Chapter 18
eighteen
Mateo
I rub my eyes to keep them from bugging out of my head.
In my stunned silence, Nessa stalks toward me like a huntress. I am her prey, frozen in place.
With narrow eyes and hands waving wildly, she shouts words my brain can’t process.
All I can do is watch her pretty pink lips move and grin so wide my face hurts. Fuck, I love getting her worked up, but this is next level.
When she doesn’t pause to remove her shoes, I look down and my jaw drops. Those aren’t shoes. They’re over-the-knee stiletto leather boots.
“Holy. Shit,” I say with an exhale.
My heart races, my cock thickening as my mind screams do not come from the sight of her alone .
A foot in front of me, Nessa drops the coat to a puddle on the floor and lunges for me, wrapping her legs around my waist. I catch her under the skirt, the smooth skin of her ass instantly registering under my palms.
No panties under this babydoll?
“Fuck me,” I groan, gazing down to take in the full view of her in the tiniest slip of material that does nothing to hide what lies beneath. I carry her out of the entryway, my heartbeat skipping as I come eye to eye with the pendant around her neck.
With her hands on my cheeks, she slams her lips to mine, stealing my breath. The kiss is hurried, all crashing lips, tongues, and teeth.
“I hate you.” Her eyes ignite, the flames as intense as the heat from her core pressed to my middle. The sensations are overwhelming. Nessa is all-consuming.
I’m afraid to speak, worried I’ll fuck things up again. Instead, I return her kiss and hope we’re done talking.
To my dismay, she pulls back again.
“Nothing bothers you,” she laments between each taste. “Do you know how hard I tried to get you back with that surprise?”
Unable to think of a reply, I simply resume savoring her mouth. My tongue parts her lips, and the sensual tussle continues.
She pulls back and forces me to make direct eye contact. “Worse, I hate every time you prove to be the opposite of what I believed. You’re meticulous. Hardworking.”
Goose bumps erupt on my skin at her admission.
“You’ve noticed?” My breath is barely a whisper.
Vigorously, she shakes her head, forcing me to grasp tighter so she doesn’t fall. “The flirting. Oh my god, I hate the fucking flirting. It’s like you know that I can’t stop thinking about that night.”
I’m stunned, smiling at these admissions.
When she puts her lips on my neck, every part of me is consumed with her.
My throbbing cock begins to leak precum. I need to free it, to feel her touch, to come with her instead of to the memory of her.
She pulls back, brow furrowed, and studies my face.
Dammit. I swear if she changes her mind again, I’m going to punch myself in the balls.
“Can I touch you?” I whisper, desperate to feel every inch of her.
She rakes her fingers through my hair and tugs. “God, yes.”
I carry her into the living room and ease her onto the arm of the couch. When I pull back a fraction, I’m met with the most wonderful view of those luscious, perky tits.
Stepping back, I take her in fully with reverence. “Holy shit.”
These are the only words I know now. “Holy shit.” That’s it. And longing stares. I’ve got those down.
I kneel before her and run my hands along the soft leather of her boots.
Before I can yank the zipper open, she scoffs and parts her legs wider. “If you’re just going to stare…” She props her heel on my shoulder, letting her knee fall wide to expose her trimmed dark blond curls.
Letting out a long exhale, I place my trembling hands on her knees.
“So wet for me,” I murmur, dragging my thumbs along the soft skin of her thighs.
All that separates us now is the most insignificant fragment of space. Despite my longing to dive in, I use every bit of my willpower I possess to hold back. One word from her, and I’ll touch her where she’s dripping for me.
The longer I wait, the deeper her heel digs into my muscles, causing me to moan.
“You like that?” she asks, pressing harder.
I let another soft sound of appreciation escape my lips and am rewarded with her confident, throaty laugh.
“Are you going to tell me that you’re waiting for me to touch, lick, and kiss this beautiful pink pussy?
” I grit out, still gently caressing her legs.
“Are you going to demand I make you come, twice, before even thinking of myself? I bet you’ll go with three times once you find out that pendant around your neck is more than a?—”
“Oh, I know,” she interjects with a bit of mischief in her eyes.
“Tell me what you want. I don’t like watching you deny yourself.” I slide closer to her heat, teasing her but waiting for her command.
I kiss the inside of her left knee and drag my lips up, up, up. But before I give her what she wants, I pull back and do the same on the other side. I repeat this, getting a bit closer each time.
Eventually, I straighten and smirk down at her.
