Chapter 13
13
H ow is this real?
I’ve asked myself that question over and over in the last 24 hours, yet I’m still baffled. In all the times I got myself off in this very bed to the thought of Wesley's body above mine, pressing me into the mattress, it never felt like something that would actually happen. And damn, my imagination was lacking because the Wesley in my mind couldn’t hold a candle to the solid bulk of the minotaur currently teasing me with a cock the size of my forearm.
I also never imagined him having a dick piercing. I gasp softly as the metal brushes against my clit and Wesley lets out a pleased chuckle. “You like that, sweetheart?”
I nod, eager for more. “Yeah…feels good.” It only brushes against me a little in this position, but it still sends a thrill through me knowing he’s hard and so close to sliding inside me, even though we agreed not to do that.
“Hmm, good isn’t amazing.” He looks down at where our bodies press together, lips downturning slightly.
Does he not like how I look from this angle? The arousal he’s been kindling threatens to extinguish as my body issues rear their ugly head.
It only gets worse when he reaches down and grabs my lower belly with one hand and pushes it upward. His fingers sink into my ample flesh there and my face burns in shame.
“W-what are you doing? Stop it!” I squeak, reaching down and grab his wrist in an attempt to yank it away, but he doesn’t let go.
His eyes meet mine with a stern glare that makes my breath stutter. “Behave.”
“But—”
He releases his hold on me, grabbing both my wrists and pinning them above my head with staggering speed and ease. “Do you want me to let you come?” he asks, voice a low growl of warning.
My desire wars with my embarrassment. “Y-yes. I do. It’s just?—”
“Your body belongs to me, baby girl. It’s mine to do what I want with. If I want to grab your cute belly, then I’m going to. No arguing.”
He pauses, waiting to see if I continue to protest. I can’t help squirming against his hold, even though it’s futile. I’m so exposed and vulnerable, and when he talks about my stomach and using my body I can’t decide if I want to fight or beg him to keep going.
“Yes, daddy,” I whisper, unable to meet his eyes because I’m afraid he’ll see my frustrating shame about my stomach in them.
He huffs, switching his grip on my wrists to one hand so he can use the other to turn my face to look at him. His eyes burn with command and wicked heat as he speaks. “Use your safeword if you need to. Otherwise, you complain again and I’ll leave you on the edge and come all over that sweet softness you’re so adamant about keeping me from touching.”
The idea is so filthy and strange, I can’t help the whine that escapes me.
Wesley laughs darkly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You like knowing how hard your pretty, perfect body makes daddy. How he can’t help but jerk his cock every time he thinks about you. Dirty girl.” He grinds his erection against me with a rumble of pleasure, emphasizing his point. “Keep your hands above your head while I show you just how much I love it.”
His words leave me reeling and speechless, the harmful noise in my mind fading away as I let what he’s said take over. He loves my body.
I cry out as he grabs my belly again, taking a moment to knead it with a deep groan. His manhandling feels exciting rather than embarrassing with the new context, though still taboo. All my life, I’ve been taught to hate my fupa. When I was a pre-teen, the boy I had a crush on asked me if I was pregnant. My mom only bought me swimsuits that had an attached skirt or wrap so the cut of the leg wouldn’t reveal the roll where my stomach meets my thighs. Magazines provided infinite exercises and diets to target a stubborn low belly. It’s a part of me that’s supposed to be pointedly ignored, not appreciated.
Wes watches my face as he touches me, searching for a sign that I want him to stop. “Such a good girl,” he rumbles, gentling his touch to a soft caress. He strokes me with reverence, dragging his gaze down my body to focus on where his hand glides against my stomach. “You’re beautiful, Ari.”
A feeble laugh escapes me. “You must have a fat fetish.”
His eyes dart back to meet mine, and he shakes his head. “Not really. Yes, I find fat women attractive, but it’s not an exclusive preference. I love your softness because it’s yours . Touching your stomach turns me on because it’s a part of you .”
Tears pour from me as something deep inside me releases. “How is this real?” I don’t mean to ask the question that’s been on loop in my mind aloud, but it tumbles out anyway.
He reaches up to brush away some of the moisture with his thumb, then cups my cheek. “Good question, angel. I’ve got no clue how I got to be so damn lucky, but I’m sure as hell going to embrace it.” The hand on my belly presses the flesh gently upwards, and I gasp as the pierced head of his cock slides through my labia and bumps against clit, now more exposed to him.
Jesus, he was just trying to make it easier to get me off. “O-oh. That’s why…”
He smiles softly. “I told you. It’s my job to make you feel good, baby girl. It’s your job to trust me to take care of you.”
“I trust you,” I whisper, the bone-deep understanding of that truth finally apparent now that I’ve been given a reprieve from the morass of my anxieties and shame.
Wesley grins at me, hunger and pride filling his expression. Bringing the hand not on my stomach down to press his cock more firmly against my pussy, he begins to rock against me in a steady drag. “Fuck, you’re soaking my cock. Feel how easy it is for me to slide against you? You’re so godsdamned good. ”
“More,” I gasp, tilting my hips to try to meet his. I want to reach down and grab his hips to grind him against me harder, but I don’t want to risk him stopping because I didn’t keep my hands above my head.
