Chapter 40
MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE FLOOR
REMY
Lake moves in front of me and drops to his knees, sliding his hands up my thighs.
He means it. He wants me to watch him do…whatever he’s got planned.
I’ve never done this before. Never watched someone, or watched myself. I’m not sure where to look. At him, or the reflection of him as he starts with my shoes, undoing the little strap across the top of my foot. Sliding it out. Then the next one.
He reaches up to undo the button, then the zipper on my jeans, slowly tugging it down tooth by tooth, like he’s enjoying the sound of it being opened. The look in his eyes—filthy delight—sends a shiver down my chest. I help him along, pushing the jeans down, letting the denim hit my ankles.
He helps me step out of them, then takes the jeans and folds them neatly, stretching out an arm and setting them on a nearby chair.
I nearly come from that—from the care.
“Now I’m really aroused,” I tease.
He returns to me, hands on my thighs. “That makes two of us.”
My smile vanishes as he presses his face against my center, dropping a quick, hot kiss to the outside of my panties.
A ragged breath escapes my lips. I reach for his hair, sliding my fingers through it as he moves his face lower, kissing the panel of my panties.
“So wet. Just like I said you’d be,” he murmurs.
“So cocky,” I toss back.
“And right,” he says, then flicks his tongue against the soaked fabric. “So fucking right.”
I try to protest, but what’s the point? I’m warm everywhere, my cells all shimmery as he teases me with his talented tongue. I give in, tugging him closer. “Take them off.”
He stops, wrenches away, then looks up at me. “You’re not watching though.”
My legs shake. “I was watching you.”
“In the mirror, Remy,” he says, stern and commanding. “Watch in the mirror. I want you to see how fucking sexy you are.”
My pulse beats between my thighs, where I ache. “I’ll try.”
He hooks his index finger in the top of my panties. “Good girl.”
The panties vanish in a flash. His hands roam up my thighs and he rubs his nose against me, drawing a deep inhale.
Sparks shoot through me, and I want to close my eyes, but I obey, watching in the mirror as this big, strong man kisses my wet center.
“Oh god,” I murmur.
He grips me harder, clearly liking that sound. “Mmm. You taste so fucking good,” he says, then flicks his tongue down me and back up.
I gasp, grabbing at his hair. My eyes float closed for a second, but then he stops.
“Follow the plan, Remy,” he instructs and damn him. Damn him for using me against me.
I open them, and he’s flashing that evil grin.
“Don’t deviate then,” I say.
“I won’t.” He dives back in, and I…stare, giving in to the voyeurism plan.
Or is it self-voyeurism?
I don’t even know, but it’s surreal to watch his head bobbing up and down, to witness him burying his face between my legs, to see my own reaction.
Lips parted, breasts heaving, fingers roped in his hair.
My nipples harden, visible through my sweater, and that’s new too—seeing the evidence in real time of my response.
He licks faster, sucks harder, rubs his beard against my thighs, and…yes. The roughness of his stubble, the softness of his lips, the focus of his tongue.
I breathe out hard, swallow, then moan again.
All for me to witness. And I don’t look like the woman who likes to be in control, to plan and to prepare and to organize.
I never thought I’d look that way as I was driven wild by pleasure, sure, but a thrill shoots through me at my reflection. I look…wild. Beautiful.
Then, he kisses me more deeply, and I wobble. Grabbing his shoulders, I dig in, trying to hold on.
That stops him. And in no time, he’s rising, scooping me up and carrying me to the edge of the bed.
“Sit. Spread your legs for me.”
My butt hits the mattress. I part my thighs.
He crosses his arms. “Wider. And use your hands. Spread them open for me.”
Nerves spark inside me, but so does heat. This is the in-control Lake. The man in charge. The man willing to wait for it.
And for me.
I slide my hands down, spread my legs open.
“Oh, fuck. Look at you. Fucking look at you.” He drops down to his knees again, then devours me.
There’s no other word for it.
He’s fucking me with his mouth, his tongue, his lips, even his beard it seems. He’s eating me up like I’m the last thing he’s ever going to have.
Like I’m the only thing he wants to have.
And I’m grabbing his skull, digging my nails in, yanking him closer.
And…watching. I’m staring at us, as I take and he gives, and soon I lose control.
Soon, the pull of pleasure becomes too much.
It tips me over, and I’m coming apart on his mouth. He moans through it, loud, hungry sounds like a man feasting, like a man licking every last drop from his fingers, a man savoring the taste.
