Chapter 23
MILLIE
I feel like I could throw up.
Sweat drips down my back as I hold Shade’s knees like they’re a lifeline. If I let go of them, I might fall backward.
The lingering heat between my legs is distracting enough to keep me from running.
I swallow past the ball in my throat and press harder onto him, considering sinking my nails into him just so I really can’t leave.
My inner thighs are sticky as they rub together, a constant reminder of why I feel confident enough to get down here, pushing past every doubt in my mind.
I want this. I want it badly enough to ignore my nerves and stare boldly up at him, silently pleading for him to tell me what to do.
“You’re sure?” he asks, a warning stitched into each word.
“Yes,” I breathe.
Leaning forward, he drags his elbows down his thighs. His knuckle brushes the underside of my chin, his gaze dark and daring. I let him move me, struggling to calm my breathing.
“You look petrified, princess.”
There’s a cold drip down my spine. “No.”
“Yes, you do. I don’t need you to do anything for me, Millie,” he murmurs, searching my face for something. Confirmation that he’s right, maybe.
I force the words out. “It’s not for you. It’s for me.”
His expression stays the same, deep brown eyes continuing their examination. Panic squeezes me, and I tighten my hold on his knees, sinking back to sit on my heels.
“Tell me how, Shade. Show me. Please,” I add, my voice a whisper.
The knuckle beneath my chin shifts to my jaw, running along the length of it before falling away. Shade leans back into the couch, wide shoulders sinking into the cushions. I watch, breath catching as he moves his hands to the button of his jeans and pops it open.
His gaze pins mine, like he’s testing me with every twitch of his fingers. When he pinches the zipper and lowers it, I don’t look away.
“Move closer,” he says, a subtle bite of urgency there.
I obey, rising and letting my palms glide up his thighs. He brings a hand to mine, stroking my knuckles. Then he lifts it, pressing my palm against the bulge straining beneath his jeans.
My throat constricts around a breathless moan. I can’t speak, my tongue numb where it lies useless in my mouth. The feel of him beneath my palm is intoxicating, and I haven’t moved a muscle yet.
“Told you already that there were no limits on where you could touch me,” he says, voice rough. “Squeeze it.”
I do. Without thinking, my fingers squeeze around the heat and weight of him.
Shade’s soft grunt slithers over my skin, hot and balmy.
I spread my fingers along the length of his shaft, searching for the end.
My core clenches, growing slicker when I realize quickly just how long that takes to find it.
My eyes flash up at him, my lashes fluttering. I don’t know why I’m searching for more approval, but it’s instinct. The desire for him to tell me to continue rattles in my head, repeating until it’s impossible to think about anything else.
“Good. Now, pull it out, Millie.”
I suck in a breath. A shiver rolls down my body, landing low and deep.
The tremble in my fingers doesn’t stop me from taking the opening of his jeans and pulling gently. Shade lifts off the couch just long enough for me to pull them to mid-thigh. I stare at the tight fabric of his briefs, realizing I didn’t shed those too.
He doesn’t say anything to stop me. Just lifts his shirt with tattooed fingers, baring a stretch of stomach inked in colour.
I chomp down on my lip and still, taking in the sight of the black hair over the tattoos.
Twin snakes coil across his torso, one poised to strike, the other watchful and still.
They look alive in the dim light, each scale shimmering in blues and greens.
“Bryce?” I whisper.
“Bryce.”
I slowly lower my eyes back to the fabric restraining his erection. It should be easy enough to free, but I take the waistband between my fingers and hesitate. Instead, I grow fascinated by the wet patch near the tip of him. Rubbing my thighs together, I lift my gaze.
“You shouldn’t be surprised,” he mutters.
It sounds ridiculous. “Well, I am.”
Shade reaches his hand out and glides his fingers through my hair, gathering it all to one side. I’m not surprised when he uses his hold to move me forward, and I follow eagerly.
“Stick your tongue out.”
My stomach tumbles. I do as he says.
He tugs me forward, and I flatten my tongue completely over that wet spot. My eyes shut, and I breathe through my nose before bringing my lips to him, sucking the fabric. There’s something protruding beneath my tongue that’s hard and round, and I shift to feel it more clearly—
“Shit.”
I flash a look at him, pulling away, worried that I’ve done something wrong.
He works his jaw, the muscles in his cheeks straining.
Shade presses blunt nails to my scalp and nods when he notices me looking.
I let an exhale go and swipe my tongue over the spot again, finding it soaked through, the taste of him gone.
