Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Jocelyn
I woke to a warm wall of muscle behind me, and a heavy weight across my hip.
I know not everyone is into weighted blankets, but I’m one of those girlies who sleeps with forty-five pillows because I like to have a few piled on top of me—not as heavy as a weighted blanket, and I can still kick my way out of them if an emergency pee situation arises, but it was calming to be pressed into the mattress.
That’s what I felt like right now, staring into the dim light from the moon outside the window. It had to be the middle of the night—I didn’t want to reach for my phone to confirm—and I thought Brakkor was still asleep.
After all, he’d more or less said he wouldn’t touch me without my permission, and here he was cuddling me.
It was kinda flattering to think that, despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to resist cuddling.
Besides, I’d told him I wasn’t averse to messing around. No sex I’d told him…but at that moment, wrapped in his hold, I couldn’t remember why.
I remembered the way my core had throbbed at the sound of his low growl, and how his skin had felt under my lips when I’d stretched up to kiss him. I’d kissed him like that the first night, in the hotel bar, and he’d shown me how to really kiss.
Lying there in the bed, pinned by his arm, I realized I wanted another kiss like that. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted that pleasure again so fucking badly.
It was like we’d gone about everything backwards.
We’d had sex—great sex, amazing sex!—before we knew much about each other.
Before I understood how blunt he could be, or how sweet he was with his nephew.
Before I saw him scowling at his brother’s wedding or trying to fix my car or cooking me spaghetti.
If there’s one thing a gal likes, it’s a man who’ll cook for her.
But noodles weren’t the reason my breathing had gone all shallow, or why liquid heat was pooling between my thighs. Nope, that was because I was remembering how his hands felt on my breasts, and realizing that if I arched my back like this, I could press my ass against his crotch.
When I felt the thickness curving against me, I stifled my moan.
Brakkor’s cock was hard, lying against the small of my back. He wasn’t awake, was he? I gave an experimental wiggle of my ass—Experimental Wiggle would be a cool band name, wouldn’t it?—and when I shifted my thighs, my pussy was slick with need.
His hand dangled near my stomach. I could scootch down a little and it would brush against the bottom of my boob. I wondered if I could lift his fingers to rest on my breast, or would that wake him?
Gently, slowly, I wriggled my way just a bit lower, until his forearm fell against my waist, my shirt riding up in the back when it caught on his cock. God, just knowing that thing was back there, trapped in whatever he was wearing—boxers? Pajama pants?—made my mouth water.
I’d told him no sex, but I was reconsidering.
Yeah, he’d reneged on his only one night policy, and yeah, I remembered how much it had hurt when Chad changed his mind yet again, but at that moment, I didn’t care. I wanted Brakkor enough that I was willing to risk being hurt again.
So I slowly shifted until I could twine my fingers through his and move his hand upward…toward where my nipple ached beneath my favorite set of PJs.
Suddenly, his breath burst out of his lips, as if he’d been holding it. “Joss, I hope to fuck you’re awake,” he rasped.
My response was a moan—half embarrassment, half permission.
“Can I touch you?” His whisper was harsh against the crown of my head. “Please?”
That please almost broke me, especially since I was the one so desperate for that touch. In response, I cupped his hand around my breast and squeezed. It was silly—his hand was twice the size of mine, it wasn’t like I could guide him or anything. But it worked.
He groaned as he took over, fondling and caressing through the worn cotton of my PJs.
Perhaps it was the darkness, or the fact we’d both been asleep. But this encounter had none of the desperation of that hotel room; it was like we were learning each other for the first time. We moved slowly…deliberately.
Time seemed to stand still there in the dim light of the moon. His caresses turned into fondles, to squeezes, to tugs, as I moaned and arched into his hold, moving so slowly that our breathing synced.
Eventually I twisted in his hold so I could roll over and throw my leg over his hip and claim his lips in mine. The kiss was just as gentle, just as exploratory, as the caressing had been, and his hands weren’t idle; he made me shiver as his fingertips dragged up my spine beneath my shirt.
It was like we were teenagers, happy to kiss and fondle and—
I sucked in a breath when his lips moved down my throat. “Can I touch you beneath your clothes, Kitten?” he murmured against my skin. “I’ll make you feel so good.”
I knew he would. “Please,” I agreed, already tugging down the waistline of my sleeping shorts.