He rearranges the hand holding my stomach so that his thumb presses against my clit, and the added stimulation has me shaking with the need to come. “Ah, yes. Please, daddy. Please, Wes.” I’m babbling as he speeds up his strokes, his weight pinning me down to the bed as he grinds and grinds against me until I’m ready to shatter.
“Gods, shit, I’m gonna come,” Wes gasps suddenly, his hips stuttering against me. He releases a rumbling, primal groan as hot jets of his cum splatter against my stomach and labia. He keeps moving, the thumb on my clit circling insistently, and the thought of his release so close to being inside me pushes me over the edge.
“Daddy!” I buck against his touch as I come, senses overloaded with pleasure.
“That’s it, baby. Such a good girl,” he rasps, stroking me through my orgasm until I let out a shuddering sigh.
I have the urge to do something tremendously foolish, like tell him I love him, but thankfully he tugs me up into his arms and kisses me before the words can escape. He strokes my back as he holds me against him, drugging me with slow kisses until I’m languid and drowsy in his arms. He’s so solid and warm and wonderful .
“How do you feel, sweetheart?” he asks as he eases his mouth from mine.
“ Amazing .” I nestle in against his shoulder and close my eyes, savoring the comfort his strong hold provides.
He strokes my hair, sending pleasant prickles down my spine. “Mmm, good. Don’t fall asleep yet, though. I gotta get you cleaned up before I tuck you in bed.”
I sigh, not liking the idea of getting up but recognizing the need. “You love making a mess of me, don’t you?”
Wesley chuckles. “I fucking love it. But I love the idea of cleaning you off, too. Now, shower or bath?”
“Shower. I don’t have a bathtub.”
He looks down at me, aghast. “You’re kidding me. What kind of house doesn’t have a bathtub?”
I shrug. “Uh, one that was owned by an elderly lady who converted all the tubs to showers for accessibility? It sucks, but it’s one of the reasons I was able to afford the place.”
He frowns, giving me a look of deep concern. “So you never get to take a bath? Doug told stories about how you used to hog your bathroom for hours as a kid, filling and refilling the bathtub so you could read as long as you wanted. That’s awful.”
“It’s not some great tragedy. I’m used to it,” I say, confused why he cares so much.
“That’s it.”
“That’s what?” This whole conversation is so strange.
He grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eyes with determination. “You’re moving in with me.”
My heart skips a beat. “What?!”
“How the hell am I supposed to spoil you, the queen of baths, without a tub? Come live with me—I have an enormous one that will fit both of us.”
“Wes, what are you talking about? I can’t move in with you! We literally just started dating. That would be insane.”
He gives me a cocky grin.“Would it?”
“Yes, it would!” I shove his shoulder with a scowl that makes him laugh.
“Hmm, would you change your mind if I told you it was a minotaur thing? That once we find a partner, we need to keep them in our lair? ”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe, if you weren’t completely full of shit.”
“Hah, fair! Alright, if you’re not moving in, then you’re at least going to spend the weekend at my place.” He pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear with a devastatingly seductive smile.
“I…” The thought of spending the whole weekend with him is incredibly tempting, but weekends are always so busy for me. There’s no way I can afford to take off two days. I can barely take a few hours for myself.
He sighs dramatically, but the sound doesn’t hold any real frustration. “Saturday night and Sunday morning at my place? I can cook you dinner while you read in the tub. Let me spoil you a little, sweetheart. Otherwise, I’ll spend the whole weekend pining for you.”
I should say no. How the fuck am I supposed to be his girlfriend when I can’t even make time for myself. The responsible thing to do is tell him I can’t. But when he presses a kiss to my shoulder, I crumble. “Okay, okay. But only if you make your lasagna.”
“Your wish is my command.” His delighted smile makes my chest ache with affection. “Now, get your butt in the shower. It’s late and you have a busy day tomorrow.”
“You’re not going to join me, daddy?” I ask, batting my eyelashes at him.
“If I go with you, you’ll just get dirty again,” he says, voice threaded with a touch of heat.
“I promise I’ll be good,” I whisper, brushing my lips against the column of his throat.
His cock twitches against my ass, and he groans. “I’m trying to be responsible, sweetheart. Plus, I doubt we’ll both fit.”
I let out a long sigh and slide off his lap. “Fine.”
He grabs my hip as I go to walk toward the bathroom. “Before you g o, where’s your linen closet?”
My brow furrows. “My linen closet? Why?”
“I’ll change the sheets while you shower.” He gestures down to the large damp spot on my bed.
Yikes, I didn’t realize he came that much.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. It’s late and you’re probably tired.” My stubborn anxiety creeps back in. Does he want to spend the night? “You can go home if you want. Or stay. Whatever is fine.”
He squeezes my hip. “You say the most ridiculous things sometimes, baby girl. Of course I’m spending the night. Go wash up and then I’m snuggling the shit out of you.”
I head off to the shower with a giggle. When I shut the door behind me, I lean against it and close my eyes. The question that’s been burning inside me fades to blissful, befuddled acceptance.
Holy shit, this is real.