30. unwind you
unwind you
MARLEY
Othello and I walk back to his suite, the pounding in my chest so hard it’s making me tremble.
We haven’t said a word to each other the entire ride back to the resort.
Instead, I stare out the window, pretending to be calm when my pulse is anything but.
I tell myself to breathe. To stay detached.
To remember why I came here in the first place.
But after Othello lit into me, there is a gnawing ache in my chest, and I can slowly feel the ice around my heart melting away.
When we arrive at the resort, Othello opens the car door for me, and we walk slowly to the room. The entire time, we’ve said not even two words to each other.
The tension between us is thick. Like one wrong word will set off everything we’ve been too careful to say…or too scared to do. Before I can fish the key card out of my clutch, Othello reaches into his pocket and pulls out my cell phone. He holds it out to me like a peace offering.
“Here,” he says.
“Thank you.”
I take it from him, and just like always, that jolt of heat sparks when our fingers touch. His hand lingers on mine, and when I glance up, he’s watching me with remorseful eyes.
“I don’t like seeing you like this, Marley,” Othello says, voice low. “It’s these games we’re playing that’s making all of this so difficult. So, if I have to tell everyone I made this whole thing up, I will.”
“Don’t,” I chide quietly. “You’ll only make a bigger fool of yourself.”
His jaw ticks, but then he shakes his head.
“I wouldn’t care. If it will make you feel the way you felt about me before all of this, I would do it without thinking twice.
I just want us to go back to the way we were.
On the plane. When we stopped for tacos.
And in the car on the way here. It was good then. It wasn’t like this.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “We’re still fine, Othello.”
“No, we’re not. You don’t look at me like you used to anymore. You’re looking at me like you’re scared. I can see the disappointment in your eyes.”
“I’m not disappointed in you.” But when I say it, I can’t even meet his gaze. My eyes are on my fingers, which are fiddling with the key card. We’re still in the long, dimly lit hallway of the resort, the air thick with everything I can’t say.
“I don’t believe that,” Othello tells me. “Why can’t you look at me?”
Because I’m afraid of falling for you. These feelings I’ve been feeling are way too strong, way too early. But I don’t tell him that. I don’t know how or where to even start.
“Say something,” he tells me. “Marley, tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Okay, you’re right,” I finally admit. “I’m scared. I’m giving in to you, and that terrifies me. And I’m afraid of how much I might want you if I stop holding myself back.”
“Trust me, this scares me too.”
“So what are we going to do?” I ask, my voice weak and low.
“That depends. Are we still putting on a show, or is this the part where we stop pretending?” he asks, his lips hovering close to mine. He moves his hand smoothly around my lower waist and pulls me closer as if we aren’t already close enough.
“Answer me,” he demands.
My breath catches. “Fine,” I say, swallowing my pride. “No more pretending.”
The way he looks at me has me locked in. I can’t tear my eyes away. The world could be crumbling down around us, and I wouldn’t know it, nor would I care. All I care about is this. Nothing else matters but this moment.
Before another thought can slip through my mind, Othello parts my lips with his tongue. I moan, feeling like a woman starved, and he takes it, swallowing my feeble sound like it belongs to him.
My panties are a soggy mess.
The kiss is slow, sensual, and unhurried, like he’s trying to kiss away every wall I’ve built and every reason I gave myself not to want this.
Not to want him.
And I feel it. Vibrating through every fiber of my being.
My body starts to rationalize what this will be. And I know now in this moment that there is no turning back. Not even if I wanted to. No more lying to myself.
I want him. The throb between my legs wants him. My heart wants him.
Othello pries the keycard from my grip and opens the door behind my back.
His lips never leave mine as I walk backward over the threshold, pulling him inside with me.
Mouth to mouth. One hand moving through his thick coils, and the other gripping the back of his neck.
I hear the door close behind us, and in one swift motion, Othello has me off my feet, hooking my legs around his waist.
He doesn’t turn on a single light in the suite yet somehow finds his way to the bedroom like he’s done it a hundred times before.
I wait for him to lay me across the bed and cover me with his body, but he keeps me wrapped around him.
His lips break away from mine. I search his eyes, my heart stuttering, my mind confused.
“What is it?” I ask, reading his conflicted expression.
“Just want to make sure this is what you want.”
I let out a sharp breath, clutching him tighter and give him a look that should say it all.
Of course, I’m sure.
“It’s just…” he starts. “It feels like I’ve been crossing lines you don’t want me to cross. I don’t want what happens next to be something you regret.”
“I won’t regret this.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I’ve never been more sure.
I am captured in Othello’s stare as he slowly lays me down on the bed, his body hovering over me. I can feel his stiff and very large dick, hard against my thigh.
Goodness me.
He looks at me with a starved sort of devotion that makes me quiver. Then he slides his hand slowly over my breast, grazing my nipple.
A breathless cry burst out of me, and then that same hand drifts up, curling gently around my throat. The grip is loose, but just firm enough to make my pussy nearly combust.
