17. Tell Me How You Like It
Chapter 17
Tell Me How You Like It
Rafe
Everything. She wants to know everything .
“Let’s be more specific,” I say. “Have you ever touched yourself before?”
Bonnie’s face instantly reddens. I don’t like knowing how easy it is to push her buttons. I shouldn’t like knowing.
“Yes,” she whispers.
The word sizzles through my loft. I’m so accustomed to it being empty in my apartment. Maybe Izzy lingers on the back porch, but nobody else comes up here. And yet here is Bonnie—a guest under my roof—with her gentle words and palpable spark, tentative before me under batting eyelashes and pouty lips.
“Yes, I’ve touched myself,” she echoes.
“And you’ve made yourself orgasm?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I take a step closer, our chests now touching. Her lips part in curiosity.
“Then, I’m going to touch you,” I say. “And you’re going to tell me exactly how you like it.”
I’ve painted a lot of people—a lot of women—and the pink in Bonnie’s cheeks is deeper than any color I’ve seen so far. It’s so scarlet that it almost makes her freckles disappear, which is a shame because I like them so much.
God, what the fuck have I gotten myself into?
I felt protective.
I’m too protective.
So protective that I got myself into this mess. It’s a mess I’m increasingly making worse.
“Yes,” Bonnie breathes again. “Okay. Right now? Right here?”
Her fingers reach out for me, splaying over my chest, curling into my shirt fabric and gripping tighter. She glances at the area around us—the easel and the painted stool and the large windows clearly looking out onto Main. Nobody’s ever outside at this time of night, and the windows are foggy and blurred from the outside, but being even a little visible is probably not a good idea.
“You tell me,” I say.
I’d much prefer we move, but I’m leaving this decision to her, even though my spine is stiff. I’m paranoid. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m sneaking around with her . The off-limits good girl.
“I want …” Bonnie eyes my purple love seat on the opposite wall. “The couch.”
I bracket her hips with my palms and twist them so she turns.
“All right, Clever Girl. Then, walk over there.”
Once she starts moving, I notice how round her ass is. I never got to fully appreciate it that night. It was so dark, and I was so careful. I’m still being cautious, but under the dim lights of my apartment and the glowing lamp on the side table near the couch, Bonnie is silhouetted perfectly. A distinct outline of the female form. I could draw her just like this, clothes and all.
“Walk slower,” I say.
She looks over her shoulder with a lifted eyebrow.
I smirk. “Well, so you can be properly admired.”
A smile spreads. “I’m not art.”
Oh, I beg to differ.
She stops just short of the couch, turning toward me. Her eyes are so uniquely brown—nothing like I’ve seen before. Some brown eyes are rich, steeped in liquor, while others are sweet, like chocolate candy. But hers … Bonnie’s are almost like solid mahogany. There’s determination behind those eyes.
I follow her, stepping close to press my thumb on her chin, tracing over it, watching her plush lips part at my command. I could kiss her. I want to kiss her. But … I shouldn’t. That’s not what we’re here for. It’s too intimate for our deal.
Instead, I bend down, bypass her mouth—with a small, gasping inhale of breath from Bonnie—then kiss below her jaw, down along the column of her neck.
She arches her back, pressing her chest against me as a small whine leaves her.
I’ve heard these sounds in my dreams. It’s surreal I get to hear them again. I told myself I never would. But here I am, breaking my rules once more.
Never sleep with a local.
Never again sleep with Bonnie.
God, I barely trust myself anymore.
I skate my palms over her shoulders and down to her forearms, taking each of her wrists in the juncture of my thumb and forefinger and clasping both hands together behind her back. I receive a heady whine in return.
“Talk to me,” I say. “Do you like that? Too rough?”
“No,” she says. “It’s perfect.”
“Tell me what else would be perfect right now,” I murmur, allowing my lips to coast over her collarbone and into her ginger hair. Coconut shampoo. All over again.
She’s silent, maybe thinking, before saying, “I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Show me.”
Without hesitation, Bonnie places her palms on my shoulders and lightly pushes me away. My eyes widen, but before I can register what’s happening, Bonnie turns us around and walks me back until my knees hit the edge of my couch. I fall down, bouncing on the cushions as she stands over me.
My lips tip into a broad smile. “Attagirl.”
