Chapter 21 Uncharted Waters
UNCHARTED WATERS
KNOX
Staten Renault may be life’s greatest mystery. Here I thought she was this quiet, shy bookworm who never would’ve agreed to anything physical (much less with me), but she’s taking everything I thought I knew about her and turning it on its head.
Speaking of head, mine is swimming right now. Is she implying what I think she is? I mean, I don’t have any intention of saying no—could never say no to her, anyways. This is the second-best day of my life. The first being, ironically, when I almost killed her.
“Are you sure you want to take things further?” I ask, trying to outrun my nerves that unfortunately have a gold medal in long-distance sprinting. I don’t want her to regret anything just because she’s riding a post-orgasmic high.
The taste of her is still on my tongue, the headiness of her musk refusing to leave my system. She was so responsive to every lick, every touch. And her moans—fuck, her moans. They were heaven-sent. Whiny enough to make any celibate man cream his pants.
My thoughts are paste-like, dense, similar to an iridescent oil spill pluming over coastal shores. I’d be embarrassed of the mess in my jeans if my dick wasn’t already granite-hard again and palpitating to some invisible rhythm.
A mischievous grin dances across Staten’s spit-soaked lips. “Are you sure you can go back-to-back?”
I figuratively roll the question in my palm like a stone, growling at how unintentionally offensive it is. I lean in to whisper in her ear, making sure to nip at her lobe for good measure. “When it comes to you, I can go all night.”
I love the shiver that squirms down her spine, along with the half mewl that claws up her throat.
She absentmindedly throws her head back, allowing me a straight shot of her glorious, unmarked neck, and my excitement is nothing less than the giddiness of an arsonist in a room full of flammable materials.
I’ve only explored a quarter of her body, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t begun blueprinting every erogenous zone on my beautiful, obedient girl.
With the flaxen moon tucked into a quilt of clouds, the rays it casts are few and far between, illuminating the motes that float through the sex-tainted air.
Staten glimmers underneath the light—halcyon personified—breathing shallowly in anticipation of my next move, bracing herself for the itch I still have.
My longing for her suffocates me like cling film.
Abandoning the angry twitch of my cock, I focus on pleasing her, starting with a march of butterfly kisses that I inscribe into the damp flesh of her neck.
She scoots closer to me, wrapping her arms around my torso to stabilize herself, her nails prepared to tear open my skin when I hit that sweet spot.
I tug at the dress that’s currently hindering my movements. “Can I take this off?”
“Yeah,” she breathes, releasing her fingers from my back, subservient under the promise of reprieve.
I slowly peel her dress off, unveiling the world’s finest magnus opus of slender curves and smooth skin and breasts just large enough to fit in the palms of my hands.
I’ve never seen her so vulnerable before.
Honestly, I never thought we’d get this far.
I can’t stop staring at her, even though my body is screaming at me to do something—anything.
Hunger pollinates the little seed of desire planted between my ribs.
Her chuckle is reminiscent of a chainsaw rip. “Are you just going to stare at me all night?”
“Fuck yes. I’m not going to risk missing a single part of your body. I’m laying my eyes on the most beautiful girl in the entire universe, and you expect me not to take my sweet time?”
Maybe it’s the delirium or the darkness playing tricks on me, but I swear the barest hint of a blush appears on her cheeks. “I’m not that special,” she claims.
I’m not careful, this foreplay is going to be over in two seconds. Everything hurts. My cock, my stomach, my jaw from grinding my teeth so hard. I want Staten seeing stars by the time I’m done with her; I want her walking sideways for an entire week.
I run my tongue over my teeth. “Oh, baby. Let me show you just how wrong you are.”
Before she has the chance to misplace her confidence again, I tether my hand into her hair to get a good grip, gently yank her head back, then use my tongue to snake a wet path up the length of her throat, flicking over that delicate pulse point.
Her fingernails aren’t just doling out little love taps—no, they’re scratching at the corded slab of muscle over my trapezius.
I suck a bruise into her tender skin, switching between bites and kisses to the point where I can’t tell which one gets her hips rutting off the mattress.
Staten moans, pushing her tits out to me in search of more stimulation. Her hair is a wild fan behind her, and small dots of sweat have inhabited their rightful place on her hairline. “I—I can’t show up to work with a hickey,” she mumbles, her words slightly slurred.
