Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Fallon
I came in my pants. Like a teenager. With someone who wasn’t my wife.
And it was the hottest thing I can remember in a long while.
Then I invited the guy who made me come like a teenager back to the house I lived in with my late wife. Gave him my number in case we got separated.
My throat is raw and clogged with guilt. I have the strangest need to ask Marina’s permission first. Only she isn’t here to ask, is she?
All of this because I didn’t want to run into Marina’s best friend. Or was it? I wasn’t thinking clearly when I kissed PJ, other than knowing I wanted to hide my face before Carol spotted me.
We pull through the gate I never bother to keep closed anymore, down the U-shaped pebbled drive. For a moment after shutting off the car, I’m frozen between the past and the present. Between wondering what Marina would think right now, and the way PJ’s rough touch lingers on my skin.
A sharp knock on the window yanks me firmly back to the present.
“You okay in there?” he asks as I climb out of the car.
PJ’s expression is almost hard. If he looked worried for me the way most people tend to, I couldn’t handle it. More than anything, he seems impatient. Probably wondering if this thing is still happening.
I want it to happen. I want to be ready. I do not want a repeat of what happened with Mistress Shanna.
“Come inside,” I say. My stomach tightens, and I’m not sure if it’s from desire or nerves.
“Let me go change super quick,” I say once we’re in, tugging off my suit jacket and dropping it before moving on to the buttons of my shirt while I make a point of ignoring all the ways Marina would be losing her mind over me dropping my clothes on the floor.
I don’t give much thought to the fact that PJ is still following behind me until I’m pulling my shirt off my shoulders and down my back, and his lean arms wrap around my waist from behind, effectively trapping my hands.
I’m not supposed to want this. It isn’t supposed to feel so good. For a moment all I can think is that he’s got me trapped right now and I’d be so relieved if he took my choice away. It doesn’t feel right, but also it feels like exactly what I need.
I want him to take all my choices away.
“Looked like you were getting tense. I thought maybe I shouldn’t give you too much time to think,” he says against my skin.
He’s right. I’m surprised he noticed. More surprised to realize I’m leaning back into him. Asking. Practically begging.
I turn in PJ’s arms, caught by the dangerous promise in his smile—the way the dim golden hallway lighting catches hints of strawberry in his hair.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this. I’m a little in my head.”
A lot, if I’m honest, but this is not a therapy session. Not the time to unpack my emotional baggage.
PJ angles his head to the side, seeming to study me. “What can I do to get you out of your head?”
My dick is trying its damnedest to get hard again. The effect he’s having on me is ridiculous.
Does he realize he licked his lip when he said he wanted to help me get out of my head? I can’t stop realizing it.
“What you did before.” His pleased expression spurs me to continue. “When you sort of…pushed me. Would you do that again? Don’t let me think too much. Please.”
Maybe that’s where I went wrong with Mistress Shanna. Perhaps letting myself think was my mistake.
I could swear PJ’s blue eyes glow brighter. He seems to consider me a moment before taking a deep breath in. “Okay, baby. Let me see those lips wrapped around my cock.”
When my knees hit the carpet, an unexpected peace washes over me.
He draws another slow, deep breath while reaching for me with one hand. His gaze holds mine while he caresses my jaw, runs his fingers through my hair, and smooths his thumb over my lips. The blood in my veins whooshes through me, echoing in my ears like the white noise of the air conditioning.
“You look so fucking right on your knees for me. You want me to feed you my cock, don’t you, baby? You wanna wrap those gorgeous lips around me? Swallow me down? If I choked you with it, would you let me?”
“Fuck yes.” I hardly recognize my voice. I sound like a horny teenager. I feel like one.
This is all a terrible idea. And I’m too wound up to care.
“Show me.”
The clink of metal on metal as I undo his belt is deafening in the quiet room. I catalog every sound carefully. The slide of the belt against fabric. The jingle of it hitting the floor. PJ’s heavy, labored breathing as I slide down his zipper.
