38. Tee
Tee
S o, we’re in love.
This isn’t how I thought love would be.
I’m not complaining but… I didn’t think it’d feel like this.
I guess I’m still angry.
A lot.
His letters went a long way to healing the hurt his ‘Dear John’ caused, but that doesn’t mean the pain is gone.
He abandoned me .
But…
Equally…
Why should I suffer for being mad at him?
I love him.
I miss him.
So why shouldn’t I have him?
A sandwich and two Nanaimo bars devoured, I watch him finish his cookie then hand him a bottle of water.
“Do you have any gum?”
He nods and tips the bottle at the glove compartment.
I slide my hand inside, find the gum, then chew on a stick before handing one to him.
He takes it with a raised brow.
“What time do we have to be at the Frobishers’?”
“After lunch.”
I hum. Then, when my mouth tastes of peppermint, I drink some more water and stick the gum into the wrapper before I open the door and jump out of the cab. It’s a long way down, but I take a second to consider my options.
Zee told me that lake sex was awesome, but I don’t feel like getting my hair wet.
Tapping my foot, I stare at a little grassy knoll and peer over my shoulder and study the box.
Grass and sand in unmentionable areas, the steering wheel in my back, or hard metal…
Options.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m not an unexploded bomb, Cody,” I chide, hearing his wariness. When I smile, that makes him even warier. Good! “I’m deciding where you’re going to eat your second cookie of the day.”
A wicked grin dances over his lips, faster than quicksilver. I prefer the sight of that to his sorrow from earlier. If I could take away every ounce of this man’s unhappiness, I would. That’s how I know I’ve basically forgiven him, because otherwise I’d try to dunk him in the lake again.
Though, I consider, that needs to happen anyway.
I don’t believe positive reinforcement works on men.
“What are our options?” he asks once he’s by my side.
Our .
Cody and I are an our now. An us . A we .
“The grass over there, the driver’s seat, or the box.”
He tugs on the hem of my skirt. “Did you wear a skirt because of this?”
“Nope. We were going to the Frobishers’ place and I was going to talk to you about Milord?—”
“Had our conversation all mapped out, huh?”
“Yes. And if you annoyed me, I was going to work?—”
“The grass will be softer on your knees.”
I cut him a look, well aware he wants to keep the topic on sex and not on me being mad at him.
“ But ,” he continues, “there’ll be no sand getting into anything if we’re in the box.”
“Hence my quandary.”
“I want you to be comfortable when I eat you out, Tee.”
How I don’t squeak is a miracle in itself.
The very idea of it makes my knees buckle. Surviving him actually doing it might be beyond me.
But I’m nothing if not pragmatic. “Are you going to walk around with my cum on your face, though? We don’t have shower facilities.”
His lips twitch. Lips that will soon be wrapped around my clit. “All over my face,” is his cheerful retort. “No shower facilities required.”
I squirm but: “Won’t people know?”
“Not unless they sniff my beard, and technically, the only person who’s allowed to do that is my un-fake girlfriend.”
I like that answer. “You finished with the gum.”
“Uh-huh. I’m minty fresh for you.”
Grabbing his arm, I drag him over to the knoll.
“Made your decision, huh?”
“Yep,” I say brightly. But when we’re at said knoll, I frown. “I’m not good at this.”
“Sure you are. You were that night.”
“You did all that.”
“Actually, I didn’t,” he says dryly.
I waft a hand. “Tell me what to do.”
“How about we shut your brain off for a little while, hmm?”
“How do we do that?”
“The traditional way.” He angles his face closer until he’s taking over the sun, the sky, and the lake in my line of sight. Then, when his mouth hovers above mine: “You want me to conduct, Tee?”
“Yes.” (That was so a whimper. Damn, this man has game.)
“Even though you’re mad at me?” he half-taunts, but I’ll forgive him because he does this nudging thing with his nose over my jawline.
“I’m less mad.” I shiver when the baby hairs at my nape stand up and tango. “Y-You can kiss me.”
At the invitation, he finally settles his lips on mine.
Instantly, I sigh.
God, he feels so damn right .
The tension that usually fills me when I kiss someone isn’t there. It’s as if that tension was there because I was kissing the wrong person. Because he is my person.
