongue on me, if it meant I could keep watching her lips wrapped around my shaft.
When she takes me deeper and gags slightly, I immediately pull her back.
"Easy," I say, my voice rough. "You don't have to take all of it.
Just—fuck—just what you're comfortable with." I stroke her hair. “You’re not going to get all of me in your mouth, leannan. Not without a lot of practice.” And Christ, all I can think right now is that for all my promises to myself, I’d let her practice any time she pleased.
She nods, and when she goes back down, she's more careful, but no less enthusiastic. The blowjob is sloppy and messy, and I’m so close that I know I won’t be able to hold back much longer.
"Maeve." Her name comes out as a warning. "I'm close. You should—"
But she doesn't pull away. If anything, she doubles her efforts, and I realize with a jolt that she intends to finish this. To take everything I give her.
"Christ, leannan, you don't have to—" But it's too late. The orgasm crashes over me with an intensity that steals my breath, and I'm coming, my hand tight in her hair, her name a broken sound on my lips.
She doesn’t stop. I feel her throat convulse, sending a fresh spasm of pleasure through me at the sight of her swallowing my cum, and the sight of it spilling over her lips and dripping down her chin makes me wonder if I’m still going to be hard after this.
It feels like every second of my orgasm is only making me want more, rather than relieving the lust.
When I'm finally done, trembling and spent, she releases me gently and sits back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. For a long moment, we just stare at each other. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair mussed, and there's something almost shy in her expression now that it's over.
"Was that okay?" she asks quietly.
Okay? I sit up, my cock still hard and pressed against my abdomen as I reach for her, pulling her into my arms as I kiss her without caring that her mouth was full of my cum a moment ago. "That was... Christ, Maeve. That was perfect. You're perfect."
She burrows into me, and I can feel her smiling against my chest. We sit there in the growing morning light, neither of us speaking, and for a few minutes, I let myself pretend this is normal.
That we're a normal couple, waking up together, sharing intimacy without all the complications and guilt and fear.
But reality crashes back in soon enough.
Because, I realize with startling clarity, I'm falling for her. Not just wanting her, not just feeling protective of her, but actually falling for her. And that terrifies me more than any fight I've ever been in, any job I've ever taken.
I don't know how to love someone. I've spent my entire adult life avoiding attachments, avoiding vulnerability, because I learned early that caring about someone just gives the universe ammunition to hurt you.
But Maeve... Maeve has slipped past every defense I have. She's wormed her way into the parts of me I thought were dead, and now I'm sitting here on my couch, holding her close, and all I can think is that I'm not capable of loving her the way she needs to be loved.