Chapter 16 #2
With a whoosh and a rush of cool air, the bed linens fly off me.
John hops off the bed and turns on the lamp as I turn onto my back and hike myself up onto my elbows.
Languidly extending my legs straight out in front of me, I look down to confirm that the garter belt is still attached to my stockings, my boobs still look irresistible in this bra, and I am still not wearing any panties.
“Jesus,” he mutters.
Got him right where I want him. His wavy dark hair is all mussed up, his jaw is clenched, and a family of four English rats could live in that massive tent in his navy blue silk pajama pants.
“Is that a mega-supplement stack in your pajama pants, or are you just happy to see me?”
“I’m not happy that you unplugged my alarm clock, Olivia. We slept through dinner. Do you know what time it is?”
“Time to punish me for being a bad, bad girl?”
He doesn’t even have to struggle to refrain from smiling. He is clenching his fists. There are hand veins. He is genuinely mad at me, I think. I wish that didn’t turn me on so much, but it really, really does.
“It’s almost four a.m. My schedule is ruined.”
“You look tense, John. I can help you with that.”
He raises his hand and slowly flicks at the scruff on his jaw while considering his next move. It is the least Johnny B. Nerdballs thing I’ve ever seen him do, aside from all the stuff he did to my vulva.
I squeeze my thighs together because he is so shirtless and handsome and hot, and there is so much pressure between my legs, it’s unbearable. I get up and crawl over to the edge of the bed on my hands and knees.
“Lie down,” he says.
“No.” I sit at the edge of the bed in front of him, toss my hair over one shoulder, slowly swing my legs around, and reach for his waist, pulling him closer to me.
“You’re a fucking menace,” he says on an exhale, but he takes a step forward.
“Shhhhh.” I curl my fingertips inside the waistband of his pajama pants and pull it toward me as far as it will stretch.
My breath hitches when I see the head of his cock.
“No wonder,” I whisper. Then I lower his pants to his thighs and let them drop to the floor, mesmerized by his bobbing erection.
“No wonder what?”
“No wonder you’re so damn cocky.” I wrap one hand around the base of his cock. His skin is so hot and tight and smooth. I wrap another hand around his shaft and lean forward, maneuvering him so his tip swipes my breasts. I drag it up my chest, up the curve of my neck, under my chin.
Johnny groans as if he’s in pain and grabs two handfuls of my hair. “You’re going to ruin me.”
I sweep my tongue across the head, licking the pearl of precum and savoring it as I stare up at him. “I’ll go easy on you the first time,” I say sweetly. But in my head, I’m cackle-laughing and squealing, No, I won’t!
I cup his balls and flatten my tongue against the underside of his shaft, licking up, up, up slowly.
Flick at the sensitive part under the ridge of the crown with the tip of my tongue, and then I suck him into my mouth.
I get messy. I lap and slurp. He even tastes smart, but I’m going to fuck him stupid.
I twist my hands as I suck him into my mouth again.
He’s tugging on my hair, and it feels so good. He’s grunting like a caveman. He rocks his pelvis, pushing up into me. It’s happening. I’m driving him wild.
And then John growls, and when he pops out of my mouth, he pulls away and pushes me back, pressing my shoulders down to the mattress.
His breaths are ragged, but he’s still trying to control himself, and I still find that so hot.
He slides his hands under my back and unhooks my bra with ease, pulling the straps down with reverence and staring at my naked breasts as if they’ve just beaten him at a Mathletes competition and he intends to exact revenge.
He folds the bra carefully and places it on the bed next to me.
Then he touches eight fingertips to my right inner thigh and trails them down to the top of the stocking.
He studies the garter straps and the clips.
“Oh my God. You have to—”
Before I can instruct him, he unhooks all three of the straps on the left, followed by the ones on my right thigh.
“I know what to do, Tiny Dancer. I like looking at you.” He dips down to kiss my mouth, and it is such a good kiss—such a good kiss—but it lasts forever, so I bite his lower lip.
“Ow.” When he snaps his head back, I see fire in his eyes.
“Two forms of birth control,” I mutter.
“Not yet.” He cups my breasts and kisses his way down my sternum. And then he massages my boobs and stares at them. He stares at my right boob. He stares at my left boob. He licks his lips and continues to not fuck me.
Why must he torment me so?
I shut my eyes and blurt out, “Fuck you.”
“Soon.”
I cover my eyes with my forearms and keep my eyes shut as he gives me a boob massage.
It feels so good, I want to scream. My body begins to tremble when I feel the tip of his warm, hard tongue on my left nipple.
His whole mouth covers it for a second, and then he applies more pressure with his tongue, slowly circling it around and around.
He simultaneously rubs the area beneath my breast with his thumbs.
My tits feel huge. They’ve grown for him.
My entire body is swollen and ripe and ready to burst. He moves on to the other nipple as I squirm and whimper beneath him in delicious agony.
I stretch my arms overhead, reach for a pillow, and mutter again, for good measure, “Fuck you, Johnny.”
His body hovers over mine as he deep-kisses me, caressing my tongue with his, moaning.
I realize that my body has begun to move rhythmically, but he holds his completely still just above me, which requires impressive arm and core strength.
I don’t want him to stop kissing me, but when his lips travel down to my breasts again, I have no complaints.
Aside from the whole not fucking me thing.
His approach is different—this time he sucks the nipples lightly and rhythmically, tickling them with the tip of his tongue, while using his hand to squeeze and pump the breast while sucking.
