Chapter 31 Sunday Morning
sunday morning
BELL
I woke up in a bright room on a mattress much firmer than the one in my loft. Somewhere in the distance, the Chrysanthemum cast was singing about what they’d do when they reached the north. And instead of wearing one of Zion’s button-ups, I was completely naked.
And sore. Like, really, really sore.
A flash of panic seized my chest. Did Dennis—?
No. No, that was a different kind of sore. The bad kind. Brittle and bruised.
This sore was more lush: tender thighs, swollen lips, aching pinched nipples, and a core that didn’t feel brutalized, but claimed. Thoroughly, deliciously claimed.
And then the memories hit.
Ravik. The table. His eyes glowing gold as his hips rolled between my legs….
Oh god, it had felt so good, but…
Heat flooded my entire face as I remembered how wild and out-of-control I’d been. Then my entire body when I remembered the awkward aftermath of realizing what I’d done. With an audience!
“I believe the second act belongs to me.”
That’s what Zion had said, eyes dark with promise.
“Bath first,” Ravik insisted. He pulled out with a dip of his head, looking almost shy after the way he’d rocked my world. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” he said, voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “But that couldn’t have been easy on your body.” He glanced at Boone. “Follow me.”
He wasn’t trying to tell me what to do, but everyone fell in line like good soldiers. Ravik giving orders. Boone following through. Zion rushing ahead to the downstairs bedroom’s ensuite bathroom like someone who’d been given life-or-death mission orders.
Boone scooped me up in his arms. “Bath time, sugar.”
The next thing I knew, Boone was lowering me into a free-standing porcelain tub Zion had already filled with water that was not too hot, not too cold. Just right.
There were some apologies from Ravik about not having any bubble bath or Epsom salts. “I’ll get some tomorrow,” he vowed, as if it was a huge personal failure on his part not to have predicted that I would swing by for a session of sex on top of his kitchen table today.
“Don’t worry about it. The warm water feels amazing,” I assured him, laying my head back against the tub’s lip. Still, I had to tease, “I guess bears don’t get sore.”
“No, we don’t,” he murmured, stroking my cheek while Boone began cleaning me with a warm washcloth.
And then... nothing.
Oh god, not again. Did I fall asleep in the bath like I did the last time back in my Minneapolis apartment?
Also... where am I?
An argyle duvet covered the bed I was lying in, and the dresser—which matched the one in my cottage—was topped with stacks of books and a few plays.
I guessed whose bedroom this was, even before Zion came through the door with a mug in one hand.
“I thought I heard you stirring in here. It appears I was right. I’ve brought you coffee, and before you thank me for being overly gallant, know that heating water in the electric kettle is the very extent of my culinary skills.”
I laughed, then winced a little as I sat up in bed, making sure to keep my breasts covered this time.
I wasn’t surprised to hear he could only boil water, but I was shocked to see him dressed in joggers and a tee with ABERNATHY written across it over the kind of crest I usually associated with the Harry Potter brand.
Having never seen him in anything more casual than an argyle polo, I had to comment.
“I never would have guessed you actually owned casual clothes.”
“Sunday is laundry day.” Zion glanced down at his outfit with a distasteful look. But then he brightened. “Though this Sunday, I don’t mind nearly as much. After heavily contentious negotiations, I emerged the winner, and I get to spend the entire day with you.”
I dipped my chin. “You guys actually fought over getting to spend time with me?”
“Naturally,” Zion answered, handing me the coffee. “Are you not a prize?”
A prize…
I waited for the ugly feelings to come—for the mean voice to pipe up with a warning that these guys were delusional and no, Bell, you idiot, you’re not anyone’s prize.
But they never did.
Instead, warmth fluttered in my chest. All three of them wanted to spend time with me. They argued and negotiated for the privilege.
“You know what?” I realized out loud. “I kind of like getting won.”
I set the coffee cup aside with the new confidence of knowing that Zion had negotiated for this time with me. Argued for it.
My eyes dropped down to the long ridge straining against his joggers, and I let the blanket drop.
“Would you like your reward?”
His eyes darkened. “I would.”
He moved forward to stand at the side of the bed I was sitting up on and asked, “May I touch you while we conduct this next set of negotiations?”
I nodded. This time without hesitation.
“Sleeping with you in my arms was heaven.” He brought his hand up and caressed my shoulder with his knuckles. “But also torture. I’m exceedingly hard.”
“I am so very sorry.” Taking a page from his book, I layered my apology with extra dramatic effect as I peeped up at him. “How can I make it up to you?”
A smile played on his lips. “I saw you wince earlier. I believe I might need to use my mouth on you again to…” He considered his word choice for a moment. “…soothe you before we try anything else.”
He had a point.
But I countered it with, “How about if I use my mouth on you?”
Zion’s hand stilled on my shoulder, and his eyes took on a faint golden glow. “You want to give me your mouth?”
I nodded. Then, remembering he liked to hear the words, I answered out loud. “Yeah, I think I would.”
I smiled up at him. But for once, he didn’t smile back.
“Bell Winters.” Zion’s face was serious, bordering on grave. “I need to see your eyes.”
Here was that test again.
This time, I raised my gaze to his with ease.
He scanned my face in a way I could imagine him doing to a student he suspected of cheating.
But then, instead of dimming like they did last time, his eyes blazed an even brighter gold.
