Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
I wake up, my heart pounding, and turn to find her fast asleep next to me in the big bed.
Giselle.
I took her into my bed last night after getting her into the shower, cleaning us both up, caring for her wounds. Anything else was unthinkable after what went on between us.
Fucking weird. Fucking crazy. But I wasn’t about to have her sleep on the floor. Hell no. She’s with me, and I plan to keep her right here as long as possible.
But how long is that, realistically? Because despite the fact that we exist in what is largely a fantasy world for the very rich and twisted, reality is part of the game, too. And in the end, the reality is that she does not belong to me.
But no. We have this time, and I plan to use it, to milk it for everything I can. Because tomorrow, or maybe the next day, or maybe next week at the latest, I’ll have to give her up again. To return to what is normal life for us. And I fucking hate the idea. It infuriates me. But it is what it is.
I hear her sigh softly, and I turn my head to find her long lashes fluttering, then she opens those amazing eyes.
I watch as they focus on me, as she smiles.
It’s a small, tentative smile, but the point is that it’s her first response to seeing me next to her, and I can’t help what that does to me, fucking heat seeping into my chest, into my bones, in a way I’ve never felt before in my goddamn useless life.
She reaches a hand out to touch my face, then yanks it back, the smile going away.
“Nah, nah,” I say, my voice rough with sleep, and something else I don’t want to identify just now. “Here, it’s alright.”
I pull her hand back and lay her palm on my cheek, and the smile comes back, illuminating her face as much as the quiet morning rays coming through the drapes.
I’m a fucking poet again. But I may as well face facts: this is what she does to me.
Has me thinking in terms of sunshine and softness, turning me into fucking Walt Whitman, or Keats, for fuck’s sake.
But even I, in all my stodgy, ratty-arsed attitude, can’t resist her.
Can’t resist the poetry that is this woman.
She moves her fingertips over my cheek, then brushes her thumb over my lower lip, and I kiss it, then take it into my mouth and suck. She sighs, and my dick is growing hard. I want to suck that quiet sigh into my mouth. Oh, but there’s something I need even more.
I push her onto her back and hold her arms over her head, then I move down her body to take one red, pierced nipple into my mouth.
I lick that luscious tip, then, barely holding it in my mouth, I suck gently, treating it tenderly.
She arches her body off the bed, trying to get closer to me, but I pull back, using my hand to hold her body down on the bed while I tease her swelling nipple.
I know for a fact she hasn’t been treated this way in years, with this gentle torture.
And in moments her breathing quickens and she’s sighing, letting out little mewling noises, as if she doesn’t know how to process this.
I know she doesn’t. And that small edge of mind-fuck is all I need right now as I pleasure her nipple until it’s hard as stone, pausing now and again to play with the metal bar piercing the sweet flesh with my tongue, then moving to the other side and doing the same: licking softly, teasing, swirling my tongue over the hard flesh, then just barely sucking until her hips start pumping in time with my mouth.
I move my hand down to one hip and hold her there, and she starts to moan and pant, her hips pushing against my hand, making me smile to myself. Making my dick as hard as goddamn rock. And I want to see—need to see—if I can get her off without any pain at all.
I slide down her body and force her thighs wide, then move between them. Her lovely pussy is swollen, a bit pink still from the beating last night, and as I push her legs wider apart, I can see she’s absolutely dripping wet.
A shaft of need drives deep into my body at the sight of her desire.
I lean in and lick her slit, one long, slow lick, and she sighs, her body relaxing.
And Jesus fuck, but she tastes like heaven.
Like those peaches I thought of earlier.
I suck one side of her labia into my mouth, still being careful with her, gentle, and her thighs widen without me telling her to do it.
A hunger is working its way through my system, a driving need to have her flesh in my mouth, and I press my tongue against her clit while I open her labia with my fingers.
Her hips arch, then relax, as if she still has no idea what to do, how to respond to pure pleasure.
But her pussy is so soaking wet now, my fingers are sliding in her juices.
I have to lean in to drink from her, to swallow the evidence of her desire, to taste her body.
I lick at her wet hole, press my tongue inside to fuck her with it while I work the sides of her clit with my thumbs.
She’s panting aloud now, all control gone, and her hips start working, pumping.
