Chapter 9 #2
He smiles against me, and then he’s really going at it.
His tongue flat against my clit, then pointed as it slides lower.
Then forked as it explores my entrance. The sensation is overwhelming.
Heat building at the base of my spine, my hips moving without conscious direction, my hands finding his hair and holding on as the pleasure builds.
He’s good. Better than good, with an attention to detail that makes sense given how he approaches everything else.
He pays attention to my reactions, adjusts his technique based on the sounds I make, the way my body moves under his hands.
When I gasp at a particular motion, he does it again, harder.
When my thighs start to tremble, he holds them open with those big hands, keeping me exactly where he wants me.
“Tovek,” I manage, my voice breaking. “I’m close. I’m going to—”
“Yeah?” he says against me, the word sending vibrations through my already sensitized flesh. “Show me.”
And I do. My orgasm crashes through me with unexpected force, my back arching off the bed, his name in my mouth as pleasure floods my system. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t give me time to recover. Just keeps going, his tongue relentless as he drives me toward a second peak that’s already building.
“Too much,” I gasp, my hips trying to move away from the overwhelming sensation. “Tovek, please—”
He pulls back immediately, his expression concerned. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” I say, reaching for him. “Not hurt. Just sensitive.” I pull him up for a kiss, tasting myself on his tongue. The intimacy of it, the rawness, makes my stomach flip. “I want you. Inside me. Now.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Relief, maybe, or wonder. Then his expression settles into focused heat. “Are you sure? We can wait, if you need—”
“I’m sure,” I say, meaning it completely. “I want you. I’ve been thinking about this. About you. For weeks.”
He nods and reaches for the nightstand where he pulls out a strip of condoms from the drawer.
I watch, mesmerized, as he rolls one down his length.
His hand moving with surprising dexterity, his eyes never leaving mine.
When he’s done, he positions himself between my legs, the head of his cock just brushing my entrance.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, his voice rough with restraint. “We can stop anytime.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and he begins to push forward. Slowly, carefully, giving me time to adjust to his size. The stretch is intense. Not quite pain but adjacent to it, a burning pressure that makes my breath catch in my throat. He freezes immediately.
“We can stop,” he says again. “We don’t have to—”
“No,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly unsteady. “Don’t stop. Just go slow. Please.”
He nods, his hand coming up to cradle my face.
“Like this,” he says, and begins to move again.
Infinitesimally slowly, each millimeter of progress followed by a pause to let me adjust. It’s excruciating and perfect and exactly what I need.
His careful attention, his complete focus on my comfort, his willingness to stop if I ask.
The stretch gradually shifts from burning to fullness, from pressure to pleasure. My body adjusting, accommodating, welcoming him deeper. When he’s about halfway in, he pauses, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.
“You feel incredible,” he says, his voice strained. “So tight. So perfect.”
“More,” I say, surprising myself. “I can take more.”
He groans, the sound vibrating through both of us, and pushes deeper.
Inch by careful inch until finally, finally, he’s fully seated.
His hips against mine, and the feeling is overwhelming.
Full in a way I’ve never experienced, stretched around his length, every nerve ending alight with sensation.
We’re both breathing hard, his forehead against mine, his hand still gently cradling my face.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough with restraint.
“I’m good,” I say, meaning it completely. “More than good. Please move.” I roll my hips to emphasize my words.
He swallows a groan and begins to pull back. Just slightly, just enough to create the friction my body is craving. Then he pushes forward again. The movement sends a shock of pleasure through my system, my back arching off the bed, his name in my mouth before I can stop it.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice a rumble against my chest. “Take me. So perfect around me.”
The praise sends another wave of heat through me. My body responds to his words as much as his movements. He builds a rhythm. Slow at first, careful, giving me time to adjust. Then faster as my hips begin to meet his, as my hands find his shoulders and hold on.
