30. Lilly
CHAPTER 30
LILLY
That dance was hot, and not just because it tapped into my fantasies involving the Witcher. It was much more due to Bruce, who, as of recently, has become a source of so many more fantasies than a video game character could ever elicit.
I fan myself with my palm, wishing my outfit included a fan or a fly swatter. Nope. Still hot and bothered. Muting the music, I even out my breath, then walk over to the bar and get myself a glass of water with plenty of ice.
Even the cold drink doesn’t help. Maybe sneaking an ice cube into my panties would work better, but it doesn’t seem like the best idea when surrounded by so many people.
“Your Majesty,” I suddenly overhear Theodora whisper theatrically. “Any chance we can sneak out and visit our quarters while no one is looking?”
I assume she’s speaking to Ambrose, and that I’m not the only one finding these outfits to be an aphrodisiac. Also, I’d better be careful with what I say tonight. When the music is muted, the earbuds don’t block much sound.
“Yes, wench,” Ambrose replies before I can resume the music and thus muffle the unwelcome TMI. “You may receive the honor of servicing your king very soon.”
I don’t hear what Bruce’s mom replies with because the music in my headphones blissfully drowns it out, but I still need bleach for my brain.
Putting some distance between myself and Bruce’s parental units, I step out of the bar area and run smack into Champ.
Yuck. I feel parts of him brush my body and am assaulted by his breath—a horrible mixture of cigarettes, garlic, vodka, and coffee.
I swiftly back away. On the bright side, I don’t need that cold shower anymore.
Champ leers at me, unleashing more of the breath. “Would the magic lady like to dance?”
I breathe through my mouth. “No. Thank you.”
He frowns. “Why not?”
“She only dances with me,” Bruce growls threateningly from behind me, startling both me and Champ.
Champ raises his hands. “It’s just a dance. Sheesh.”
“We’re very dedicated to the theme,” I say. “And his character would only dance with mine, and vice versa.”
Rolling his eyes in a girly fashion, Champ turns on his heel and strides away.
“Thanks,” I mouth to Bruce.
“You can thank me with a dance,” Bruce replies and extends his hands to me, just like earlier.
Here we go. My panties are in trouble again.
I accept his hands, and he pulls me near him expertly, enveloping me in his body heat.
The music is a little faster this time, but it’s nothing compared to my frantic heartbeat.
His arm cradles my back, gently guiding me to the rhythm.
Did whoever invent dancing realize how sex-like it is?
I gasp with every step, my pushed-up breasts heaving. Then Bruce’s eyes meet mine, and there’s not a hint of the usual ice in their blue depths. Instead, they remind me of the Caribbean Sea, where I’d gladly skinny dip.
The music turns, and Bruce gives me a gentle dip to the beat. I nearly swoon.
“You’re a very good dancer,” Bruce murmurs into my ear when the song stops.
“Me? You’re the one who did all the work.”
He smiles. “You underestimate your sense of rhythm.”
Do I, or do I have other, more primal things on my mind?
“I want to thank you again,” he says. “When it comes to birthday presents, I’m hard to satisfy, but you did so today.”
I blame the words “hard” and “satisfy” for what I blurt out next, which is, “This party isn’t my gift.”
His eyes gleam. “It’s not?”
Blushing, I say, “What do you think of spending the night with Yennefer of Vengerberg?”
Gah. How much have I drunk? I’m not usually so brave.
He shakes his head, and my heart nearly stops. “I don’t want Yennefer of Vengerberg,” he murmurs. “Not when I can have Lilly Johnson.”
The breath I didn’t realize I was holding whooshes out of my lungs. I open my mouth to talk logistics, but Bruce’s expression turns pained.
I spin around.
Champ is behind me, chewing a mutton slider with his mouth open, like a fucking caveman.
“What the hell?” I say sternly. “You’re supposed to eat in the designated area.”
“The dog was there.” Champ waves with the slider and takes another bite.
Speaking of the dog, Colossus is running our way, which proves Champ didn’t really accomplish anything by leaving, not that I buy his explanation. My theory is that he wants some petty revenge on Bruce for not letting him dance with me.
Feeling beyond annoyed, I put my hand to my temple and look meaningfully at the puppy.