As he presses tiny pecks over my mouth, I realize my mind is light. Like a feather floating off in the breeze, but I’ve never wanted to be glued to the ground more than I do right now. Though I can hear soft notes forming, a lulling, lilting, joyfully incandescent scherzo , I quiet them because I don’t want this moment to end.
Ever.
Softly, he teases me, gently nipping my bottom lip with his teeth and tugging it down.
We’re not close enough—that’s what I know.
I slide my arms around his waist, letting my hands land on the center of his back. I want him to surround me. I want him to take away the rest of the world and replace it with him .
With me smushed up against him, his aftershave is all I can breathe, and it overtakes everything else. He tastes of peppermint. His soft groans as he sweeps his tongue into my mouth trigger more notes, different ones.
This song, his song , is for me.
And I add to it.
When he explores my mouth, sliding his tongue against mine until I’m surging onto tiptoe to get even nearer, I sob with need.
He cups my elbows and raises them higher, swooping my arms over his shoulders while drawing his own around my waist, tugging me deeper into his space. It makes me realize I wasn’t as up in his business as I thought I was—I’m glad he corrected my misstep.
His tongue continues to tease me, not diving straight in and fucking my mouth but taunting me with his mastery over me. Because, yes. He has that. I’m willingly giving it to him, too. If he can do what he did before, I’ll let him do whatever he wants—he can have at it.
Still, I’m impatient.
When he teases me with gentle thrusting that has my own tongue tangling with his, desperate for him to increase the tempo, I start panting when he ignores me entirely. Instead, he kisses me like we have all the time in the universe. This leaves me with no alternative other than to spread my fingers into his hair and yank.
When he laughs, I whimper because he doesn’t stop, and that laugh has its own beat . I feel his puckish joy in my need for him. I’d get mad, but that would only hurt me more than it would him. Stomping off would make my annoyance known, sure, but there’s no orgasm for me at the end of that scenario.
Orgasm = my endgame.
Those flicks of his tongue turn cyclic. I sense his pattern. Feel the rhythm. My heart pounds in tune to it. The blood rushing through my veins shifts to the same beat.
I sag into him, accepting that impatience has no place here. Not when he’s the conductor. There’s no rushing a masterpiece, and that’s what we make together.
The second he feels the change in me, his pace increases and he encourages me to do the same. Rewarding me when I do it right with a soft groan.
E3.
If this is kissing, I’ve never been kissed before.
My nails drag over his skull as he steals my breath before, with soft nips, he makes a retreat.
That’s when I hear something—me.
Immediately, I flush and stop my humming.
But he rubs his nose over mine. “I like that song.”
“S-Sorry. I-I didn’t realize I was?—”
“Don’t apologize. That’s our song.”
Tingles rush through me at his acceptance, but it’s his smile that gets to me—it’s worthy of a picture.
(Maybe I can get him to photograph us both. [I want that smile captured forever on film.])
My fingers cup his cheek. “It’s weird. I’m weird.”
“I like your weird.”
“Cody, stop. It’s fine if you?—”
“Are you telling me how to feel, Tee?” He drops a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Huh?”
“N-No, but?—”
“But nothing. It’s beautiful. Just like you.”
This isn’t the moment for tears, but they’re there. At the corners of my eyes. Pricking and stinging at how perfect he is.
Somehow, in a move that’s slick yet not slimy, he tumbles us onto the ground. He’s always so precise. It’d be annoying if it weren’t part and parcel of a very expensive training regime that let him fly the planes he loved while also giving him a disorder that paralyzed his arm…
(Go figure.)
Still, I’m the lucky girl who gets all that focus pinned on her, which means that I don’t accidentally knee him in the balls or wind myself by falling back too quickly.
This feels wholly choreographed and, as a result, lacks awkwardness, leaving me to relax even more.
When I’m lying on the ground staring at him, I whisper, “Is this what it’s like to be cool?”
He chuckles, deep and dark and raspy. “You’re cool.”
“Don’t tell Zee, but I’m not.”
He taps my chin with his thumb. “If I say you are, then you are.”
“Cool by association?”
“Not really seeing as we’re not associated, are we?”
