37. Lydia
Lydia
Make it up to me, he did.
I walked into my hotel room a virgin, but Yom started teaching me the real meaning of words I’d only seen before.
Instead of showering right away, I learned what it felt like to have someone cream pie inside of me, then play with the mess he’d made between my legs while he lazily sucked on my breasts, lathing each one with attention.
“Oh, Yom! Oh Yom!” My breaths came faster and faster as the ball of his palm pressed hard into my clit while he finger banged me with the first two digits of his right hand.
The room filled with the wet, sloppy sound of him sucking my breast while working my pussy until I came—so hard, I completely forgot about taking a shower.
The warm tingle of afterglow settled over me like a warm blanket, and I fell asleep against Yom’s chest.
Only to wake up sometime later in the night with Yom’s dark head between my thighs. The tux was gone. He wore nothing but a pair of black briefs, and his back muscles rippled in the shadows of the dimly lit room as he devoured me below.
How long had he been down there? Instead of feeling alarmed, warm sensations washed over me like lazy lake waves.
He must have sensed I was awake because he lifted his face to say, “I am not done making terrible start to sex up to you.”
“Oh, you don’t…” My stomach twisted with guilt that he was still feeling bad about that. “You don’t have to make anything up to me.”
Yom just dipped his head back down between my legs.
Had he heard me?
“Yom, stop, you don’t have to…” I tried to say a little louder. Only to break off with an, “Oh, ooohhhh !”
Yom’s tongue flicked at my clit, and my eyes rolled as electric currents of pleasure shot through my core.
So this was what getting eaten out felt like.
No wonder Trish secretly identified as a pillow princess.
Suddenly, I couldn’t catch my breath. “Stop…” I gasped. “You don’t have to…”
I trailed off again when he pulled my thighs a little wider apart so he could spear his tongue even deeper inside of me, so deep I could feel the tip curl into my interior wall as the top of his nose pressed into my clit.
Something caught then, clicking like the old gas stove in my apartment right before it caught…
Fire! Oh God, oh, God!
Suddenly, my hands were threading in his hair, and I was no longer protesting but pushing my pussy shamelessly into his face.
“Don’t stop!” I begged on a scream as a new orgasm bloomed outward from my core. “Oh, God, please don’t stop.”
Yom didn’t stop. Even when I began convulsing underneath him, he kept devouring me, his tongue circling my sensitive clit until I melted back onto the bed in a quivering heap with the true meaning of oral fully committed into my physical memory.
“That was amazing meal, zayka .” From behind my closed eyelids, I sensed Yom rise up from between my legs. “Would you like food, too?”
My eyes fluttered open inside my afterglow to the sight of him kneeling, his erection creating a ridged behind the cotton barrier of his briefs.
Somewhat fascinated and remembering that I didn’t identify as a pillow princess, I rallied into a sitting position. But when I reached forward to take him out and return the favor, he pushed my hand away with a low chuckle. “No, zayka , I am speaking of real food since we are having no chance to eat at party.”
Oh. Real food. My face heated, even as my stomach grumbled in full agreement that I could eat despite it being...
I checked the nightstand clock. Two a.m. “Will anything be open this late, though?”
“Of course,” Yom answered, pulling out his phone with the confidence of someone who always got what he wanted.
Guess that confidence wasn’t all smoke and mirrors, like Paul’s. Less than thirty minutes later, a knock on the door sounded.
“Mr. Nakamura says welcome to Chicago,” a muffled voice announced when Yom answered in a robe he’d pulled out of the closet.
“Dinnertime!” Yom said with a grin after he returned to the bed with a deep dish pizza, along with real plates to eat it on and metal silverware to cut it up with.
Maybe there was something about hotel rooms. It felt like the guy I’d met in Berlin had re-entered the chat as we shared a cozy super-late-night dinner.
Until he casually declared while cutting into his third slice of pizza, “We will make safe word. This way, there is no misunderstanding if you truly want me to stop.”
I nearly choked on my own second slice of pizza. “Um…”
My cheeks flamed at the memory of how I’d morphed from a shy receiver into a wanton screamer under his tongue.
“You can be embarrassed, but you must still pick safe word,” he said into my mortified silence.
“Why can’t you pick it?” I asked.
A heated look. “Because I am not one who will be needing it.”
My stomach dipped like I was on a roller coaster again. Even though I was sitting still.
“How about ‘suitcase’?” I said, glancing at the luggage and spilled clothes he’d shoved to the ground.
“Suitcase. This is excellent safe word.” He gave me a pleased smile over the pizza. “Good job, zayka . You are learning so well.”
I beamed under his approval, a weird thrill warming my tummy. And that was when I discovered I might have a praise kink .
“You are not full yet,” he said as I finished my second slice, his tone flat—leaving me unsure if he was making a statement or asking a question.
I figured it must have been the former when he placed another slice on my plate and said, “You will take another,” in that unmistakable tone he used for commands.
Maybe it was the power of suggestion—or the continued effects of the tremendous afterglow from the multiple orgasms he’d given me. I ended up happily housing a third slice. “I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”
Yom gathered up everything and set it outside the door. “We are very hungry-making activity,” he replied in his vaguely broken English that somehow made perfect sense.
“ Zayka , I am still hungry, though,” he said when he came back from setting everything outside the door. “For tossed salad.”
I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised. Chicago deep dish was by far the unhealthiest thing I’d ever seen Yom deign to eat. He didn’t even steal so much as a fry when we ate lunch together in the food court.
