Chapter 30
TERINA
Present
It’s the most brazen thing a man has ever said to me, yet I don’t balk. I stand with my arms in the air, my bare chest exposed because DiAngelo told me to, and I want to know what he’ll do next.
Your body belongs to me.
How can I argue when my body responds to him in ways I don’t understand?
I don’t understand any of this, if I’m honest. Fear and excitement play a vicious game of tug-o-war deep in my gut. I don’t like how much I want his touch, yet the craving is undeniable.
“Is this the way you feel when he touches you?” DiAngelo’s hands take a possessive sweep up my sides, his touch claiming and sure.
I shake my head.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“No.”
“Mmm … that’s right,” he almost purrs.
Pride unfurls in my chest, and I have no idea why. I’ve done nothing beyond answering a simple question. Yet bringing him the smallest of pleasure sends me soaring.
He trails his thumb along my jaw to my mouth. My lips part, sparking a fire in his eyes. The thrill of his approval cascades in a waterfall of tingles down my spine.
“Who’s the only one who makes you feel like this?” He lowers one hand to graze a thumb across my nipple.
A whimper slips past my lips before I answer. “You.”
It’s the truth, too. I haven’t felt lust like this … ever. It’s all-encompassing. And while I’m not sure where it’s coming from, I can’t deny it either. Something about his manner is speaking to my body on a molecular level. His presence shuts out the world.
When his attention is trained on me, there is only him.
No regrets or guilt.
No duty or expectation.
DiAngelo fills every nook and cranny of my awareness until there is no room for anything else. There’s only one other way I’ve experienced this sort of peace…
No. You are not going there right now.
I slam the door on those thoughts before they can ruin the moment. I’m so sick of the past haunting me. And if giving myself to DiAngelo gives me a reprieve from the shame, would that be so bad?
It would just be this once. D isn’t the relationship type. Like Isa said, it would only be scratching an itch. This doesn’t have to change anything.
The internal debate flashes through my mind in a millisecond. Hardly enough time to truly consider the ramifications, but that may have been intentional. I want this too much to talk myself out of it.
When the thumb of his other hand grazes my mouth again, I circle my lips around the tip of his thumb in invitation.
“Fuck.” His exhale is a benediction and a curse rolled into one. “Spread your legs.” His voice unravels with each passing second, and I love hearing the effect I have on him, though a sliver of worry snares my enjoyment.
I can’t get naked. Please don’t ask me to get naked.
I step my feet out, opening my legs to him and praying this doesn’t backfire. To my relief, he slides his hand down my yoga pants rather than undressing me.
My heart beats so erratically, a doctor would probably whisk me away to a hospital. There’s nothing wrong, though. Only right.
“Put your hands on my shoulders.”
I’m relieved to lower them but don’t have time to think about it because the second my hands take hold of his muscled frame, his fingers find my entrance.
“D…” I moan as my eyes flutter shut.
“Eyes open, little firefly.”
I do as he says, losing myself in the mottled colors of his rainbow hued eyes.
Hazel doesn’t begin to describe them. It’s too flat.
Too monotone, as though all the colors have bled together to form some muted anti-color.
DiAngelo’s eyes aren’t like that. Distinct patches of gold fracture the rusty-brown centers, all surrounded in a kaleidoscopic ring of greens from a soft moss to dense forest.
The intensity and variation of color serve as the perfect manifestation of the man himself—too intricately complex to be categorized by one simple descriptor.
As though proving my point, his fingers begin their magic.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me already.”
My mouth opens on a gasp. He tries to use the opportunity to bring his lips to mine, but I turn my face before he can. Even in the foggy haze of my lust for him, I know that kissing will be too much. Too intimate. Too permanent.
His eyes narrow, expressing his disdain for the wall I’ve erected, but he lets me keep my boundary, and I’m grateful.
“D…” I moan, my fingers clutching his shirt. I need the leverage. Something to ground me against the swelling storm inside me.
“That’s it. Rock your hips against my fingers while they fuck you.
Show me how much you want it.” He nips at the skin of my neck while his free hand massages my breast. When he twists my nipple, he looks down and rumbles with satisfaction.
“Do you know how perfect these would look pierced? Platinum bars with my initials engraved in them so that you think of me every time these perfect peaks get hard.”
I don’t have the wherewithal to process his words, but my body devours them, glowing its approval in radiant fluorescents. Before long, I’m perched on the precipice of a torrential orgasm.
“Yes, keep going. Just like that.”
“Mmm … normally, that’s not how this works.
I decide if and when your pretty little pussy comes all over me, but you’ve been such a good girl today.