And I want to give her what she wants, what she needs.
I move my mouth to her hard little clit, pausing to look at the swollen bit of pink flesh, my mouth watering to taste it.
I lick it, then again, and push two fingers into her sleek hole and start to fuck her as I suck her clit into my mouth.
I curve my fingers to find her g-spot, and it’s already swelling up, that textured bit of flesh inside her. I add a third finger and work that spot, being a little rough with it only because that gets the best response. But my tongue is still softly lapping at her clit as I work her g-spot.
Her hips grind against me, and I lick and lick.
Then, as her g-spot swells suddenly, pushing against my fingers, I take her clit into my mouth and suck hard, and she squirts all over my face, soaking me, the bed, her thighs, as she squeals and pants.
And it’s so fucking beautiful. I don’t stop.
I keep working her lovely pussy, licking, sucking, thrusting my fingers against her g-spot, and she squirts again for me, my beautiful girl.
She’s shivering all over, and I keep working her, offering her no mercy, and this time she’s nearly yelling as she squirts again.
“Oh, oh, ohhhhhhhhh!”
She’s shaking so damn hard it’s difficult to keep my mouth on her clit. The fact that I’m grinning doesn’t help.
I pause long enough to murmur, “One more time, my Giselle,” before I go at it again.
“Mmm,” is her only reply.
I pump my fingers inside her, suck that tight little clit, and my dick is so full of need it hurts. I grind against the mattress as I feed on her flesh, then drink her in as she squirts and comes in my face, her hips jerking, her throat raw as she yells.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”
And as she does, I come against the goddamn mattress, too fucking hot to wait to be inside her. Doesn’t matter, though, does it? I lay still for a minute with my head on her lap, with her shivering so hard beneath me, trying to catch her gasping breath. Well, so am I.
Finally I crawl my way back up her body, and when I hold myself over her, she reaches up to wipe my face with the sheet.
“I’ve made such a mess,” she says, smiling, her breath catching again on the last word.
“Yeah, you have. I fucking love it.”
She smiles up at me, her eyes sparkling. I’ve never seen her look this happy.
I’ve never felt this damn happy. Not in my whole fucking life.
God help me, but I love her.
God help me, but I’m going to need to do something drastic.
But I can’t think about it now. In fact, I can barely think after the orgasm that just ripped through me.
Time for that later. Right now I have my girl in my arms, and I’m keeping her here for as long as I can.
I’ll pay for it later, which is just fucking fine.
Whatever. I’m doing what I need to do right now.
I just don’t want her to have to pay for my stupid, selfish decisions.
But again, that can wait.
I lock that shit away in some dark corner of my brain and roll onto my side, taking her with me.
I don’t care that the bed is soaked through from her squirting, and me jizzing like a teenager onto the sheets, and she doesn’t seem to mind, either.
She curls up with her head on my chest like a goddamn kitten.
That small, that warm. And I could fucking swear she’s purring.
My kitten.
Yeah, I like that. Enough that I don’t even bother to scold m’self for being a sop.
I wake up again a while later—don’t know how much later and don’t fucking care, except that my stomach’s growling. And I realize with a start that I made the girl squirt and forgot to make sure she was hydrated after.
Fuck me.
I turn to look at her and her eyes are open.
“You’re awake,” I say.
“Yes. I have been for a bit.”
“How are you feeling? Headache?”
“Yes, a little.”
“Fuck. My fault. Let’s get some liquid into you.”
But as I try to get up she wraps her hand around my arm and holds on tight. “No, not yet. Please?”
Why does that make my heart fucking stutter in my chest? But responsibilities and all that.
“Nah, I’ll come right back. But I’m not going to let you suffer a headache because I wasn’t doing my job.”
“I thought your job was to make me suffer,” she teases, and for maybe the first time since we came to America, I see a bit of the old Giselle again.
“We sadists’ job is to hurt, not harm,” I remind her, “So up with ya to go splash some water on your face while I get you a hydration packet, or whatever they have on hand here.”
“Oh, but I can get it,” she says.
I shoot her a look, and she lowers her chin, batting those long lashes at me, and while it’s a bit of a submissive gesture of flirtation, she’s not arguing.
“Good girl,” I tell her, then get up and head to the kitchen.