My body starts to undulate because I have so much built-up energy, it needs to move.
I gasp and groan, my head twisting from side to side.
With all the pain and joy my body has experienced while dancing, it has never experienced this kind of exquisite torture during sex.
This kind of sex is a marathon, and I have been sprinting since I was a teenager.
I am on the brink of orgasm, and I really don’t know how much more of this I can take, but I am determined to find out.
His sucking and squeezing reach a crescendo, and suddenly my saliva-dampened breasts feel cold when he disappears between my legs.
“Jesus,” he groans as he discovers what I’ve known for two days—it’s a river of lust down there. “You want it so badly, Olivia.”
“Yes.”
“Is this what it’s always like for you?”
I shake my head vehemently, even though the last thing he needs is more proof of his awesomeness. “Never.”
“This is just for me?”
“I had to change my panties three times yesterday because I was so turned on from thinking about you. Or two days ago. I don’t know when I am anymore.” I realize my face is wet now too because I’m crying. This is so stupid. I’m supposed to be making him dumb and helpless.
I try to lift my head because I need to get on top. But he pushes my legs apart and up so they are bent, feet flat on the bed.
John kisses around my pubic bone and inner thighs and then opens my outer lips with his fingers and kisses the inner lips, his tongue caressing them.
I am so engorged, my pelvis tilts up, desperate for penetration.
His tongue sweeps around, up and down, before thrusting inside me.
In and out, in and out. Not rushed like at his house—more like he’s prepping me for something.
Soon I feel like I’m in a trance. I am breath and light and electricity and exploding melting colors.
I keep saying his name, over and over. At least I think I’m saying it out loud.
I may have already lost the ability to speak—I can’t tell anymore.
I clutch the pillow and pull it under my head to keep still, because I honestly feel like I could fly around the room.
When his tongue finally flirts with my clit, he kisses it and then sucks on it gently.
I scream. The orgasm demolishes me. He is squeezing my ass, trying to hold me still.
I don’t know if my body will be good for anything ever again.
This is too much.
This can’t be good.
This feels like the end of something.
Or maybe it’s the beginning of everything.
When I open my eyes, I’m not even sure if I fell asleep again. I can sense Johnny standing at the edge of the bed. I can’t lift my head, but I can tilt my chin down. He’s blurry, but I can see him rolling on a condom.
Oh, God—he hasn’t even fucked me yet.
“Olivia,” he says. “I’m going to fuck you now. It will be hard and fast. If I flip you over, are you strong enough to get on your hands and knees?”
Words. Why does every word that comes out of this man’s mouth piss me off? How is it possible that those words can cause me to seethe with anger?
I lift myself up onto my elbows. “I’m a dancer. I’m strong enough to do whatever my body needs to do.” I lifted myself up!
He’s grinning at me. “That’s my girl.”
He meant to get a rise out of me, the bastard!
Just when I’m opening my mouth to complain—because how dare he understand me—he grabs me by my hips and flips me onto my stomach, drags me closer to him as he kneels on the bed behind me, and yanks me back so I’m on my hands and knees.
He’s there. He’s there at my entrance. I take a deep breath, and in he goes.
The sharp pain isn’t pain, really. It’s the uncomfortable relief of finally getting what I want and knowing that once won’t be enough.
We both make such loud, angry, animal sounds as he slams into me.
After so much back and forth over so many years of circling each other and flicking at each other’s brains, when we finally come together, it’s just carnal.
Thrusting and skin slapping and chaotic, joyful, anguished screams. I have never cared so little about what my body looks like or what position it’s in.
At this moment, all I want is for Johnny to explode inside me.
I just wish I could see him. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hip, and one hand grips my shoulder for leverage.
He is impaling me, and I can take it. He pounds into me.
It sounds like he’s losing control, like he’s out of breath.
Like he can’t get enough, but he can’t hold on much longer. I push back into him with each thrust.
He slows down, and just as I’m about to open my mouth to taunt him, he drags his fingernails down my back and slaps the side of my ass.
I shudder, clenching around him.
Why did that feel so good?
He reaches around to rub my clit as he starts pumping into me again.
Goddammit.
He’s making me come again.
Oh, shit, we’re going to come together.
His groan is desperate and beautiful.
I cry out in defeat because he has more control over my body than I do.
This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and I want to do it again.
I collapse onto my stomach and feel the weight of him on my back.
John’s hot breath on the side of my face.
His sweaty skin pressed against mine. His heartbeat, the liquid heat of his cum inside the condom, his cock that’s still inside me.
I can’t see him, but this is the closest I’ve ever felt to him.
I stretch my arms down and out, and his fingers entwine with mine.
I don’t know what time it is, but he’d better not get up and go anywhere.
I feel his lips on my shoulder. My hair is probably in his mouth, but he kisses and kisses and kisses me before going still and resting his face next to mine.
We didn’t have sex with each other for the first time—we split the atom. The world has changed. It is more dangerous but also filled with possibilities that we don’t understand yet.
Or maybe I had just never been fucked properly before.
I imagine this is what it would have been like to see Martha Graham dance in her time. You think you know what it means to move the body to music, and then blammo, a revolution, and the body can show the world what it means to be human.
Johnny takes a deep breath and then says into my ear, “Well. I hope you’ve learned your lesson. Don’t fuck with my jet-lag protocol.”