I’ll let you have your reward.” He brings his lips to my ear and grazes his teeth over my lobe.
“Come for me, firefly. Soak my hand with your creamy goodness.”
His guttural command detonates the explosives deep in my core, sending shock waves of pleasure into every molecule of my body. I cry out and cling to him as my legs shake and tremble.
“Ohhh, fuck, yes. Give me every last drop.” He slows his movements but doesn’t stop until my knees begin to buckle. “I’ve got you.”
I lean into his huge frame, my hands hooking around the back of his neck while I recover. Once my head begins to clear, I pull back, meeting his gaze shyly. It’s been a long damn time since I orgasmed in front of a man.
My hands slide down the front of him and begin to fumble with the button on his pants. I’m not sure what I’m planning to do, except reciprocity only seems fair. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t insanely curious to see the monster cock behind the enormous bulge in his pants.
Before I can get anywhere, his hands stop me.
“Get on your knees,” he instructs in a soft but firm tone.
I drop instantly.
DiAngelo brings his hand beneath my chin and lifts my gaze with a gentle caress. “You think you like to be in control, firefly, but I know better. What you want and need is surrender. Someone you trust enough to allow you to let go.”
He begins to undo his pants as he talks. Despite thinking his words sound a touch cocky, I don’t argue because damn if they don’t resonate. The prospect of setting aside my worries is beyond tempting. Five minutes of absolution from my responsibilities and a chance to just be me.
“You think you’re the right man to do that?” I ask in return.
His eyes flash with an unnamed emotion. “That’s not what I said, but I’m damn sure not the wrong man. I can respect the value of what you’re giving me down there on your knees, and I won’t abuse it.”
It’s not the most romantic promise, but I don’t want romance, right?
This is physical. Purely physical.
His cock pops free and the sight erases my thoughts. As suspected, it’s enormous and thick with bulging veins. My tongue swipes across my parches lips, and I swear I can already feel him bobbing at the back of my throat.
“Tell me what you want,” I breathe, desperate for instruction.
His eyes light triumphantly. It’s a simple statement on the surface, yet it stands for so much more. It’s consent. It’s an agreement to surrender and see where this takes us.
“Fuck, I’ve been blind.” His hand caresses my cheek while the other fists around the base of his cock.
The sudden ring of his phone startles both of us.
DiAngelo curses and takes the phone out of his back pocket, silencing it and tossing it onto the sofa.
“Hands behind your back, and they better stay there. You hear me?”
Instantly, I’m back in his thrall. His hand cups the back of my head as he guides his cock to my lips. I open for him and feel the corners of my mouth stretch.
Fear of inadequacy escapes me in the form of a quiet whimper.
“You can do it—I know you can,” DiAngelo says in a low murmur.
His voice is so gentle and reassuring, I desperately want to give him exactly what he wants. I try relaxing my gag reflex and welcome him inside me.
“Fuck, yeah. Take me in all the way, baby.” He starts to move himself over my tongue.
I want to wrap my hand around his heavy balls where they’re pulled tight with the need to come, but I won’t move my hands from behind me. Not unless he tells me to.
“Jesus, Ree, your face was made to be fucked.”
DiAngelo’s words fill me with warmth. Strain lines his face as his movements grow faster and more erratic.
I try to keep up, following his lead. I wrap my tongue around the head if he pulls back and only gives me the tip, then hollow my cheeks and suck him deep when he plunders my mouth.
Saliva coats my lips and drips down my chin but makes me feel oddly beautiful when the sight brings such intense satisfaction to his face.
It doesn’t take long at all before he pulls out and trails head of his cock across my chest with one hand and plucks at my nipples with the other. When he starts to pump himself, eyes still glued to my chest, I know what he’s thinking.
“Tell me you want it. I want to hear the words,” he says raggedly, his control shredding.
“Please, D,” I beg. “Please come on my tits.” My voice is husky and raw from his cock and my own crippling lust. As if I didn’t just have an orgasm, my insides are throbbing with need all over again. The ache to touch myself is so great that I moan in an effort to keep from releasing my hands.
“Jesus fucking Christ, stop before I vomit!” The muffled scream slices through the room like the scratch of a record.
We both stare at one another in a moment of horrified confusion before DiAngelo darts for the sofa and fumbles with his phone.
That’s when I realize. The phone hadn’t been silenced.
He’d accidentally answered it instead.
Someone has been there on the other end, listening.
A geyser of horror erupts in my stomach, threatening to surge up past my throat and all over DiAngelo’s living room rug.
Please, please don’t let it be anyone I know.
“Tommy?” D asks breathlessly.
I make a mad dash for the bathroom.