Chapter 10 #2
“You’re welcome to try,” I say, waving my hand, magnanimously inviting him into the bed. It’s big enough for both of us as long as this doesn’t get too acrobatic.
Clay takes the three steps to the bed, snagging my black silk sleep mask off the counter where I left it. “Put this on. Fantasize about whoever you want.”
I take it, the silk cool in my hand as my face heats. I was fantasizing about him before, and lying about it to myself. The idea that I could think about anyone else while he’s here with me is absurd, but it’s comforting that he doesn’t seem to suspect he might be the subject of my fantasy.
He picks up the matching robe I’d left across the foot of the bed and slips the tie from it.
“You want to tie me up?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. I’m not sure I trust him that much, and I’ll already be blindfolded.
“Not exactly.” He knots it, then wraps it around his hand a few times. “I want you to hold this over your head with both hands, but you’re free to let go at any time. Understand?”
No, but I nod and accept the looped tie.
“Put the mask on, unbutton your dress, and lie back. If you change your mind about this at any time, tell me, and I’ll leave. No questions, no hurt feelings.”
“Do you have feelings?” It’s out before I can question whether it’s a good idea to be bitchy to him right now. I slip the mask over my eyes so I can’t see how my sarcastic question landed.
“Some,” he admits. “But I’m not easily hurt.”
I believe it. So long as I don’t let him in, I’m not either.
Even though the mask blocks my vision, I close my eyes.
I don’t see the point in unbuttoning the bodice of the dress again if we’re skipping foreplay, but I do it anyway.
Maybe he needs the inspiration of my tits in the sunlight, nipples pebbled by the return of the soft breeze.
I don’t know and I don’t care—for once in my life, I do what I’m told and lie back on the pillow, bringing my arms over my head, grabbing the tie with both hands.
Oh. I see why he wanted me like this. With my arms up and the sleep mask on, I’m a hell of a lot more exposed to him and to every sensation, from the warmth of the sun to the hint of the breeze to the breath he sucks in.
It’s harder to retreat into my head when I’m this focused on him, on my body. On what happens next.
Time stretches slowly, my heartbeat picking up in anticipation of his touch.
My skirt inches up slowly over my thighs, but I can’t feel his hands at all.
My nipples are painfully tight already. As the skirt goes higher, I bend my knees and open my hips.
The air is cool on my inner thighs, and I stifle a gasp at the feel of it against the heat of my pussy.
Clay leaves the skirt bunched around my waist, and the mattress depresses under his weight.
His touch is lighter than a feather, drifting over my pussy, making me throb. “Do you want my fingers?” His arms brush my inner thighs, his warm breath coasting over me like his finger had. “Or my mouth.”
“Both.” My voice comes out breathy and desperate, but I don’t care.
“Good,” he says, and he’s close enough I can feel the word. It sets me trembling, sharpens the ache, and quickens my breath.
He touches me, softly. A nuzzle with the tip of his nose, maybe.
I can hear him inhale deeply, just before the slow slide of his tongue through my folds, barely ending on my clit.
The exhale of warm breath makes me shiver, and I tighten my grip on the tie, pressing my legs wider, tilting my hips.
His teeth graze one lip before he resumes that leisurely exploration with his tongue.
Not being able to watch must sharpen my hearing.
The wet sounds of his mouth set against the birds in the trees and the leaves in the breeze drive me wild.
His big hands with those long fingers grip my hips, but he doesn’t try to stop me from rocking.
Instead, he encourages me to move my body against his face, and I do.
And I want more. I want the stretch of his cock, the delicious push and pull, give and take of fucking him. I want this to be more than what he offered.
He moans against me, and I imagine him palming himself over his jeans and wishing for more, too. But he’s not even touching himself—both his hands are on me. The mattress moves as he shifts his position and then presses a finger into me.
I’m so wet, he slips a second in easily, all while he blows lightly over my throbbing clit.
He lowers his mouth again, licking and sucking as his fingers curl inside me.
Still slow, but not quite so soft anymore.
His other arm loops under my thigh, his palm coming to rest low and heavy on my stomach, and oh my god—
The mattress creaks as my hips rock harder, faster, but it’s off rhythm, like maybe he’s humping the bed. He’s probably not, but I picture him anyway, only naked, desperately thrusting against the soft, worn quilt, all control lost because I am simply the best he’s ever had.
He fucks into me faster with his fingers, his mouth almost punishing as he tongues my clit, his other hand pressing down on my lower abdomen. I’m so close I barely register the sound he makes, something trapped between pleasure and pain.
Oh, fuck.
My breath catches as pleasure coils tighter and tighter, pushing higher and higher.
I hold it for a few seconds—long enough to know this is going to be big—and then I let go, falling through bliss as I cry out, my body bucking and trembling.
On and on he pushes me until my eyes grow wet with tears, my body limp with exhaustion.
Holy fuck.
He plants the softest of kisses on my inner thigh—or maybe I imagine it—as he withdraws his fingers, leaving me empty and a little raw but far too satisfied to care.
The mattress shifts and creaks beneath him as he climbs to his feet. He pulls my skirt down, then carefully does up the buttons on my dress, and unless I’m mistaken—and I probably am because I’m drunk off that orgasm—his hand lingers ever so slightly between my breasts before he pulls away.
“I brought over a couple of full propane tanks. I’ll hook them up, but don’t turn them on yet.
I ordered a new carbon monoxide detector and a propane gas detector, and they should arrive tomorrow, so you’ll have to wait.
Come to the bar—you can cook in the apartment. I bought some groceries. For you.”
“What?” I toss the silk tie toward the end of the bed, and nope. I’m not getting up for a while. Maybe I’ll have a nap. I leave the sleep mask in place. What is he talking about, anyway? What groceries?
There’s the click of a switch flicked on and off. “Battery is still good. Can’t run an extension cord this far anyway. I can have the camper moved closer to the bar if you want.”
I sigh at his noise and wave him off.
He mutters something about filling the water tank before he stomps out. I don’t even care that I was a side quest on his to-do list. Fuck that was good.
But reality trickles in as it always does, dampening the blissed-out happiness and leaving me frowning up at the ceiling. Somewhere along the way, I gave up trying to annoy him into leaving. And now that he’s offering to buy me groceries and dancing with mops…
Dammit. I should know better, but fuck. I like him.