Being the good boy that he is, Colossus barks, loudly.
Champ’s hand flies to his chest, and he takes a backward step just in time to trip over Johnny’s foot (or maybe mustache).
Arms flailing, Champ plops on his ass, the leftover sandwich flying in Colossus’s direction.
Without so much as a blink, the dog devours the sandwich—no doubt thinking that’s his treat for barking on command.
“What was in that sandwich?” I demand.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” Champ asks and tries to turn with a groan.
“Answer her,” Bruce barks.
The chef runs over and rattles off a list of ingredients. They sound mostly dog safe, so I relax a bit. I’ll still need to keep an eye on the puppy, in case the overeating makes him sick, but I’m guessing the insatiable little creature will be okay. Speaking of okay…
“Are you hurt?” I ask Champ, who’s still on the floor. If he broke his coccyx bone, I’d feel a little guilty.
Without any words of sympathy, Bruce extends his hand to Champ, who takes it and rises to his feet with another groan.
“This is the fucking dog’s fault,” he mutters, brushing himself off. “I’m allergic.”
“Since when do allergies make you fall on your ass?” Bruce asks.
Champ fake-sneezes in reply and scurries away, clearly unhurt.
“Good boy,” Bruce says to Colossus.
The puppy wags his tail.
If you thought I was a good boy for eating that sandwich, just wait until you see my highly refined cookie-eating skills.
“He might need the bathroom after such a big meal,” I tell Bruce. “Colossus, I mean, but maybe Champ too.”
“How about we take him together?” Bruce suggests.
And be alone. Yes, please. But wait. I look around. “What about the party?”
Bruce shrugs. “I’ve lasted longer here than at any other event I’ve been to. Thanks to you.”
“Okay then.” I grab the puppy. “Let’s go.”
We stroll toward the garage in companionable silence, and by the time we get there, Colossus is napping in my arms. Food coma got him.
“I almost feel bad for waking him,” I whisper to Bruce.
Seeing the cute, sleepy face, he smiles. “I wonder why he’s so tired.”
“The party,” I say. “All the smells and the people and the food. It’s a lot for a tiny guy.”
“Should we take him back to bed?” he asks.
I shake my head. “He’ll have an accident for sure.”
Bruce hands me the dog’s harness, and I suit him up, then reach for my punky headgear.
“You won’t need that,” Bruce says.
“It’s dark out,” I say. “Won’t I be at risk for an owl attack?”
Bruce takes out one of his swords from behind his back. “Let the feathery fuckers try. I’ll slice them in two.”
I attach the leash to Colossus’s harness. “Is that your steel or silver blade?”
He looks at it more closely. “Silver. I should probably handle an owl with steel.”
“Yeah. Silver is for monsters, and I don’t think owls qualify.”
“Speaking of The Witcher ,” Bruce says as we step into the cool night air. “My mother told me something interesting.”
“She did?” Didn’t she just learn about the series from me today?
“There’s a TV show on Netflix based on The Witcher .”
Oh. “You didn’t already know that?”
He shakes his head.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I ask, “Did you want to watch it?”
“With you,” he says.
The fluttering becomes full-on flapping, and the butterflies grow into predatory owls. “I’d like that.”
“Not that it could be as good as the books,” Bruce says.
“Or the third game,” I add.
“If we hate it, at least we’ll hate it together.”
“Yeah,” I say. “The key is to chill as we watch.”
And… the drunken bravery keeps going, needlessly in this case, as he’s already agreed to accept me as a gift.
He grins. “As in, Netflix and chill?”
I grin back, even as my face turns hot. “You get me.”
His expression turns serious. I think he must realize how romantic this moment is. We’ve got gorgeous surroundings around us, the stars and the moon in the clear sky above, and last but not least, we’re dressed in sexy outfits that complement each other.
The same thoughts must be going through his head because he pulls me to him and our lips lock.
The awe-inspiring world around us completely disappears, and all that’s left are Bruce’s lips, his clever tongue, his strong arms on my ass, the whine?—
Wait. Whine?
I grudgingly pull away and see the source of the whine. It’s Colossus. He’s standing on his hind legs and tapping Bruce with his front paws—as if begging to be picked up.