All the while, he keeps his gaze on me, and I can’t look away. I don’t want to hurry. If I do, whatever spell this is could be broken.
There’s the slightest tremor in my hands as I part the fabric of his slacks, reach into his boxer briefs, and pull him out.
I can’t resist the urge to slide my cheek against his sensitive skin, like a cat marking its property.
I slide my closed lips across his shaft slowly, sensually.
I lick away the salty tang of his precum, enjoying the strangled noises and the filthy words he’s spilling.
Things like “Fuck yes,” and “Jesus, you’re so sexy on your knees for me,” and “How does that feel so fucking good?”
I’d forgotten how empowering it could be to make someone else feel this way.
“Open your mouth, baby. Take me all the way.”
There’s a direct line from his mouth to my brain. Perhaps it’s a matter of old programming. Old muscle memory. After all, I’m used to following commands.
Then why does it all feel brand new?
What matters right now is the steady way my pulse beats in my chest and in my ears. The rush of pleasure through every nerve ending. The way my saliva pools in anticipation.
When I open my mouth and he pushes inside, I’m not sure which of us groans louder.
“Oh fuck, that’s good,” he whispers. “That’s so fucking good. Your mouth is perfect, baby. So hot and wet. So fucking sexy. Look at you.”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t lap up that praise like a slutty cat in heat.
I suck him slowly, slowly, steadily because I want him to feel so good. I want him to feel amazing. Because I want to feel good too. Little has ever felt more satisfying to me than pleasing someone else.
This won’t go anywhere—we hardly know each other, after all—but right now, it all feels right. Maybe tonight I can be who I used to be. Only better.
When he starts thrusting, I reach for his hips. I grab his pockets at first, feeling a wallet and a phone, and something like a small, thick rectangle. It could be a contact lens case. Perhaps a folding knife.
I tug more insistently, wanting him to hurt me a little, the way he did when he was getting me off against the side of that building.
I take hold of one of his hands, threading his fingers into my hair and encouraging him to grab on.
Then I suck deeper and deeper, until I’m gagging, and I pull off so I can breathe.
He puts his hand against the back of my head, urging it back and holding me there. My nose is still clear, but he’s got my throat well and truly plugged.
“Fuck, that’s good. That’s so good, baby. You know how good it feels, your throat squeezing around me that way? You tell me if it’s too much. Slap my leg or something.”
It’s already too much. The sensation is almost too overwhelming to take. Which is why I take it. To please him. To show him I can.
My answer comes out sounding like “aagh” but I only dig my fingers harder into his hips.
My limbs twitch as my hind brain registers panic, but I refuse to tap out. Instead, I push forward a little, accepting the challenge.
PJ backs down before I do. I feel him losing his control as he fucks my face again, faster, until he’s chanting over and over how good I am, how good I’m making him feel, and I’m so caught in the hum of pleasure that’s buzzing in my brain that I nearly miss the swell of his cock and his warning that he’s about to come.
At the last second, I pull back. His release sprays across my cheek.
Wearing a lover’s fluids, the proof that I’ve pleased them, has always gratified me. I settle back on my heels, the tension leaking from my body.
My lips curve upward as my eyes drift shut. I know it’s only temporary, but it feels like ownership. Which… I think I’ve missed it more than I realized.
It’s nice to feel owned again, even if it’s only for one night.
And if Marina’s picture on top of the dresser seems to be judging me right now? Well, that’s something I can freak out about later. When I’m alone again.
PJ’s thumb sweeps across my closed lips, smearing some of him on my mouth in the process. “Holy fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I didn’t expect you to do that.”
“It was a game-time decision.” My chest is still heaving. My whole body is thrumming with excitement. I took a step tonight that I’ve honestly been afraid to take, and I can’t deny that it feels incredible.
PJ grins, wide and blinding in the dim room—the only light other than what’s coming from the hallway. We never turned on any lamps in here.
“Now you need a shower,” he says.
