Chapter 8 Carissa #2
I close my eyes and try to summon up unsexy thoughts, but all I get is a whole lot of Wilder telling me he wanted to be fully naked while he ate me out.
Heat wells up, exploding in my thighs and belly, a current that travels to the rest of my body. I throw one hand out behind me, grasping the counter, and switch the other to the nape of Wilder’s neck so I don’t accidentally pull too hard on his hair.
He’s good at this. Way too good.
Especially when his tongue pushes up against my entrance, licking me there a few times as a tease, and then pushing inside.
I vibrate like I just got another electric shock and start chanting out nonsense that has witchy vibes written all over it. If I were burning incense in here, Wilder would probably start to wonder what the hell was happening.
My legs start vibrating like I’ve just run a marathon, climbed a mountain, swam an ocean, and set a new world record for squats. My breasts are tingling, but I resist the urge to touch my nipples. I need to hold it together, not give myself more stimulation.
He suddenly stops and lets my panties fall back into place. They’re clammy and cold, and I desperately would like them off. I barely refrain from tugging Wilder’s face back to me like an unhinged beast.
“I have a confession,” he admits, staring up at me with his chin and lips glistening. He could tell me absolutely anything right now, and it wouldn’t change my mind about the man he is.
He could tell me anything ever. Period.
“No one knows this.” He drops his eyes to the floor.
I barely refrain from leaping off the counter and hugging him. Instead, I set my hand on his shoulder. “Do I have to guess? I might come up with some horrifying answers. Or a few hilarious ones.”
“I have a butt thing,” he blurts.
I study him, trying to figure out exactly what butt thing means. “Like… a butt plug? You have one in right now?” If that’s true, I’m dead times a million billion. A mbillion. “Or there’s something wrong with your butt?”
His eyes practically cross. “No. It’s more like… uh… how that lick your crack poem went.”
I’m confused for all of two seconds before the light goes on in my brain.
It’s a delayed reaction, given how much blood my clit has siphoned away from my head.
“As in the poem was a self-fulfilling prophecy?” He likes his crack licked?
He likes butt stuff? Pegging? My god, I can’t believe I even know that word.
Then again, who lives to be this old and doesn’t encounter the term somewhere?
I never would have pegged myself as someone who’d like pegging—holy shit, is it not a bad time to make puns like that?
But if Wilder wanted me to do that with him, I’d be all for it.
Nothing he could ever be into would be a turnoff for me.
On the flipside, if there was something I liked that someone I trusted with my body and my truth refused to do and called me gross and weird, I’d be so hurt.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had it done to me before,” he says with a straight face.
Now I’m even more bewildered. I should probably stop guessing.
“I’d like to do it to you,” he adds. Oh, the way he looks at me. The intensity in his eyes.
I grasp both his shoulders to keep myself from flopping right off the counter. I wriggle my ass a little further on to be sure I’m not going to face dive off of here.
Shit. The counter. Dinner.
I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Wilder jumps up, grabs the roast, and fires it into the oven. He finds the baking sheet we always keep on there, snatches the potatoes I was going to peel, cut, and boil for mashing, shoves them onto the tray, and turns the oven on.
“It’ll all work out. You can trust me.” He punctuates his words with a wink.
I’m convinced there’s not a single person on this planet who could resist a Wilder wink.
Definitely not me.
My ovaries practically catch on fire and start smoking. More like, they’re char by now, considering how hot they were before, and for how long. Years. They’ve been smoldering for years.
“Would you…” He smiles, but it’s wobbly. “Would you like me to do that with you?”
“At least take me out for dinner first,” I attempt to joke, but it comes out husky and breathy. I sound… sultry. Very unlike myself. “Is now a good time to admit I’ve never done that before?”
“Never?”
“I’ve uh… been celibate for a while.” It’s hard to want someone else when you fancy one person.
For people like me, it’s impossible. Casual sex has never been my thing.
I don’t frown on it, but I just can’t do it myself.
There’s zero attraction for me in thinking about having sex with a stranger.
I’d rather pleasure my own body. At least I trust myself to do that.
I wouldn’t trust someone I don’t even know.
And after Wilder, there was no one else I wanted to know like that.
No matter how hard I tried to force myself to get on, get over it, and stop the silly crush, it never worked.
I never wanted anyone else. There was never even the smallest spark of interest. “I’ve been busy.
I keep odd hours. So… I guess have at ‘er if you like.”
He wriggles his brows. It’s nice that he can talk about butt stuff with a smile on his face. “It’s what you’d like. This is a no-pressure zone.”
“The carrots. The gravy.”
“Uh, is that a metaphor? I think food items are pretty dangerous when it comes to—”
“No, I wanted to cook them too,” I say.
Understanding dawns on him. “Ahh. We’ll be fast.”
I shoot him a look. “No, we won’t.”
“Yeah, we probably won’t.”
There’s wanting someone, and then there’s needing them, and I need this man.
I know this is bad. This shouldn’t be happening.
We’re both naked, and the last thing I want to do is get my clothes and put them back on.
I’m usually such a careful person. I think things through.
I’m emotionally intelligent and averagely smart.
I can make a decision, but I like to weigh all the pros and cons.
I don’t just say fuck it.
But this time, fuck it, I need Wilder. Even if having him right now wrecks me.
Even if I know there’s no such thing as a one-and-done.
Even if we both go up in flames. I don’t want to be rational.
I don’t want to be careful. I just want to be this desperate, sultry, naked woman who gets her pussy eaten in the kitchen, and then her ass too.
Holy. Freaking. Fuck. I can’t believe I just thought that.
With my luck, I half expect the universe to intervene in the form of a tree falling on the house, a sudden rogue wave that travels miles from the beach, or the cats or the dog racing in here, but it’s quiet outside the house and in here.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s do it.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to need you to tell me what you’d like me to do,” he responds, his eyes sparkling with devilment.
Fine. If he wants to hear me talk dirty, I can do that, no matter how brutally it makes me blush.
“I would like you, Jack, to haul me off this counter, turn me around, bend me over, lick my asshole, stuff my pussy full of your fingers, and finger-tongue fuck me until I come harder than I’ve ever come in my entire life, because goddamn it, it’s been a long time in the making. ”
“Wow,” he whistles. “That’s hot. You’re a great writer, Carissa, but you’re a great speaker too. I’m at your beck and call.”