Chapter 3 #4
I can smell her perfume and feel the warmth of her breath against my whiskered jaw, and it’s doing things to me. Things I should probably put a stop to. She’s clearly not in a good place, but what’s happening right now isn’t voluntary.
“Why are you so kind to me, Gareth?” she asks my lips. Her voice is deep and different than I’ve ever heard. “I don’t have many friends out here, and you’re one of the only ones who’s kind.”
My voice is like gravel when I reply, “I li-like you.”
Her gaze roves over my features, taking in every millimetre of my expression like she’s looking for a lie. It hurts to see her like this. Sloan is always so thoughtful and patient. So understanding. What kind of a sick bastard could make her doubt herself so much?
I would never make her feel this way. In fact, I would do literally anything to take away this pain she’s feeling. Seeing her falling apart feels dangerous, like she could break and disappear at any second.
I lean in toward her lips. The sugary scent wafting off of her makes my mouth water. I can practically taste the sweetness of her skin and we haven’t even touched yet. “Tell me what you want, Treacle.”
She sucks in a quick breath and tightens her grip on my biceps. “What does Treacle mean?”
My eyes close because I didn’t mean to say it out loud. It’s an East London word that an old trainer for Bethnal used a lot, and for some reason it stuck. “It’s a British term for sweet. Treacle is a type of sweet molasses.”
Her nose wrinkles with disgust. “Why would you call me molasses?”
I press my lips to fight the chuckle that is rising in my chest. “Because you smell sweet. You’ve always smelled sweet since the first time I met you. Like syrup.”
“Oh,” she says, looking down and thinking that over. “And you like that?” she asks, looking up at me with hope.
Not at first, is the reply that pops into my head. Instead, I press my nose to her neck. The skin is soft and puckers with goosebumps as I inhale deeply. Lightly touching my lips to her neck, I murmur against her flesh, “I do now.”
Sloan swallows slowly as I pull back and take in her flushed cheeks. “So it’s like a term of endearment?”
“You could call it that.”
Her eyes well with tears, and I fear that I’ve gone too far.
A droplet slides down her cheek, so I reach out to cradle her delicate face in my hands.
My thumb slowly slicks the moisture away.
“I’m sorry if that was too much. I won’t say it again.
I just really want to make this pain you have go away. I have to make these tears stop.”
“It’s not too much,” she croaks, leaning into me so our bodies are pressed against each other. I thought it was my lips on her neck that upset her, but now we’re so close I can feel every breath she takes. “I’ve never had a term of endearment.”
I’ve never been inspired to give one, is what I think.
Instead, I reply, “You should have that and so much more, Sloan. Just tell me what you want and I will give it to you.” My body is roaring to life in a way I’ve never experienced, and it’s taking every ounce of my control to not ravage her on the spot.
But that’s the last thing she needs. She’s come to me saying she feels out of control. I’m not about to enable that feeling.
“What do you mean?” she asks, watching my lips as she licks her tongue across her own.
“Tell me what to do. Give me an order. Whatever you want. You’re not out of control right now, Sloan. You are completely in control. With me. I give it all to you.”
A breath she had been holding escapes her lips in a garbled sort of moan, like the thought of me giving in to her is turning her on. God, I want to see her turned on. I want to see her let go so fucking badly I could roar.
She inhales and husks against my lips, “I…want a lot of things.” Her eyes drift down my body, and her chest rises and falls with deep, labourious breaths.
“Considering how badly I want you right now, I’m bloody well positive you could have anything from me.”
Her eyes snap to mine, and an ember burns in them that wasn’t there before. “Anything?”
I swallow slowly, a heavy, important weight pressing down on me with that single word. “Anything.”
Her voice is quick and brisk, like a flash of lightning. “I want to see you naked.”
Fuck. Me.
It has just been confirmed that the woman I’ve fantasised about nineteen different ways since the second I met her wants me naked.
It’s not at all what I expected but more than I could have ever hoped for.
I want to thrust my victorious fists in the air and hoot for joy, but I’m going to conceal my childish excitement.
She’s fragile right now. Raw. This needs to be about her desires. Not mine. It’s important for her to know I’m taking her seriously. And there’s no way in hell I want any of this to stop.
