Chapter Eighteen #2
I smile softly, tracing the lines of his mouth with my fingertip. Before him, I was embarrassed by my lack of experience, thought I should just “get it over with.” I’m so glad I waited until I found someone who would take their time with me. After him, it was impossible to accept anything less.
“It’s only ever been you for me,” I confess without a hint of embarrassment. It will only ever be him. I don’t care if it sounds hyperbolic—it feels true, and all I want in this moment is to feel, to hand over my control to him in the way I’ve only ever been able to do with him.
A growl sounds deep his chest, low and claiming. “When you left, I told myself I’d get over you, that eventually you’d leave my system and I wouldn’t still crave you.” He sighs in resignation. “I don’t think I’m ever getting over you, Donavan.”
“Don’t.” The word slips past my lips before he’s even fully finished his sentence, and I’m pulling him to me, kissing him until I’m lightheaded. “Couch, please,” I rasp as he kisses along my jaw while I catch my breath.
“Yes, ma’am,” he rumbles. Encircling me in his arms, he hoists me off the wall, flicking the lock on the door before carrying me the few steps to the other side of the quaint trailer, of which I’ve paid zero attention to beyond clocking that there is a couch.
He lowers me down, pressing me into the cushions in a crushing kiss, and for half a breath, I think I’d be content doing only this.
Then, his hips roll against mine and a strangled, needy mewl escapes me.
At the slightest pressure of my hands on his shoulders, he stills, pulling back.
Sliding one hand to the center of his chest, I guide him up and away, into a sitting position at the end of the couch.
He watches me curiously, waiting for me to clue him in on what I need from him.
“Rules,” I pant, breathing heavily like I’ve done harder exercise than just wrangling my lust under control. “No touching.”
He grunts, his head falling against the back of the couch. “How breakable is that rule?”
I press my lips together, opting not to answer, because truthfully, I don’t know. I just made the rule and I’m ready to toss it aside, along with all my clothes and self-control. “We’ll give it the old college try, yeah?”
The corners of his mouth quirk up crookedly. “I’m a high school dropout, baby.”
I hum, nonplussed. “And yet, you’re such a good student.”
His gaze rakes over me the same way his teeth do over his bottom lip—roughly, hungrily.
I can’t help myself. I’m kissing him again, as if trying to make up for the past three years in one night. I brush my knuckles along his jaw, trailing them down the side of his neck, his sternum. His abs tighten in anticipation, my finger teasing the waistband of his boxers.
“I love not touching,” he breathes.
I grin against his mouth before placing one last long, lingering kiss there as my hand slips under his waistband. Guiding the elastic down, I free his erection, palming it with a long, slow pump of my hand.
He reaches out, trying to pull me onto his lap, but I encircle his wrist, bringing it down and wrapping his hand around himself.
With one last chaste peck of his lips, I lie back, propping one of the cushions under my head as I draw up the leg closest to the back of the couch, stretching the other one across his lap.
We’ve never done this before. Not quite like this, at least. I gave him so many of my firsts, and he took his time to learn me, to make sure each experience was enjoyable, patient and attentive to my body in a way no one else had been before.
He had me show him how I liked to be touched before taking over, showing me new ways I hadn’t known to ask for.
And vice versa—he showed me the rhythms and pressures he enjoyed, readily gifting me the knowledge of precisely how to make him come undone.
I trail my hand up my thigh, my fingers catching on the diamond pattern of my fishnets, and he groans. “Fuck me.”
“Maybe—if you’re good,” I promise with a cheeky grin.
He grunts, his grip on himself tightening, giving a slight tug as his attention leaves my face and locks onto my hand that’s now dipping under the hem of my dress.
His eyes flick up to mine, pleading to be able to see.
I’m self-conscious for half a second, but the way he wants me makes it impossible to feel like any of this is worth being embarrassed about.
I ratchet my dress up higher around my hips with my other hand, exposing the tops of my thighs and my incredibly practical black thong.
Dax’s bitten-off noise of need makes me feel like I’m wearing the world’s most expensive lingerie and not a cheap costume from Spirit Halloween.
As I trace my finger over the damp fabric of my underwear, my head falls back, a gasp lodging in my throat.
I can’t see Dax, but I can hear the brush of fabric as he works himself, and the sound is just as effective.