The feel of his waistband between my fingers comes back to me, and I pull back enough to give it one tug. Shade lifts his hips again, and I work them down. His erection doesn’t move, so stiff it looks painful as I stare.
There’s a round, black piercing protruding from the slit in the tip.
“Is that . . .” I start.
Shade wets his lips, nodding. “Yeah.”
“I’ve never seen one in person.”
A slight quirk of his lips. “First impressions?”
“It looks like it hurts.”
He rolls his shoulders. “Nah, princess. Feels really fucking good when it’s touched right.”
“Oh.”
“What I teach you today won’t work for every guy. Not unless they’ve got one too.”
“Okay.” Even if I don’t understand it, I want to try. I want to know what makes him feel good.
“Wrap your hand around me,” he says, gentler this time.
I hold my breath and reach out, letting my fingertips glide over the silklike skin before curling them around it.
It’s thick and firm. Harder than I expected it to be.
I’ve touched one before Shade, but it wasn’t like this.
It wasn’t nearly this size, and I wasn’t interested in seeing if I could get it this big.
“Tighter, Millie.”
My hold constricts. “Okay.”
“How many times have you done this before?” he asks, no judgment in his voice, only genuine curiosity.
“Once.”
“Only your hand, or your mouth too?”
“Just my hand,” I admit, my throat suddenly dry.
His nostrils flare, the hand in my hair nearly painful. “Spit on it. Get me wet before doing anything else.”
Goosebumps rise on my arms, nerves crackling like static beneath my skin.
I freeze up, my attention fixed to the sight of him in my hand, the tip slick but an angry shade of red.
It’s intimidating enough on its own, but to add the small black ball sticking out of it?
And now he wants me to spit on it? As if that’s a casual demand.
Not in the slightest.
“Can’t we use lube instead?” I ask, the words tumbling out.
His brows bounce. “If that’s what you want to use, yes. I’ll get some right now if you tell me the reason behind wanting it.”
“Spitting isn’t . . . it’s not attractive.”
“Why not?” he counters.
I don’t notice how tense I’ve gotten until I catch the slight wince flicking across his expression. Loosening my hold, I sigh. “What do you mean, why? It’s not something you’re supposed to do. You don’t cover someone else in your spit.”
Not girls like me—girls raised to be polite, to keep their knees closed and their mouths shut.
“According to who?”
“I don’t want to play the guessing game.”
“So don’t. Do you trust me?”
It’s a loaded question. On instinct, I want to say yes. I trust Shade more than I do every person I know back in Whistler. But realistically, I know I shouldn’t. Not yet.
Still, I choose to be honest. “Yes.”
He leans over me then, his eyes piercing into mine as his hold on my head shifts. Inch by inch, he tips it back until my throat is arched, quick breaths slipping from my parted lips.
“Open wider,” he rasps.
There’s no hesitation when I follow his order. It’s almost freeing to just follow his commands, letting my trust guide me.
Shade keeps our eyes locked, holding steady as his lips purse. The lust that carves straight through my centre at the sight of his spit dripping down into my mouth is ruthless. I swallow on instinct after his spit pools on my tongue, letting it run down my throat.
“Good girl,” he praises, stroking my fluttering pulse. “Didn’t even need to tell you to swallow.”
I don’t react right away. My low, desperate moan comes when he throbs in my hand.
“How do I spit on it?” I ask, gently stroking him. “Over the tip?”
He sinks back into the couch and holds himself still, the muscles in his lower stomach clenching. “Wherever you want.”
Getting more comfortable on my knees, I tip my chin, hovering my mouth over his tip. It would be so easy to lick the length of it, but the piercing . . .
I exhale shakily and spit, the sound almost obscene in the quiet. The gob of clear liquid drips down the first few inches of his shaft, but it’s not enough. I bring my fist up and get it wet before dragging it back up. The skin is taut, rolling beneath my palm as I stroke.
“I like it rougher,” Shade grinds out from above me. “You’re not going to hurt me.”
My breath fans over the glistening head as I nod, swallowing thickly. I adjust my hold, moving his erection away from his groin and toward me. Closer now, it’s easier to see the four sets of tiny holes along the underside of his shaft.
More piercings. Missing ones.
Pressure builds between my legs, making me so sensitive it almost hurts not to touch myself. I can’t look beneath me. Not because I don’t want to grow distracted, but because I don’t trust that I haven’t begun to make a mess on the floor.
“Is this better?” Squeezing tightly, I spit on him again, this time aiming for the dry skin.
His hips jerk slightly. Just once. “Yes. Yes, better.”
“Now what?”