“Oh, you know what, let me get it this time,” I said, extending my arm toward the phone on the nightstand that he must have plugged in for me while I slept.
But before he could reach it, he took my hand in his. “ Nyet, zayka .” Yom regarded me from underneath hooded eyes. “Turn over. Get on your knees.”
“ Ohhh … that kind of salad,” I said, realizing I was about to get introduced to yet another sex term I’d only heard of before tonight.
I didn’t know what was more shocking, the feel of the hockey god’s tongue, warm and wet in my most forbidden hole. Or that I was actually enjoying it.
Actually, really enjoying it.
My embarrassment at bracing myself on my forearms while getting attended to like this began to fade as new sensations rippled out from the direction of my back hole.
Actually, really, really enjoying it. I began to moan and brought my hand up to instinctively rub at my pussy.
It was drenched. From earlier? Or because I liked this so unexpectedly much.
Either way, I wasn’t able to keep my hand there long.
Yom swatted it away, and soon his fingers were buried inside me while his thumb circled my swollen clit with a deftness that I could only attribute to his athleticism.
I began moaning louder, turning my forehead back and forth over the cool sheets as he continued to swathe his tongue between my back cheeks while his hand worked my pussy. How in the world could anything so dirty feel this good?
“Yom,” I panted, a wholly unexpected fire building inside of me.
Then his tongue pushed through the tight barrier of my puckered hole. Flicking up and down on some invisible nerve it would have never occurred to me existed inside that part of my body while continuing to rub his thumb over my clit….
Until not one but two stove lights clicked inside of me, exploding into fire at the exact same time.
Forget moaning. I began to scream.
The double sensation of an orgasm igniting in two places was like nothing I’d ever felt before. Too much. Some unconscious self-preservation switch made me crawl forward, trying to get away from the onslaught of pleasure.
But Yom once again proved himself merciless. He followed me with his mouth and fingers. Hand working relentlessly, his tongue flicking over that previously unknown spot until the orgasm finished hurricaning through me. Taking everything and leaving nothing behind but my wrecked, spasming body in its wake.
When he finally let me go, I collapsed on the bed, a trembling mess. Occasionally jerking when I accidentally moved and a new sensation zapped through me like sexual static electricity.
I lay there in a hazy stupor until I realized… Yom had now gotten me off three times since our first sex, but I hadn’t attended to him even once.
I flipped onto my back to find him kneeling over me with a self-satisfied smile—and that heavy ridge even more pronounced behind his briefs.
Guilt twisted my stomach as I reached toward him again, “Let me…”
He pushed my hand away for the third time that night. “ Nyet , zayka .”
“You’ve more than made up for that first misunderstanding,” I assured him, reaching out again—only to have my hand pushed away.
“I said nyet .” The smile fell off his face.
And my afterglow dissipated in a cloud of unease. “Why won’t you let me...”
The phone on the nightstand let out a shrill ring before I could finish, and Yom jumped out of bed to pick up the receiver.
“Yes?” he said instead of “Hello” like an American would.
He listened for a few moments. Then said: “I understand. Tell them I am paying for their rooms. You will charge all bills to me.”
He didn’t wait for whoever was on the other side of the line to answer. Just hung up without so much as a goodbye.
Then he picked up his own phone and said, “You will excuse me, zayka . I must make call. Get some sleep.”
Was he kidding? “But?—”
He disappeared into the bathroom before I could finish. Closing the door behind him on a stream of Russian directed toward whomever he’d called.
What the…?
I waited for him to come out. Only to find my eyes fluttering awake a little while later in a completely dark room.
The mattress depressed, and I turned to see Yom’s faint shadow climbing into the bed with me. The smell of hotel soap and mint let me know that, unlike me, he’d taken a shower and brushed his teeth.
“What’s going on?” I asked sleepily, turning over to face him.
“This bed is too small,” he grumbled, pulling the covers over the both of us. “I am trying not to wake you.”
“And I was trying to wait up so we could talk,” I shot back. “What was that all about? Why did the hotel call in the middle of the night?”
Silence.
“Yom?”
“You will sleep,” he finally answered. “And in morning, I will be sure to cover your mouth when I make you come again.”
“That’s not an answer—” I began to say, only to cut off when I realized it was. An abject embarrassment that paled in comparison to anything that had come before it washed over me. “Wait, are you saying the hotel called up to complain about me being too?—”
“ Zayka , none of this.” He hauled my dirty body to his clean side before I could do a running dive into a pool of mortification. “Sleep.”
“Did they really?—”
“ Sleep ,” he insisted, squeezing me tighter to his side. “Yom is taking care of everything already. You are not worrying yourself.”
I huffed into his chest, wanting to argue. But Yom’s breath had already steadied, letting me know he was one of those lucky people who could drop right off to sleep.
I should take a shower , I thought to myself. Also, answer the thousands of messages Mom probably left me after what happened with Paul.
It was kind of hard to move, though, curled up as I was against Yom’s side. I wasn’t one of those people who dropped right off to sleep, but after a few moments of lying there, wrapped up in his arms, it became weirdly hard to keep my eyes open or even think about taking a shower of my own or voice texting my…
My eyes fluttered closed, and a boneless black sleep consumed me before I could even finish that thought.
“ Mutti! Mutti! Bleib !”
I jolted awake in the gray light of a new day to the sound of someone shouting.
Not me this time, though. Yom…
” Mutti! Mutti! Bleib! Geh nicht. Bitte! Bitte! ”
I lifted my head to find the most serious and confident guy I’d ever met writhing in bed. Obviously in the grips of some terrible nightmare.