“Yeah.” I’m a little sluggish pushing to my feet. “Would, uh…would you like to join me?”
His predatory grin returns. “You bet your sweet ass I would.”
Nerves and questions try to rise, but I swallow them down my battered throat. I can do this. I want to.
I let myself enjoy the hell out of it as I undress PJ all the way, bit by bit. My fingers brush over the lingering redness where my teeth sank into his pale skin. It might have been a rash thing to do, but in that moment, I wanted, needed that thing I’d witnessed at the club.
“Yeah, you got me good there.”
I meet his gaze. “Are you angry?”
“Nah. I like that you’re a little spicy.”
As I trail kisses across his stomach, I drink in every moan and groan. When I kneel at his feet to pull off his socks and pants, I realize I’m getting too old to kneel on a stone tile floor. Still, my body hums with pleasure.
My struggle comes when it’s time to remove my clothing. I didn’t worry as much with Mistress Shanna. She wouldn’t judge me unless I asked her to. She’s a professional. Under the harsh bathroom light I’m suddenly extremely aware of how my body doesn’t look the way it used to.
I don’t even realize how much I’m struggling until PJ grins at me, blue eyes intense under wet lashes.
“Hey, don’t fucking leave me hanging here all by myself. Never showered with another guy before. Stare at me like that for long and it’s gonna get awkward.”
“You’re lying.” How does a guy who looks like PJ not have a line of men desperately begging to get wet and naked with him?
“No lies. Pinkie swear.” He snakes his last finger around mine and pulls me forward. “Now get that hot fucking body in here, baby. Didn’t know it until this moment, but I’m very into guys with tattoos.”
I resist the urge to argue, to point out how I had more muscle a year ago, before Marina wasn’t around to insist I work out regularly and eat well. Before I stopped sleeping.
PJ’s praise straightens my spine, but I still hesitate at the shower door.
Until the pinky finger changes to his whole hand and he drags me against him under the waterfall spray.
Every compliment, every time he tells me how good I am, how good I make him feel, wraps me up in a warmth I haven’t felt before.
Not from my family, who seem perpetually disappointed in me, not even from Marina.
She was more of a “spare the rod, spoil the submissive” type of dominant.
The way PJ can’t seem to keep his hands off of me scrambles my brain. So do his strong fingers massaging my scalp, his kisses while he lathers me up with my favorite mint shampoo. He’s demanding and firm as he washes me off, telling me to turn this way or that.
I let him direct me through the entire shower, wondering what comes next but not ready to ask. Part of me wants him to stay. That’s certainly a terrible idea.
“You look all fucked-out,” he murmurs as he wraps a towel around my waist.
When I open my mouth to deny it, a yawn pops out. “I haven’t slept well lately,” I admit. My voice is still scratchy from having his cock in my throat.
Maybe it’ll stay that way for a few days. Give me something to remember.
“Sit.” He points to the bed. I don’t even consider not obeying.
He’s not my dominant. He’s not my anything. Still, this feels good right now.
“I’m gonna go rummage in your kitchen, find you a snack,” he says. “I’m not taking good care of you if I don’t feed you. You sleep in pajamas?”
I nod toward the dresser. “Shorts and a T-shirt.”
He opens the top drawer and pulls them out. “Get changed. I’ll be right back.”
“Hey, PJ?”
He pauses at the doorway, eyebrows raised.
“Thanks. For…all of this.” Maybe he doesn’t understand what I’m thanking him for, but that’s okay.
He flashes me that grin of his, and then he’s gone.
I wrap my arms around the pillow that used to be Marina’s. It’s still strange trying to sleep alone. Even stranger is the sleepy realization that if she were here, I’d be the one going to the kitchen.
All at once, I’m overcome with a heaviness, a bone-deep exhaustion I don’t expect. Maybe it’s the earlier orgasm, maybe the warm shower, or even the relief that for a moment, I have no decisions to make.
All I know is that I have every intention of getting dressed like he said, but I find myself sliding sideways, sinking deep into my pillow.