Then his fingers were there, sliding along my slick folds.
I’d expected it to feel good, but I hadn’t expected the shock of electricity that seemed to be wired from my nipples to my clit to my lips, and I jolted as I gasped loudly.
My fingertips dug into his bicep, trying to hold myself in place.
Or perhaps trying to keep him exactly where he was.
“That’s it, dkaar,” he murmured against my hair, stroking me. His thumb brushed against my clitoris. “Let me love you. Let me make you feel good.”
I might’ve had an answer if I could make my tongue line up with my brain. But only a helpless little sound emerged, like a confused goat. “Mraaah?”
Yes.
Brakkor huffed out a breath, which might’ve been a laugh, then rolled onto his back.
Since I was very firmly connected to him and had no interest in not being connected to him, I went with him, and ended up more or less straddling him, his cock pressing against my belly as his fingers slid inside me.
Where had my shorts gone? I didn’t care.
The pleasure—the need—was coursing through my body, and the desperation finally showed up. I writhed against him, pressing kisses to his cotton-covered chest. He was still fully clothed, and I felt as if my pajamas had just spontaneously combusted.
“Joss, I need…” His words bit off with a groan when I arched my back, pressing his fingers deeper into my pussy, to reach for his cock. “Damn.”
My hand wrapped around his cock, as best I could through his boxers. “Tell me,” I rasped, stroking him. “Tell me what you need, Brakkor.”
It made me feel so good to be able to bring him pleasure.
But Brakkor wasn’t Chad; he wasn’t doing this for his gratification, much to my confusion. His fingers slid from me, then his hands were on my hips.
“What I need, Joss, is to taste you again.” He was pulling me up his body. “Come on up here.”
I realized what he was planning just as he lifted me, dragging my thighs over his shoulders as he moved down the bed. I ended up kneeling on either side of his face, my pussy dripping all over him.
Mortified, I reached for his headboard and pulled myself upright, my ecstasy momentarily dimmed.
“Brakkor, no!” He froze, and I looked down to see his eyes glowing with a strange green light, peering up from between my thighs. “It’ll kill you.”
He raised one brow in challenge, which should’ve looked hilarious upside down. “No, it won’t.”
“You’ll suffocate.” I tried to lift my leg to get out from underneath him, but he clamped his hand down on my calves, pinning me in place. “I’ll kill you.”
When he grinned, I felt his tusks scrape against my folds, and gasped at the sensation.
“Then I’ll die happy. Get down here, Kitten.”
This time, when he tugged, I—already half-drunk on pleasure—sank down on top of his face.
Oh.
It turns out that this position was delightful.
I was able to control how deep his tongue and fingers went, I was able to control how hard I pressed against him.
Brakkor didn’t have space to slide his fingers into me, but that’s okay because did I mention his tongue was ridged?
Oh yes, delightful didn’t even begin to cover it.
When I came, I put all my weight on him so I could feel those ridges as deep as possible, threw my head back, and screamed. My orgasm seemed to go on and on, with the tip of his tongue eking out as much pleasure as possible as his tusks brushed my sensitive ass and his nose nudged my clitoris.
At long last, I uncurled my fingers from the headboard—I swear I put dents in the wood—and exhaled, sated.
But it wasn’t until Brakkor’s fingers tightened on my calves that I remembered he was down there suffocating.
“Oh shit,” I muttered, and threw myself backwards, dropping along his chest. I heard him take a deep breath, and I began to giggle.
I mean, maybe it was because I’d just come so hard my legs had gone numb, or maybe it was because I was feeling powerful after sitting on his face, I dunno. I just know that suddenly, him sucking in great, heaving lungfuls of air after almost dying to make me come was just hilarious.
And he began to chuckle too as he scooped me up, flipped me around, and kissed me again.
It was a nice kiss, one I felt through my chest and down to my toes.
And after, when he tucked me up against his side, I felt…
cherished? He hadn’t expected me to touch him in return, hadn’t hinted at oral sex or anything.
Brakkor just seemed pleased—proud?—to have made me come so hard.
I fell back asleep without my shorts, and feeling bemused as hell.
My phone’s buzzing woke me, and I lifted my head to realize I was spread across Brakkor’s chest and dim sunlight drifted through the window. It was the kind of light that seem filtered through recent rain; I could hear that last night’s storm had passed, but the morning would be a wet one.