“If you can’t tell me what you want, then I guess I’ll just head to bed. Good night, Nessa.” With a wink, I release her, then stroll toward my bedroom.
I’m going to ensure that she’s clear and direct with her desires.
Stopping, I turn and repeat her words from the podcast episode. “Are you embarrassed to discuss your needs with your partner, Dr. Rabin?”
She leans forward until her breasts nearly spill out of the cups, unzips the boots, and pads after me, her feet bare.
“Not in the slightest,” she says casually as she passes me.
I give her a moment before following her into my bedroom.
Nessa is a vision in pink. The bedside lamp is on, emitting a soft glow, but otherwise, the room is dark.
She’s in the center of my bed—on my new mattress and sheets—sitting on her knees.
Her long, shiny blond hair flows over her shoulders and curls around her breasts, and her kiss-swollen lips shimmer.
Nessa is sultry, powerful, and confident. All of my favorite things.
Resting a forearm on the doorframe, I wait for her command. My gray sweats leave nothing to hide, so she knows how badly I want her too.
Heart squeezing, I ask, “Who’s calling the shots, Ivy? I can take the lead or follow yours. But if you don’t pick soon, then I’ll choose for you, and you’ll be forced to listen to me begging you to ride my face until you’re screaming my name.”
She swallows audibly, her throat bobbing, then croaks, “Beg me.”
Growing bolder, she traces her hands up and down her thighs, her long, thin fingers leaving goose bumps in their wake.
I want to beg, but I’m frozen, watching her lithe movements. I want to watch her. I want to interrupt and give her all she could ever need.
In my stillness, she’s reached the hem of her skirt, lifting it to tease her clit with one hand while she massages her barely contained breast with the other. She sways in rhythm with a song only she hears. “Beg for permission to eat this magnificent pussy.”
These words do me in, and the memory of our night together—and her admission that nobody had focused on her pleasure—crashes into me.
“Fucking hell.” I blow out a breath and enter the room.
In her pink lingerie, centered on the mattress and writhing, she reminds me of a delicate jewelry box ballerina. Moving but going nowhere. I want to help her reach her bliss, and I don’t want to interrupt the soft murmurs and sighs that create a soundtrack to this moment.
I prowl to the foot of the bed, doing my best to not blink for fear I could miss a millisecond of her softness and strength on display.
I’m mesmerized by the cycle she’s created.
She winds herself up, hums in pleasure, and closes her eyes briefly.
Each time she opens them again, our gazes lock and she starts again until finally, she slides her fingers effortlessly through her own slick.
Mindlessly, my own hands drift to my pants, and I stroke the erection I’m dying to release from its cloth cage.
“Who said you could touch yourself?” Her reprimand is in direct contrast to the gentle way she’s handling herself.
It shakes me momentarily from how she has me clitmatized.
I place my hands on the edge of the mattress so she can see them, and when I sink to my knees, she rewards me with a smile.
I’m playing my part, but I really wish I could pause to praise her for finding this voice in herself.
When she purrs out her next statement, though, all of those thoughts are forgotten.
“Good boy. If you want me to sit on your face, then beg for it.”
“Nessa,” I exhale her name reverently. “Gorgeous, I need to taste you. Soak my fucking face. Ride me until we find out just how wet you can get. Take what you need. I just need to hear you scream my name.”
She rewards me by spreading her thighs wide and uncovering her pussy again.
“Lay down. Right there,” she instructs me.
I’m more than happy to comply. Fuck, I’m so taken with her.
She tries not to giggle as she hovers above me. It reminds me briefly how new this is for her.
Looking up her skirt causes my cock to thicken further. I lightly skim her calves and resume my plea as arousal drips from her swollen core.
“Please smother me with that pretty little cunt of yours. I haven’t stopped thinking about it in months.”
All at once, her skirt covers my face and her knees rest by my ears. This is all the invitation I need to flatten my tongue and lick her from her entrance to her clit and back.
Her approval comes in her touch. She rakes her fingers through my hair, making tingles erupt across my scalp and down my spine.
I make a meal of her, licking and sucking and nipping, relishing the way her core flutters around my tongue when I plunge it into her.
Grasping harder at my hair, she grinds herself against my mouth, chasing friction. I reward her with the smallest bite on the nub, then soothe the prick of pain with a soft kiss.
Hands on her hips, I dig my fingers into her flesh, causing her to gasp.
“Hold me tighter,” she cries when I loosen my grip. Her voice raspy with need.