Oooh, he doesn’t like this fake un-dating thing.
I don’t have it in me to care, to be honest.
It’s not a punishment, per se, but I’m not about to...
God .
I bite my kiss-sore bottom lip as it registers my wanting to fake un-date has everything to do with me not wanting to humiliate myself with the town hottie.
Not just any town hottie, either.
But a Korhonen.
Who could change his mind again.
This time, my mom would be in the loop, and because she’s terrified I’m turning into a spinster, I just know when she finds out, she’ll be planning our wedding?—
The thought has me clenching my eyes closed.
“Hey, where did you go?”
I swallow at his question, hating that he noticed but grateful that he did.
But how can I answer? I can’t tell him I don’t trust him.
He knows something’s changed though. His gaze has darkened, turned watchful.
“Talk to me, Tee,” he rumbles, pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose.
“I’m on the shot.”
He blinks. “I meant… something hotter, sweetheart.”
I refuse to blush. “Dirty diapers are the opposite of hot. I just made this so much sexier.”
His lips twitch. “Duly noted. I’m clean too. Someone once told me to always wrap up my junk and I made sure that I did.”
When those twitching lips catch mine, I sigh into the kiss.
He makes it so easy to melt into him. Too easy. The kiss is a claiming and it’s mutual because I want to be his—it’s a lament I shout at the sky.
“Your mouth tastes so fucking sweet,” he grates out, but I draw him in for another kiss.
Both of us moan the second we reconnect, and my mind clicks off.
He clearly has some Adderall in his saliva because the focus—it’s giving ADHD drugs. I’ve never been so hyperfixated in my whole life, and I can tune out a blizzard when I’m composing.
When he tries to tumble us over so that I’m on top, I resist, loving where I’m at. He doesn’t push me, but his fingers slide along the hem of my tee, the tips brushing circles around my navel once he lifts it.
Pleasure immediately pings my core.
I was already getting wet, but this is delightful.
Is this what sex is supposed to be like?
I groan at the thought as my back arches when he reaches the lower line of my bra.
Determining to buy front clasps in the future for better access, I whimper when he traces the cup then tugs one down to free my breast.
I mewl when he finds my nipple. “Cody, please, touch me.”
“I am touching you.”
“Not where I need you to.”
“Maybe you have to tell me specific coordinates.”
I blink at him, not appreciating how the sun gleams behind his head. “You think I’m afraid to say the words?”
He shrugs as his thumb circles my nipple. “Are you?”
“Are you daring me? Butch knows that I live for dares.”
“ Cody dares you to talk dirty to me.”
“I thought you were conducting me.”
“I am. Just keeping your brain right where I want it.”
Ooooh, boy. I pant at the direction. “I want you to touch my clit, Cody.”
“Where’s your clit, Tee?”
His innocent look has me hiding a grin. “Between my legs. Specifically, below my labia.”
“Minora or majora?”
When I gape at him, he bursts out laughing. I plop my forearm over my eyes, refusing to admit that it makes it easier to order, “I want you to suck on my clit because only you can make me come. And I loved it. I want you to take me there, Cody. Like only you have.”
I peep over my forearm when he groans and grinds into me—his erection thick and solid and oh so freakin’ hot.
The pressure has me shivering. “I already know how wet I am, but it’s all for you, Cody. Every drop. You’re going to make me explode. I know you are.”
His mouth plunders mine as he nudges my thighs apart and drags up my skirt at the same time.
His magic hands slide over my thighs, even the outer parts that are a touch fleshier than I’d like. But he isn’t complaining, not verbally or physiologically—I can feel his cock against my inner thigh.
The thought has me drawing my T-shirt over my head.
He has no idea how much confidence that takes in the cold light of day because I’m the opposite of perfect, not like him, but he growls in E1, “Holy fuck, Tee. I can’t wait to get my DSLR so I can photograph you.”
A shy smile dances on my lips as I stroke a hand over his cheek. “Really?”
“Feel what you do to me.” Another grind of his hips. “Feel how you , no one else, has my cock this hard. I’m so ready to be in that sweet cunt of yours, Christy. I’m leaking pre-cum. Just for you. Because I want you so goddamn much. Do you want me, baby?”