Still, his next words were a mini-lecture. 'You understand, you have agency here, Bell. If you start and then need to stop, that's not merely acceptable—it's your right. This isn't a test. There is no such thing as failure in this context.'"
Funny he should say that because I did feel like I’d just passed an entrance exam—the same one I’d failed last time when he saw I was still too messed up to follow through on my offer of oral reciprocation.
“I understand,” I answered, with every intention of not failing the final. “But I want to try.”
I held his gaze, letting him feel my calm, that my offer was being made with curiosity and desire. Not fear or obligation. “Can I try?”
Finally, the smile returned to Zion’s face. “Yes. Ursa, yes.”
Yes…
My heart thrummed, and I waited for him to remove his hand from my shoulder and take himself out.
But he kept his knuckles where they were while regarding me with a soft gaze.
“You’re aware it belongs to you, hmm? Anytime you wish to have it,” he told me. “If you wish to have it now, take it out.”
It.
Zion rarely used vague pronouns, but I understood what he was referring to… that he was gifting me control of that part of him.
Suddenly, this felt like new territory.
Dennis would never have let me lead. Never acted like my mouth was a privilege, or that he wasn’t allowed to shove his dick into it whenever he wanted.
But Zion…
Zion wasn’t Dennis. None of them were anything like him.
That new certainty swept through me like a strong breeze, clearing my path forward of dirt and detritus as I reached underneath the band of Zion’s joggers and took his dick into my hand.
It was so long. I imagined taking him inside like I had Ravik. Of it hitting places only he could reach.
“Bell…” Zion’s nostrils flared. His dick grew even harder in my hands, with a drop of pre-cum forming at the tip.
“Yes?” I asked, sliding my tongue out to slowly swipe the little bit of the salty liquid away.
Zion didn’t answer. Just watched with glowing eyes as I licked up the underside of his long shaft. Slowly, deliberately, while holding his golden gaze.
Then I did it again before tilting it down to oh-so-slowly swirl my tongue beneath his hood, around the sensitive head.
“Bell…” he growled after a sharp inhale.
“Yes?” I asked again. I gave his shaft another slow, careful lick, like I was savoring a very long popsicle. “Are you trying to tell me what to do with my dick?”
He released a shuddering breath. “No, I’m warning you that you’re too enchanting. If you continue playing with me in this manner, there is a great likelihood I will not make it to the part where you put it in your—”
Before he could finish, I swallowed him down with a huge suck that brought him all the way to the back of my throat.
He did not taste like raspberry jam. But I liked it, the clean smell of him in my nose, the sharp breaths he made every time I gave his length another pulling suck.
How he stayed still, flexing his hands at the side of my face, but never grabbing onto the back of my head to violently thrust himself in my mouth.
The way it stayed quiet in my mind as I did whatever I wanted to my dick.
Because he wasn’t Dennis. He was Zion, my flirtatious friend. And it felt so good to give him the same kind of pleasure he’d given me.
“Bell, Bell, sweetheart—” His voice sounded pained, right before his salty load spilled down the throat I was happily holding open for him.
I used to be a spitter, but Zion made me want to swallow every drop.
“By Ursa, I cede the win,” he declared, voice shaky. “You’re even better with your mouth than I am.”
Flatterer. But I sat back, weirdly elated, even though my body was clenching with unmet need. I wondered if this was how it had felt for him a week ago. And a little bit of the guilt lifted because I could see how one could be perfectly satisfied with completely satisfying someone else.
Not that Zion was going to leave it there.
As soon as he recovered, that silver tongue of his went to work. First convincing me to lie back.
“I must vie to win back my crown,” he insisted, rolling the “r” on crown.
Then he dramatically buried his face between my legs to do just that. With his tongue and his fingers this time.
At first, I laughed at his theatrics… then I gasped… then I moaned and moaned.
We never got around to naming an official winner.
But later that morning, Zion made yet another bid for the title, putting me on my side and pulling me into his chest to rub my mound while he claimed me with his long length.
My imagination called it right—it did go extra deep.
And when he added his mouth to the mix, sucking on my earlobe in a way that made my spine tingle, I came in a burst of fireworks.
Zion followed, groaning into the erogenous zone he’d found as he spilled inside of me.
I’d been complaining about my age all summer, but thank goodness I wasn’t any younger. I would definitely be pregnant after that.
“You win,” Zion said on a happy exhale.
Before I could ask him how he figured that when I was the one he’d turned into a puddle, a knock sounded on the door.
“Go away, interloper!” Zion called out. “Sunday is my day!”
“She has to eat,” Ravik called back on the other side of the door. “We talked about this, and you didn’t follow protocol, so you’ve ceded your exclusivity rights.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, throwing a quizzical look at Zion over my shoulder.
“Rahtid! Cho, look at yuh spoutin’ this foolishness.
” For the first time since I’d met him, Zion’s Jamaican accent came bleeding through.
It was total animosity, directed at the guy he was calling the best first maul anyone could ask for just a few weeks ago.
“Like the two a yuh weren’t outside that door, waiting for me to miss that dumdum countdown clock. ”
“Two of you?” I asked.
As if in answer, Boone growled. “Rules are rules, man.”
“And you broke them,” Ravik added.
Before Boone pointed out, “And we should probably begin training sooner than later anyway.”
Now I was really confused.
“Training?” I asked Zion.