He’s everywhere. His chest against mine, his mouth on my neck, his cock hitting places inside me that make my vision blur. And still it’s not enough, still I want more, want everything, want him deeper, harder, forever.
“More,” I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, Tovek, I need more.”
“Tell me,” he says against my ear. “What do you need?”
“Harder,” I manage. “Faster. I want to feel you everywhere.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Then his expression settles into focused heat. “You’re sure?”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and he changes position.
Lifting my legs to rest on his shoulders, changing the angle so that each thrust hits directly against that spot inside me that makes my vision blur.
The new position takes him deeper, the stretch more intense, the pleasure building at the base of my spine with each thrust.
“Fuck,” I gasp, digging my fingers into the bed. Clutching at anything to ground me. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
“Not stopping,” he says, his voice rough. “Never stopping. You feel too good. So perfect around me.”
He builds a rhythm. Still careful despite my request for harder, faster.
Each thrust measured, his complete focus on my reactions, on the sounds I make, on the way my body moves under his hands.
The heat builds at the base of my spine, my second orgasm already approaching, my body tightening around him.
“I’m close,” I manage. “Tovek, please—”
“Come for me, Chef,” he says against my ear, and the words push me over the edge.
My orgasm crashes through me with unexpected force, my back arching off the bed, his name in my mouth as pleasure floods my system. He follows immediately, his rhythm faltering as his own release hits, his frame shuddering above me as he finds his pleasure.
For one long, perfect moment, we’re connected completely. His weight carefully balanced above me, his breath hot against my neck, his cock still pulsing inside me as the last waves of pleasure fade.
Then he’s moving, careful even in the aftermath. Pulling out with a gentleness that makes my stomach flip, disposing of the condom, returning to the bed to gather me against his chest.
“That was...” he starts, then stops.
“Incredible,” I supply, my voice slightly hoarse. “Amazing. Spectacular. The best sex I’ve ever had.”
He smiles, that quick flash of teeth and the subtle gleam of a tusk.
“For me too,” he says, and pulls me closer.
I want more of this, of him, and fight against the sleep that’s suddenly overcoming me.
He reaches for the blanket at the foot of the bed.
“Get some rest,” he says, his voice gentle. “We’ve got time for more later.”
We do have time. Hours before we need to be downstairs, before the realities of the bar and the kitchen come crashing back and we become colleagues who’ve crossed a line we can’t uncross..
For now, we’re just us. Mei and Tovek.
I settle against his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear, his hand a warm weight at the small of my back.
My eyes are already closing, my body heavy with satisfaction and exhaustion.
The last thing I’m aware of is his lips against my hair, the murmured “Sleep well, Chef” that follows me into dreams.
I wake to grey light and the weight of Tovek’s arm across my waist. His skin is warm. Orcs run hot. His breathing is deep and even, and for one perfect moment I let myself study the tribal scars that trace across his forearm before my brain catches up to what I’ve done.
Then I’m moving. Slipping out from under his arm with the practiced silence of someone who’s spent years sneaking out of shared apartments, grabbing my clothes from the floor, pulling on jeans and yesterday’s shirt without looking back at the bed.
His boots are in the way. Massive things, easily twice the size of mine. I step over them and keep moving.
Through the apartment. Down the stairs. Out the back door into the alley where the dumpsters live, because the front entrance feels too exposed, too much like I’m making a statement.
The morning air hits my face, cool despite the lingering heat from yesterday’s pavement.
New Vegas never really sleeps, but there’s a lull between the late-night crowd stumbling home and the early risers heading to work.
I turn left without thinking, away from the Strip’s main drag, and start walking.
My body aches pleasantly. Muscles used in new ways, the tenderness that comes after spectacular sex.
My lips are slightly swollen, my neck probably marked with bruises I haven’t looked at yet.
There’s a pleasant soreness between my legs that makes each step a reminder of exactly what I’m running from.
Not running. Walking. Thinking. Getting perspective.