My throat bobs. “I want you, Cody.”
He trickles his lips down over my chin, my jaw, between my breasts, along my stomach. Every place gets anointed with a kiss as well as a swirl of his tongue. My breath hitches as he runs his nose over my crotch.
“You want me to taste that pretty pussy of yours?”
“I-I do.”
“You’re going to come all over my tongue, aren’t you, Tee? Drench me in your pussy juices?”
I nod.
“I think you should give me a taste first.”
Oh, lord.
“Cody.” I keen his name.
He helps me by nipping the side of my panties and tugging it to the left with his teeth.
Somehow, he manages to do that without touching any of the best bits so, pouting, I slide my fingers over my slit.
A soft brush of the tips against my clit has me shuddering like I held a bullet vibrator to it. But he wanted a sample, so I dip down and wet my fingers.
“Offer it to me, baby girl.”
I’m a puddle of need.
I’m at one with the damn grass.
Molten.
A blob.
(Maybe the Big Bang was a deity’s orgasm?)
He tsks, drawing me back to the moment.
I hold my hand in front of his lips, watching as his tongue flutters out to lick my fingers clean. Then, my brain shifts gear, and suddenly, I am totally understanding why men are such visual creatures because when he sucks them in, my mind is transported to another universe.
Gaze locked on him as he blows my fingers, my moan turns guttural. “Please, Cody. Please taste me.”
His smile is pure wickedness as, eyes still on mine, he flattens his tongue and laps me up.
“Oh, my god,” I cry then I yelp when he stops.
“Not God. I have many names but?—”
I yank his head back where I need it. “Oh, my Cody!”
He smirks against my clit and suckles the nub before flicking it. I shriek with the intensity, spreading my legs wider and letting my heels dig into the grassy sand as I pump my hips, uncaring about how I look, chasing the sheer, sweet glory that this man triggered with a single swipe of his tongue.
“Yes, please, please.” Hands fisting, I press them into my eye sockets. “Never, never, never,” I wail, knowing that I’ve never felt like this and never will again unless he’s in charge of my body.
I drown in pleasure as he swirls the tip of his tongue over my clit. Over and over until I’m close to screaming. When I finally do, I realize what he wants from me—my sounds. My music.
It’s like something switches off in my being.
A lifetime of: shush, stop humming, play your instruments more quietly, be lesser, don’t be me—he gives me permission to be loud.
As a reward for my cries, he thrusts his tongue into me, that same circle thing he does driving me absolutely insane when he wiggles it a couple times too.
“You taste like fucking heaven,” he grates out, and the vibrations make me see said heaven.
As my eyes go black, my ears pinpoint a strange growling noise, but my attention shifts when he latches onto my clit and my scream is impossible to withhold. There’s no point anyway. I’m in the middle of goddamn nowhere, and if the triplets are fucking watching, I hope they enjoy the show and the lesson.
This here is how to fuck a woman right.
I rock my hips, riding his face, faster, harder, loving his grunts until, unable to stop myself, I grip his nape and hold him to me.
His face and nose and jaw are drenched in me.
I’m so wet.
It’s wonderful.
Paradise.
I’m not dry and awkward and wondering why people go mad for sex.
I’m in the middle of an opera that he created for me, and I’ve never wanted to be anywhere more in my life.
With another suck on my clit, I let loose a groan, then he thrusts two fingers into me. Hard. Fast. He does that hooking thing like he did the other week, rubbing my G-spot but in tandem to his sucking, I don’t just see stars. I’m soaring through the Milky Way.
I scream his name. Without knowing it. I’m lost to the pleasure, to the ecstasy, the sheer relief of finally being connected to this half of myself.
And he did that.
My Butch.
I start sobbing for real but don’t know it until his wet mouth is dragging his dirty tongue over my cheeks, lapping them up as he pets me down there, soft rubs to my clit that send sparks of pleasure through me.
I’m so sensitive, it’s almost painful, but I love the tenderness so I throw my arms around his shoulders and hold him to me as I break down and break up and brEAK.
When he chases my lips for a kiss, I lock eyes on him and surrender because being invaded by him is the only thing that makes any sense to me.
Even if I’m not ready to wave the white flag.