Chapter 18 #2
“So beautiful,” he murmurs against my lips. “So fucking perfect.”
When he finally pulls the tank top over my head, the cool air makes me shiver. Or maybe it’s the way he’s devouring me with his stare like I’m a feast and he’s been starving for years.
“Please,” I breathe, and he groans.
“Say my name.”
“Arrow.”
“Again.”
“Arrow, please?—”
He kisses me slowly, then starts moving down. His lips trail fire down my throat, across my collarbone, and when he reaches my breasts, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. We can’t wake the others. “Let me hear how good this feels.”
“What if someone hears us?”
“Let them hear,” he murmurs, his gaze on my breasts. “So they know what they’re missing.”
“We can’t—they’ll?—”
“They’ll what? Come down here? Join us?” He glances up at me, eyes dark with desire. “Is that what you’re afraid of? Or what you want?”
I can’t answer because he’s using his mouth again, teeth scraping lightly before he sucks hard, wrapping those lips around a nipple with just enough pressure to make me arch against him.
He’s not gentle. He doesn’t ease me into it.
He devours , like he’s been waiting and I’m the only thing that’ll satisfy him.
My hands tangle in his hair, fisting it to hold him there, or maybe to anchor myself because my body is unraveling.
I’m gasping, panting, these helpless little sounds spilling out of me without permission.
My thighs are shaking, heat pulsing between them in waves that have nothing to do with my cycle and everything to do with him .
He switches sides without warning, biting just enough to make me flinch, then soothing the sting with his tongue. Every nerve in my chest is raw and lit up, as if he’s rewired me with nothing but his mouth.
“I’m going to ruin you,” he whispers against my skin, his voice dark and reverent. “Going to take you apart piece by piece until you can’t remember why you were fighting this.”
“Don’t stop,” I gasp. “God, yes, please?—”
The living room is all shadows and moonlight, and I should be embarrassed about being half naked in such an open space, but all I can focus on is Arrow’s hands, his mouth, the way he’s making me feel like I’m flying apart.
I slide down his body until I’m on my knees in front of him, looking up at his shocked expression.
“Cindy, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” My hands go to his waistband, and I stare at how hard he is, the outline clear through the thin fabric. “I need to taste you.”
“Fuck.” His head falls back, hands clenching at his sides. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?” I tug down his pajama pants slowly, revealing him inch by inch, and— “Oh my God.”
He’s massive. Thick and hard and perfect, and for a second, I have doubts, because how is that going to fit?
But then I remember this isn’t my first time doing this.
There was that Beta waiter back home who I practiced on, much to my parents’ horror when they found out—and I know what I’m doing. Sort of.
I wrap my hand around him, and he groans like I’ve punched him.
“Baby…”
I lick from base to tip, tasting salt and skin and Arrow. His hands tangle in my hair, not forcing, just holding, and when I slide my lips over his tip, he moans. So I slip him into my mouth.
“Jesus fucking—your mouth?—”
I hum around him, which makes him grunt louder, and then I’m finding my rhythm. I remember what that Beta taught me, about using my hand and mouth together, about paying attention to reactions, about enthusiasm being more important than technique.
And I’m enthusiastic. The way his thighs tremble, the taste of him, it’s all going straight to the fire between my thighs. I’m so turned on that I can’t stand it, my shorts drenched, and without thinking, my free hand slips into my sleep shorts.
“Are you—fuck, Cindy, are you touching yourself?”
I moan around him in response, my mouth moving up and down his shaft, my fingers finding that bundle of nerves that’s been aching all day. I push them between my swollen, silky lips and groan at the touch. The dual sensation of him in my mouth and my own fingers is overwhelming in the best way.
“Fuck yes, just like that. But I want, I need to touch you?—”
But I don’t let go, don’t stop, just increase my pace on both fronts. I’m close, so close, and when Arrow’s hips start to stutter, when his grip in my hair tightens?—
“Cindy, I’m going to—you should?—”
I don’t pull away.
Instead, I stare up at him as I take him deeper.
My lips stretch wide, my jaw aching, and still I keep going, slowly, until the thick head hits the back of my throat.
He’s so big that it burns a little, and I love it.
My eyes water as I push further, swallowing around him, my tongue pressed tight to the underside.
His hand finds the back of my head. Not forcing, not yet, but holding. Applying just enough pressure that my pulse stutters. It’s possessive. Guiding. Exactly what I crave.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “Look at you. Taking it so well.”
I hum around him, the sound deep in my throat, and it makes him shudder. My hips rock, desperate for friction, my fingers working, rubbing my clit in frantic circles. I’m soaked, hot, every nerve on fire just from having him in my mouth, tasting his skin, hearing the noises he makes.
He starts to move, shallow thrusts into my mouth that grow a little rougher with each pass. I let him. Want him like this, unleashed, undone. His grip tightens in my hair, his breaths ragged, his groans tumbling out with every wet slide of my lips over his cock.
“You were made for this,” he pants. “Fuck, your mouth, your throat, they feel better than anything I’ve ever had.”
He throbs against my tongue. He’s close, evident in the way his legs tense and his rhythm falters.
“You gonna swallow all of it for me?” he growls, low and primal. “Gonna be my good girl and drink it down?”
I moan around him in answer, pressing my thighs together as my own orgasm tightens, crashes, heat flooding me as I rub harder, lost to the intensity of it all.
He jerks in my mouth with a harsh, broken sound, the kind of growl that feels like it should be dangerous.
And then he comes. Hard. A thick, hot flood that fills my mouth, and I don’t hesitate.