“What? You don’t want everyone to know you’re mine?” I tease, moving my mouth down to the shelf of her collarbone, then to the tops of her boobs. Her pert nipples are pebbled from arousal—the dusky, rose buds beckoning me—and my saliva glands overproduce at the sight of them.
Bantering isn’t really my go-to during sex, you know? I like to get to the good stuff and let my body do the talking, but I can’t pass up the opportunity to at least play with her a little. I’m sadistic that way. Sue me.
“They already know I’m yours,” she says, still lying in the stickiness of her previous orgasm, some leftover leakage glued to the insides of her thighs.
My lips trace the curve of her tit, and my teeth enclose around her nipple to tug on it. I refrain from full contact, waiting to see which one of us will fold first. “Uh-huh, but I want to hear you say it.”
I don’t know how I still have anything left in me, but my dick is straining against the confines of my pants, needing to bury itself inside her over and over again until the only name she remembers is mine.
Another conceding whimper. Another stab of her nails into my goddamn shoulder blades. “I’m yours.”
Two words stripped of showy falseness—two words that leave my stomach swirling with a preternatural happiness that makes up for all the second-guessing and the imposter syndrome and the cyclone of thoughts that have plagued me ever since Staten entered my topsy-turvy life.
I clamp my mouth fully over her nipple, and I hollow my cheeks to get a good suction. It doesn’t take much for her to wrap her legs around my lower back, pulling us closer, her bare pussy begging me to fill it to the brim.
My fingers come up to fondle the mound of her boob—to use it as my own personal plaything. Between the pressure from my hands and mouth—not to mention the blissed-out look on her face—the cinching of my balls is making the room in my pants nonexistent. I need to get these fuckers off.
Staten’s movements are stunted, as if she’s sinking into a tussock-lined depression with no urgency to find her footing. “Oh, God. Fuck, Knox.”
When I pop off her tit, the area is slathered in spit and teeth impressions. I continue to squeeze her boob with one hand while I descend down her stomach, kissing every inch of skin like I’m worshipping her at the altar. And then I kitten-lick her belly button.
She nearly combusts, and I have to grab the metaphorical thread to stop her from unraveling. The closer I get to her sex, the harder she begins to thrash. She’s completely shaved down there, and her cunt still look exceptionally swollen.
“You poor thing. I’ve been neglecting this perfect pussy, haven’t I? Look at her, making a mess all over my sheets. Does my dirty girl need another orgasm?”
She nods ten times in a row, about ready to tear my head off if I don’t skip to the good bit. A wolf in sheep’s clothing—a revelation that the two of us are cut from the same bloody, sharp-fanged cloth.
“I need it. Please. I’m so wet. I—I’m so horny. I just need the pain to stop.”
“Is this your first—”
I don’t have to finish my question. I somehow already know the answer.
Staten’s brass eyes regard me with a trust that I’ve never seen before—a silent allowance to let me access the most vulnerable parts of her body. There is no trace of moldering worry, no tense muscles preparing for a permanence she isn’t ready to live with.
I’ve never taken anyone’s virginity before. Shocker, I know. I don’t personally go out of my way to vet every hookup, you know?
Something unprecedented happens in this very moment: fear overhauls the pinpricks in my erection, closing around me like I’m some unsuspecting insect caught in the cilia of a flytrap.
I swallow around the thick of my throat. “Are you sure? I don’t want to ruin your first time. We can wait.”
Staten caresses the side of my face. “You’re not capable of ruining it, Knox. I want this. I want you. You’re the only person I trust. I’m just sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”
I nod at her lithe, naked frame. “Baby, you don’t have to apologize for anything when you look like that.”
Her face lights up. “So you’ll do it?”
“If you promise to set the pace and communicate with me.”
“I promise,” she whispers, taking initiative and reaching for the button on my pants before rolling the zipper down. The pressure instantly relents, and the small slurry of inkblots that had started proliferating in my vision fade into a hinterland of gray.
When my turgid cock springs free, it slaps against my stomach from the rebound, slick in a glove of tacky cum and already oozing a pearl of pre-spend. It’s thick, veiny, angry, and Staten stares at it like it has a mind of its own.
“You, uh, you have…”
Right. Forgot to mention the piercings.
A row of barbells pierces the underside of my shaft—extending from the root to the head—and they look far more painful than they actually are. I’ve gotten so used to the feeling that I sometimes forget they’re even there.