Releasing her cheeks, I step back and yank my shirt off over my head. Before my eyes open, she’s in my space, raking her fingers over my shoulders and through the short hairs on my chest. Her eyes watch the action as her nails bite into my flesh, leaving thin red lines as they go.
My grunt has her eyes back on mine. “Do you like that?” she asks nervously, trying to read my expression.
Swallowing and trying to maintain control of my impending erection, I nod slowly. I like it too much. I like it more than I’ve liked a woman’s hands on me in ages. My tone is guttural. “I like it a lot.”
My chest begins rising and falling quicker the longer she looks at me, eyeing me with renewed strength. “Can we really do this?” she asks.
“Yes,” I reply automatically, needful for more. “We can do whatever you want.” And I seriously mean whatever she wants.
“Unbutton your jeans,” she whispers tremulously and takes a step back to watch my reaction.
Her eyes are strong and full of passion. They look confident, no longer crazed and out of control. Giving her this control is a turn-on like I’ve never felt before.
Reaching down, I unbutton the snap of my jeans, pulling apart the zipper seam with a simple bend of my wrist. Sloan’s eyes travel down the line of hair running from my navel to my groin. She bites her lip and her head lolls back like she’s trying to maintain control of herself.
Fuck me. I’m not even touching her and she’s reacting this strongly. Don’t fucking stop, Treacle.
“Tell me more,” I croak, my voice deep and gravelly as I stare at the beautiful flesh on her neck. “Tell me everything you want me to do.”
She nods, her shoulders rising with this newfound empowerment she’s trying so hard to embrace. Her hands slide up her body to the back of her neck. “Rub yourself,” she states. “Over your jeans.”
My brows lift. God, why am I so proud of her in this moment? She’s fucking stunning, that’s why.
I press the heat of my palm over the crotch of my denim, careful not to do anything more than what she’s requested. My dick is hardening from watching her watch me. She’s a fucking vision.
My forearm flexes as I begin to massage my groin, my dick pressing against the seam of my jeans and growing by the second.
“Go inside your jeans. Rub your bare…cock.” She hesitates on the last word and pulls her lip into her mouth, clearly unsure of herself.
“Anything,” I whisper, my voice quaking because my level of arousal is a bit terrifying.
My reply gives her confidence. She licks her lips and eyes the veins running up my arm as I slide my hand into my tight jeans. I’m rock-hard now, but there’s no room to play. Regardless, I’m following orders and everything feels so fucking good.
“I want to see you, Gareth,” she all but moans. “Take off your jeans.”
Thank fuck, I think to myself as I slide the jeans down my legs and kick them out of the way. She’s asked me to take off my jeans for a million different fittings, but I usually remember to put underwear on when she comes by. Perhaps it was destiny that I forgot tonight.
I’m completely naked while she remains completely clothed.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced with a woman.
There’s a shift in the room. In the universe.
A change in our axis. The power she has over me as I stand in front of her naked and vulnerable is a heady, sexy sensation.
A strange desire to fall to my knees and worship her overcomes me, but I remain on my feet, slowly stroking my cock for her half-lidded eyes.
“Will you drop to your knees?” she asks, wringing her hands together in front of her.
I look at her like she’s reading my fucking mind. “Will you demand it?” I want to hear the order. I crave it.
Her jaw tightens. “Drop to your knees.”
The conviction in her voice is like a defibrillator to my chest, shocking the last remaining control I’ve lived with my entire fucking life out of my body.
I’ve entered into some sexy as fuck fantasy world where she’s the queen and I’m her servant.
And, bloody hell, it’s just like my fucking dreams. My mind has clicked off and is uninhibited.
Ready to listen, to respond, to please. I’m prepared and waiting for more orders because, for once in my life, I’m not in control.
I’m not the celebrity footballer. I’m not the big brother.
I’m not the support system, the mediator, the protector.
I don’t have to solve things or play a certain role.
I can just be myself without expectations. I’m…free.
The feeling is completely liberating. I don’t want to challenge her. I want to make her happy. I want to keep that confidence in her voice. I want to follow her commands, praying like fuck she’ll reward me with her body.
My grip tightens around my cock, and I close my eyes briefly to concentrate so I don’t come like a fucking teenager.
“Eyes on me,” she states.
My eyes snap to hers.