“I know what I want now,” she says. There’s a quiver in her tone, but, damn, she’s trying.
“Go on.”
“I want to be on your lap,” she says.
I pat my thigh and lift my chin. “Then, crawl on.”
With focus, she walks between my spread legs. You’d think she was studying for a test with how concentrated she looks.
I place my palms on her hips, sliding my index fingers into her belt loops. “Relax into it, Shiv.”
She nods determinedly, but a tiny line etches between her brows. She places one knee on the cushion beside my thigh, then rises up, bringing her opposite knee on the couch until she’s hovering over my lap.
I trace my thumb over the small line of concern on her forehead, smoothing out the crease.
“Relax,” I repeat softly.
“Got it. Relaxing,” she says, forcing a smile.
I shake my head, dipping my palm into her hair and around the nape of her neck. “More.”
She huffs, finally exhausted by me. “I’m trying,” she argues.
I can’t help but chuckle. “Just like with your art. So stubborn.”
She twists her lips to the side, gripping the back of the couch on either side of my head and lowering down on my lap.
“Grind against me a bit,” I say before she lands.
She’s a good listener, poking out her ass to run it along the length of me. I was already at half mast, but that sends blood pressure pounding into my dick.
“Is this relaxed enough?” she asks.
I huff out a laugh. “Brat.”
If we were further along, I might demand she rip those pants of hers down and sit on my face. She said she’d like it rough. My tongue can do very terrifically rough things. But that’s not now. That’s not what we’re doing.
I trace my fingers along the hem of her jeans.
“Focus again,” I say. “Do you want me to take your clothes off?”
She nods quickly in affirmation.
“Which piece?” I ask.
“My pants.”
“Tell me what to do,” I say.
“Unzip my pants.”
I smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
I thumb her button through the slit in her jeans. A small shiver runs through her, sending goose bumps over her skin. I rest my palm over her to calm the nerves. The motion shifts her top, sending the fabric rising up her stomach. I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t help leaning closer to purse my lips in a kiss on her exposed stomach.
She hisses in a breath of surprise. I stick out my tongue and drag it over her skin, up the line between her ribs, catching the hem of her top in my teeth. I tug it and release like an overeager dog.
“Rafe,” she breathes.
“Take it off,” I command.
Without questioning, she reaches for the hem with shaking hands. I dart my hand out to halt hers.
“Wait, do you want to?” I ask.
“I’m … I’m self-conscious about my body sometimes,” she says.
I move her hand away from her shirt, grip the hem, and tug it back down.
“Then, you don’t have to take off your shirt. Let’s do what you want to do.”
I zip down her pants and grip my thumbs into either side, tugging them down her thighs and resting them at her bent knees. The fabric is too loose. It falls easily. Bonnie clearly doesn’t eat enough. That’s fine. I don’t mind cooking for two for a while.
I slide my finger into the crease along her inner thigh, then palm the area between her legs, stroking on the outside of her underwear fabric. She’s so warm. A tiny spot of wetness is already there.
“You want this bad, don’t you?” I tease.
She nods.
“Talk to me. What is it you want?”
“I want you to touch me.”
“How?”
“Um …”
“Go on.”
“Put a finger inside me?”
I tuck my middle finger into the side of her panties and stroke along her warm slit. When I dip between her lips and sink into her, it’s so soft. So, so wet.
I exhale at the same moment she does.
“Like this?” I ask, curling against her soft center.
She nods.
I halt. “Yes?”
“Yes,” she quickly exhales. “Yes. Add … add one more.”
I use my opposite hand to hook my thumb into the side of her underwear. I shift the fabric to the side to make room for two. Here, I finally get a full view of her. Pink skin with a wet sheen over her swollen lips. A small tuft of ginger hair sits right at the top. I sink both my middle and ring finger into her. She sighs, instantly lowering her hips down, grinding up to my knuckle.
“Damn, Shiv.”
“Curl your fingers,” she says. It’s hesitant but assured.
I do as she said, shifting my fingers as I slowly insert and remove them. She reacts how I expected. Her head leans to the side. Her eyes close as strands of hair slide over her shoulders to her back.
“Do you ever play with your tits?” I ask, removing my other hand from her underwear to slide up her chest. I grasp a handful of her breast. It’s perfect in my palm, enough to cup fully.