I tease myself, trailing my fingertip along the seam of my underwear, dipping underneath and pulling back, Dax’s rapt attention like a brand on my skin.
Unable to hold out any longer, I slide my finger through the fishnet’s diamond pattern and hook my underwear to the side.
Dax’s free hand latches onto my ankle, and I inhale sharply at the grounding contact.
Tearing my unfocused gaze off the trailer ceiling, my attention drifts from his long fingers encircling my ankle to the controlled way his tattooed fist works up and down his length, the pearlescent bead at its tip.
My mouth waters at the sight, and Dax hums, knowing exactly all the ways I want him.
I meet his gaze, and we share lazy, lust-fogged grins. I drag a wet finger up my core, parting my folds, and my head falls back once more.
“So fucking perfect,” Dax murmurs.
I circle my clit once, twice, before exploring myself, like I haven’t done this countless times before, every time for the past three years done whilst picturing him.
I’m trying to drag this out, the telltale twitch of my hips announcing that it won’t take me long once I actually get going.
I circle my entrance, and Dax moans like it’s him I’m edging and not myself.
“Please.” His grip on my ankle tightens, and I give in, plunging one finger inside. “Good girl.”
I beam at his praise, at what I’m doing to him, the rhythm of his fist picking up speed.
Easing my finger back out, I turn my attention to my swollen and hypersensitive clit, swirling my finger around and around until my hips buck, needing more.
Dax groans, shifting sideways. We lock eyes as his mouth comes down on my knee, biting gently.
When I bring my other hand up, he sags against my leg, his pupils blown wide as he watches my fingers with unwavering attention.
He makes me feel like the sexiest woman alive.
“I’m close,” I tell him.
Plunging two fingers inside, I use my other hand to continue the administrations to my clit and resist the urge to squeeze my thighs together against the rising tide of pleasure building inside me. If I were alone, I’d give in to the instinct, but I want him to see what he does to me.
My movements grow more erratic as I begin to tip over the edge. “Dax,” I cry out as I lose control completely. My inner walls clamp down, spasming around my fingers as my other hand continues working my clit, drawing out my orgasm as it barrels through me.
I come back to myself in pieces, my inner thigh stinging where Dax’s teeth sunk into it. With a shudder, I ease my fingers out of myself, shifting my underwear back into place. Wrapping his hand around my wrist, Dax brings my hand to his mouth, sucking the taste of me off my fingers.
Sitting up, I place a kiss at the hinge of his jaw before tracing the lines of the oni mask tattooed on his throat with my tongue, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Are you close?” I ask.
He nods, his grip on his cock tightening.
“Very. You may wanna—” His free hand squeezes my hip, where I’m leaning over him.
He’s going to spill all over my dress, all over himself.
Without thinking, I slide off the couch, dropping to my knees between his spread ones. “Sloane—” My name comes out garbled.
I give him a sly smile before taking his tip into my mouth.
“I love not touching.” His head falls back as he continues to work himself, my tongue swirling in tandem to the pump of his fist. His gaze meets mine, his mouth opening to warn me, I think, but it gets caught in a groan.
I hum, letting him know it’s okay to let go.
His release comes a fraction of a second later, spilling into my mouth.
I make a meal out of cleaning him up, dragging my thumb across the corners of my mouth primly as I swallow, Dax watching me in wonderment.
“You are—” His hand goes to the back of my neck, roughly guiding me up, onto his lap. I squeal as he presses me up against him. I’m grinning too hard to focus on kissing him right now, but he doesn’t mind, busying himself elsewhere, everywhere.
When he finally pulls back, he studies me like I’m precious. He sighs contentedly, tucking himself back into his boxers before loosely encircling my waist. He drops his head to my chest, inhaling deeply.
“This,” he breathes.
I hum in question, lazily tracing nonsensical patterns along the back of his bowed neck.
“Did I say that out loud?”
I laugh quietly. “Mm-hmm.”
He presses his smile into my skin. “It’s… it’s a thing I’ve done for a while now, when I experience something I like, something I’m happy I’m still around for, that I would’ve missed.” He brushes his lips against my collarbone before placing a kiss there, his gaze flicking up to meet mine. “This.”
I hold him tighter, resting my forehead against his, my heart in my throat impossible to speak around. I don’t know how long we stay like that, lazily tracing patterns with our hands while we catch our breath.