I swallow it down fast, greedy, even as more follows, and still, I don’t stop.
His grip holds me in place, trembling fingers buried in my hair as he hisses.
“Good fucking girl,” he rasps. “So good, so perfect, fuck, you drank it all. Jesus.”
I finally release him, breathing heavily, my lips swollen and slick. His cock remains hard, glistening with spit, a drop of cum lingering at the tip. He stares down at me, ready to ruin me all over again.
And maybe I want that too.
He sinks to his knees in front of me, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth, catching the shine there and dragging it slowly across my lips. His eyes are dark, pure Alpha, and his voice drops to a dangerous purr.
“You have no idea what that did to me. Seeing my cock in your mouth? Watching you need it that bad that you came on your own fingers?” He leans closer.
“That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
You on your knees, dripping and desperate with my cum still on your tongue?
Baby, I’m never gonna stop wanting that. ”
“You’re going to kill me,” I murmur, my voice still hoarse from everything we just did. My knees feel like jelly, and my heart won’t stop thudding against my ribs.
Arrow smiles, slow and devastating, then draws me to my feet like I weigh nothing at all.
“Nah, baby. Not kill you.” His fingers dig into the elastic of my sleep shorts.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ make you scream. That mouth”—he groans, eyes dipping to my lips like he’s still seeing himself there—“was just the beginning.”
I can’t breathe. My blood is rushing south again, my body already aching for more. And I love how he says it. How rough he gets. How his voice goes thick and low when he wants me.
I reach for him. “Then do it. Fuck me like I belong to you.”
His mouth crashes into mine, messy and hot, while his thumbs hook beneath the waistband of my shorts, dragging them down slowly.
But then?—
Movement catches my eye.
A flicker in the dark, just over Arrow’s shoulder.
My breath stutters, body stilling mid-kiss as my gaze snaps toward the dining table at the far end of the open-plan space.
And that’s when I see them.
Holt and Luke.
Sitting like twin shadows in the dim glow from the kitchen, both with a glass of something. Clearly breathing heavily. Staring at us like they’re barely holding on.
My stomach drops. My face floods with heat.
Arrow turns slightly, following my frozen line of sight, and groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck.”
I squeal. High-pitched and horrified, pulling my shorts up. Then I snatch my tank top off the floor and clutch it to my chest.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Ohmygodohmygod?—”
“Cindy—wait—” Arrow tries to catch me, his tone somewhere between apologetic and still aroused.
Too late.
I bolt for the stairs, half naked, heart pounding like I’ve just sprinted out of a nightmare. Or a fantasy. Or maybe both.
“Seriously? You had to ruin the perfect moment?” Arrow groans.
“Hey!” Luke fires back. “We were here first.”
“And you just sat there?” Arrow sounds like he wants to throttle him.
“Well, we weren’t gonna interrupt,” Luke says, and I hear the smirk in his voice. “Would’ve been rude. And honestly? That was better than any damn movie.”
“I was gonna fuck her right there,” Arrow growls.
I don’t hear the rest. I’m already in my room, door slammed shut behind me, my back pressed against the wood as I try to breathe.
My body is flushed and electric, my thighs sticky, my skin still tingling from where Arrow’s mouth had been. I let out a shaky laugh, half hysterical, half turned on, and slide to the floor.
What the hell did I just do?
And worse?—
Why do I want to do it again?
Why do I want them to see?
Still clutching my tank top to my chest, my whole body throbbing with aftershocks and mortification.
What the hell was I thinking?
My lips are swollen, my thighs still trembling. My mouth tastes like him. My skin feels branded by his hands. And now they’ve all seen me. Not just Arrow, but Holt and Luke too. Watched. Hard. Unmoving. Like they were waiting for something.
A knock rattles the door behind me, and I jump like I’ve been electrocuted.
“I’m fine,” I call too quickly. My voice is high and cracked. “Totally fine. All good. Everything’s fine!”
Silence.
“Cindy. Can I come in?” Arrow says in that gravel-smooth voice.
I hesitate. My hand hovers over the doorknob.
“I don’t want you thinking that was a one-time thing. Or that it changes anything about how attracted I am to you.”
My breath catches.
“I’m just… tired,” I say weakly. “And a little—embarrassed.”
More silence. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. Trust me. Holt and Luke are gonna be awake all night, dying to get those images of you out of their heads.”
I let out a strangled sound. “That’s really not helping.”
A low chuckle from the other side of the door. “Sorry. Just… trying to make you feel better.”
“You’re making me feel something , all right.”
He goes quiet again, like he’s letting me choose what happens next and waiting to see if I’ll open the door.
I don’t.
But I press my palm against the wood between us. Needing to feel something grounded.
“You really don’t think it was just for fun so you can gloat in front of your friends?” I ask quietly.
“Not even a little,” he says. “You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re filthy in the best fucking way… and when you dropped to your knees for me, I nearly lost my mind. I count myself lucky for having met someone as incredible as you.”
My face burns. But I can’t help the tiny smile.
“You’re trouble, Cindy,” he murmurs. “But the good kind.”
I lean my forehead against the door, heart still racing, trying to slow the spiral of embarrassment and afterglow and want.
Silence stretches, just long enough that I think he’s gone.
“Well… sweet dreams, my good girl.”
My knees threaten to give out again.
I melt. Actually melt into the wood like it could catch me.
And when I’m sure he’s really gone, I whisper to the closed door, “Yeah. I think I’m in big trouble moving in here.”