“No,” she admits.
I take it away, but she shakes her head.
“Try it though. I loved it when you did it last time.”
I smile, reaching back up to trace my thumb over her nipple. “Like that?”
“Yes. Maybe faster.”
“Faster, she says,” I murmur.
I whip my thumb over her nipple, circling it, then flicking again. She moans, and, God, I could listen to it all day long.
I curl my fingers into her wet center more, using my palm to press against her clit. She exhales.
“Oh, that’s good,” she breathes out.
She grinds her hips against my hand. I can see her thighs start to shake. Her cheeks flush red.
“You close already, Shiv?” I tease. “So quick.”
She nods in affirmation with flushed cheeks, quickly and at a loss for words as her eyebrows cinch together.
“Want me to let you come?” I ask.
“Please.”
“Say it again.”
“Please,” she says desperately. “Keep going.”
I pump into her quicker, curling and pressing with my palm. My other hand pinches her nipple, flicking my index finger over her bud. Just when she seems stiff enough to orgasm, I lean forward and bury my face into her neck, nipping at her shoulder with my teeth.
That sends her rocketing over the edge. Immediately, Bonnie is shaking, shivering, and bucking into me. Her orgasm leaves her on a whine.
“Keep going.” It’s me that says it, urging and pumping until she tenses again, and I grab another orgasm from her. This time, wetness coats my wrist.
She lets out a mix of a sigh and a whine. Her eyebrows are scrunched together. Her lips open. Her body tenses as the second orgasm courses through her, hard, then slow, then quieting.
Once she stills, swallowing down what might be another moan, I slow my movements.
“How was it?” I ask.
“Good,” she exhales, nodding with her eyes pinched closed. “Real good.”
I chuckle. “And how’d you feel about talking me through it?”
Her eyes open, searing my back to the cushions. “I loved it.”
“Good,” I say. “Me too.”
I don’t know if that was a good or bad thing to say because the tips of her ears blush—the only thing remaining that isn’t pink and flushed and messy.
I like her messy.
“I should get going,” she says, lifting herself and crawling off of me in an awkward movement of shaking limbs and unsure expressions.
Maybe she’s embarrassed. Maybe she’s upset. I’m not sure.
She pulls up her jeans, buttons them back, then walks over and grabs her bowl from the stool. She’s moving quick. I watched, confused, as she makes her way to the kitchen, placing it in the sink.
“Don’t you dare wash those dishes,” I call over.
“I was just?—”
“Back up,” I snap. “More. One more step. There we go.”
I stand, adjusting my stiff cock so it’s more comfortable because that’s not going away anytime soon. I’ll take care of it later. She’s done a lot tonight.
She aims for the door next, but I beat her to it.
I unhook her backpack from the wall and hand it to her.
“You’re rushing,” I observe. “Talk to me.”
What did I do?
“I’m fine,” she says, pulling both straps onto her shoulders.
I bend to pick up the books I set aside on the bench and balance them in one arm.
“Shiv?” When she still doesn’t meet my eyes, I tip her chin up with my forefinger. “You promised not to lie.”
She swallows, nodding more to herself than me. My chest sinks.
“Do you not want to do this?” I ask. “Tell me now, and we won’t ever do it again.”
“I didn’t say that,” she says quickly, her eyebrows rising in panic.
“Then, what is it?”
“Well … is it normal to … I think …” She nods at my wrist, wiped clean from my jeans. “I got something on you.”
I smirk. “That’s, uh, that’s your cum.”
“Really?”
I laugh. I could kiss her, if it was right to do so.
“Really,” I answer.
She smiles. “Oh. That’s … weird.”
“It’s hot.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I narrow my eyes. “So, you’re okay with this?”
She nods confidently. “Sneaking around … it’s a bit dirty, isn’t it?”
I almost counter, but a smile grows so quickly on her face, beaming from cheek to cheek.
“Feeling a little rebellious?” I ask.
“A little,” she says.
She gets on her toes, and for a second, I think she’ll kiss me. I quickly bend down and bypass her, just in case, placing the softest kiss on the small bite mark I left.
She shivers and sighs.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. “And stay out of trouble.”
“I’m only in trouble when I’m with you, Rafe.”
Well … I can’t argue with that.