When I come down from my high, he’s standing again, ripping off his shirt, toeing off his shoes, then undoing his jeans.
And I want his nudity, more than anything, but I also want…this.
I dart out a hand, covering his, stopping him. My voice still breathy from the orgasm, I say, “Turn around. Strip in front of the mirror.”
His smile—it’s the stuff of dirty legend. It’s crooked and hot.
He turns in slo-mo, like he knows he’s sexy. I stand, half-naked, just my sweater on, sloping down my shoulder. Moving next to him, I lock eyes with his reflection as he pushes his jeans down his thighs, to his ankles, then off. I bite my lip, excitement racing through me.
My gaze strays to his black boxer briefs. There’s a wet spot on them, and his hard-on strains against the fabric.
“Off. Now,” I direct, and holy shit. The hair on my arms stands on end. What even is this feeling inside me? This power. This thrill. It’s addictive.
He sheds his briefs in a flash, tossing them to the floor. The fact that he treats them differently than my clothes excites me too. Maybe everything does about Lake.
But what thrills me most of all is the way he’s so shameless in the mirror, stroking his hard cock, his eyes pinning my reflection.
He gives a long, slow tug, squeezing the head. A drop of liquid beads out.
I let out a hungry cry, my mouth falling open, and I don’t even care how obvious I am.
“Want that, beautiful? A taste of me?”
I nod. “So badly.”
He swipes it off, lifts a hand, then says, “Suck it off in front of the mirror.”
I reach for him, circling his wrist with my hand, bringing the thumb to my mouth, and rubbing the drop of him on my lips. His growl is unholy. Deep, dark, and filthy. Like his eyes right now.
I draw his thumb farther into my mouth, sucking on it as he stares at me, eyes glimmering with heat. I let his thumb fall from my mouth, then lick my lips. “Just the way I like it,” I say, and that’s enough for him it seems, since he grabs me, yanks me against him, and kisses the breath out of me.
We’re all teeth and tongue, lips and moans.
We’re limbs and heated skin, smashing into each other.
He deepens the kiss while also somehow tugging my sweater off, stopping only for the second it takes to get it over my head.
I’m down to just my bra, but he divests that in seconds.
When he breaks the kiss, I see he’s got my clothes in his hand.
He doesn’t fold them this time, but he sets them on the chair, then turns back around.
“On my bed. Hands and knees. Facing the mirror.”
I scramble and get in position. He’s behind me in seconds, kneeling, lining up with his dick in his hand.
But he stops, gritting his teeth. “Need to get a condom.”
I reach an arm out, stop him. “I’m negative and on protection.”
His eyes flare. “I’m negative too.”
He notches the head against me, and I tremble from head to toe. “Yessss,” he groans as he pushes in. “You’re so fucking wet. So fucking perfect.”
I feel perfect, but in a whole new way. In a way I haven’t arranged or organized. I feel perfect because this moment is him kneeling behind me.
Me on all fours.
Us unable to look away from our reflection as he slides in, eases out, then drives back into me.
His fingers dig into my hips, and I bite the corner of my lips. He pulls out, then slams back in, tension lining his jaw, desire etched in his eyes.
My breasts sway. His biceps ripple.
My hair swishes. His Adam’s apple bobs. And he fucks me. Sinking in, pulling out, then picking up the pace.
It’s hot and it’s X-rated. It’s like watching our own dirty videos. A live sex tape as the jealous, possessive secret poet of a hockey player fucks the tightly wound perfectionist, the sunshine to his rain. His fake girlfriend who’s somehow become another person after dark with her fake boyfriend.
I’m someone who can let go.
Because that’s what I’m feeling most of all.
The giving in. I give in to pleasure, to the sensations whipping through me, to the kick of bliss in my belly, to the insistent ache between my thighs, and most of all to Lake Axelrod as he fucks me in front of the mirror.
I don’t dare look away anymore. I enjoy the show as I thrust a hand between my legs, helping myself along till I’m gasping, moaning, begging for more, harder, yes, now.
I break, shattering as I fall apart, my head dropping, my back arching.
I can’t keep my eyes open as I come. Who could? But I don’t close them for long. When I open them, and raise my face, there’s Lake. He’s grunting, shuddering, his gorgeous face twisted in pleasure as he comes deep inside me.
And I get to see him lose control.
It really is its own kind of perfect.