His mouth grazes my ear, voice low and making me weaker by the second.
“I need you to be absolutely sure, Marley. Because the things I want to do to you right now…” His tongue drags slowly over his lips.
“I plan on doing them right. I want to learn every inch of you and take my time, like I’ve got all night.
” His thumb rubs my jawline, grip still rooted on my neck. “Because I do.”
My mouth falls open, heat rushing through me like a wildfire.
“Do I seem unsure?” I challenge him.
I shift my panties to the side, boldly taking his fingers and guiding them under the hem of my dress to the lips of my pussy.
Othello goes still, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his gaze darkens. “That definitely doesn’t feel unsure.” He pushes two thick fingers inside me and my back arches.
“Ah…” I moan loudly.
“Did I make you this wet,” he asks.
“Othello,” I stammer eagerly.
A strangled answer.
His fingers work me slow and steady, my hips grinding into his hand, chasing the pleasure, until I feel myself practically melting into a puddle.
The hem of my dress rides higher with every shift, every touch, his fingers working the ache between my thighs.
My hips respond instinctively, rising to meet his touch as another moan escapes my lips.
Othello watches me, eyes piercing into me, as if he’s committing every sound and every shiver I make into his memory.
And when he curls his fingers just right, I swear I see stars behind my eyelids.
“Don’t stop.” The demand slips past my lips like a gasp. I feel myself on the brink, ready to cum from his fingers alone.
“I won’t,” he murmurs, voice thick with praise. “We have all night, Marley. Let me unwind you.”
Another stroke. Deeper. Slower. Like he’s writing his name inside me. My body chases every caress, and I grip the comforter, breath stuttering as he keeps going. Patient, relentless.
I’m dripping like a levee, wet heat sliding down my inner thighs, pooling between my ass cheeks. Othello gazes at my pussy, practically salivating.
“Damn,” he sighs. “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about tasting you. I bet you’re so sweet.”
And before I can respond, Othello’s face lowers between my legs, his tongue slipping into the moist slit of my pussy. His mouth devours my insides and then drags up to my clit.
“Oh my God, Othello…”
I am on the edge. Spiraling. My moans grow louder, my orgasm coiling tight, just seconds from snapping. All I can think is if he can do this with his mouth, what the hell can he do with his dick?
I call out his name as I fall apart, every muscle tightening before unraveling in waves I can’t stop.
“Do you have condoms?” I ask him desperately.
“I do,” he answers, his mouth still pressed into my center. But he doesn’t stop until I beg him. “Please, Othello. I need to feel you inside of me.”
He stands, looking at me again with lustful eyes before he leaves the room and disappears into the living room where his things are. I unzip the side of my dress and snatch it off over my head. Othello is back before it falls to the floor.
I hear him rip the wrapper as I scoot back onto the bed, my head sinking into the pillows, my knees lifting and parting, my insides clenching and aching.
His pants and boxers drop to his feet, and his dick springs free, thick, hard, and perfect.
The sheer size of his dick is enough to take my breath away.
That shit should come with a warning label, yet I am ready for him to stretch me wide and give me every ounce of blissful pain I can bear.
He was surely built to ruin me.
Othello grabs my ankles, pulling me until my ass is at the edge of the bed.
His dick bolts out like a badge of honor.
Our eyes lock, heat swelling through my body like a slow-burning furnace.
His hardness lines up to my center and strokes it up and down as he watches me with heavy-lidded eyes.
And then before I can catch my bearings, he enters me, and we both let out a sharp gasp.
I mold around his flesh, every inch stealing the breath from my lungs.
“Uhhh, shit!” I whimper.
“Fuck.” He breathes.
His pace is deep and relentless, every movement slamming into the spot that makes my toes curl. I chase every thrust, my body bucking beneath his and yearning for more.
I cry out as his thrusts hit a little harder, a little meaner, like he knows exactly how close I am, again.
My moans spill into the moonlit-filled room. My eyes pinch close as I feel myself about to lose control.
“Look at me when you come,” he demands, voice strained and low.
I try.
God, I try.
My eyes flutter open, locking with his, and the moment they do, I lose it.
My pussy clenches around Othello. I moan. He moans too. My climax rolls through me, leaving behind a raw, throaty sound I barely recognize as my own.
“Yes, baby…” Othello breathes, slowing just enough to feel every aftershock ripple through me. His hands are everywhere.
My thighs.
My waist.
My titties.
And then he’s thrusting again, rough and hungry, gripping my hips and driving me into his dick like a jackhammer. He groans against my neck as he lets go, pulsing inside me with a force that leaves us both trembling.
For a moment, the room is nothing but heavy breathing.
He stays inside me, his forehead resting against my chest.
“Damn, that was…damn,” he says again. We lay like this for a moment, saying nothing, both of us trying to catch our bearings. Then Othello slides out and off of me, pulling himself onto his feet.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“To get another condom?”
My brows lift, and he laughs at my expression.
“I told you,” he murmurs. “All night.”
I smile, dazed and aching in the best way.