“Huh,” I say. “Roach used to do something like this. He’d get between me and anyone I tried kissing.”
“He was a smart dog then,” Bruce says. “I’m the only person you should be kissing.”
Wow. “I didn’t know you then.”
Bruce picks up Colossus and gets his face licked. “Do you think he just wanted attention, was jealous, or”—he chuckles—“was protecting me from a perceived attack?”
I shrug. “It looks more like he smelled oxytocin in the air and got curious about it. Maybe even wanted some too—hence the licking of your face.” Lucky little bugger. I’m certainly a little jealous of that.
He puts the dog back on the ground. “If this becomes a problem, can you teach him not to butt in?”
“Sure,” I say, my breathing speeding up. “We’d have to kiss a whole bunch as part of that training.”
He smirks. “That can be arranged.”
Okay. Here, right now, is my chance to ask him what is going on between us, but then again, it’s his birthday, and if the conversation goes south, I will have ruined it.
Yeah. Postponing the talk. Maybe I’m not so brave after all.
“You think he’s done?” Bruce asks after Colossus doesn’t lift a leg on a bush that’s so perfect for that purpose even I’m tempted to pee on it.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “The tank is empty. Let’s go back.”
And if it means we end up in Bruce’s bedroom sooner, all the better.
Without discussing it, we half-run on the way back—which doesn’t help my already-crazy heartbeat. On the way to the bedroom, the puppy falls asleep in my arms again, so I deposit him very gently into his bed when we get there and thank Anubis he didn’t wake up.
Now what? I’m not sure if the last remnants of alcohol have left my system or if it’s the reality of the bedroom, but I’m feeling a lot less brazen all of a sudden, which is why I blush as I ask, “Should we watch the TV show?”
Eyes gleaming hungrily, Bruce responds by lifting me off my feet and carrying me to the bed.
Oh, my. He pulls off each of my long boots, then dispenses with my breeches and girdle before finally peeling off my panties.
“Wow,” Bruce purrs. “I’ve been dreaming about tasting you.”
I turn crimson, but I don’t fight it when he spreads my legs. The birthday boy can eat anything he wants—and as loudly as he wants since I’m not the one with misophonia.
He starts with featherlight kisses around my clit—an act of pure evil because it makes me want him on my clit.
As if psychically in tune with my desires, Bruce kisses where I so desperately want, barely touching it at first, then harder, ending in a solid smooch that makes my fists ball into the sheets.
He escalates his ministrations to a tiny lick.
A moan escapes from somewhere deep inside me.
I’m not sure how, but I feel his satisfied smirk against my pussy, followed by a stronger lick.
Yes. Please. Like that.
I must yell that out loud, or he’s being a psychic again, because his next dozen or so licks are the same, and it’s pure bliss. An orgasm begins to coil inside me as an unbidden moan escapes my lips.
Encouraged, Bruce does something I’ve never felt before—and redefines the term “clever tongue” in the process. It feels as though he’s somehow enveloped my clit with his tongue.
With a cry, I break into little pieces of pleasure, then reconstitute back around his genius tongue.
“Your turn,” I gasp when my senses return.
Now that I think about it, we should’ve started with him—it’s his birthday and all.
In a move straight out of Magic Mike , Bruce rips his pants off, unleashing Titan.
“Commando?” I gently brush the tips of my fingers along his impressive length. “That’s on theme.”
“No,” he grunts. “The real Geralt would wear braies.”
“Hush.” I give the tip of Titan a light kiss, tasting the ocean sweetness of Bruce’s precum.
He leans back against the headboard, but that doesn’t relax the knotted muscles in his legs, nor the V-shaped gorgeousness around his chiseled sixpack.
I take Titan in my mouth. It’s harder than steel, yet warm and wonderfully velvety, just begging to be sucked and licked.
I can’t believe I’m so turned on after he’s just made me come. Unable to help myself, I sneak my hand between my legs, desperate to satiate the growing need.
“Fuck,” Bruce growls as I give him an ice-cream lick. “You’re unbelievable.”
Oh, yeah? I slide Titan deep into my throat until I feel it all the way in my spleen. My own orgasm is almost here, and my resulting moan reverberates in his cock.
Groaning in pleasure, Bruce strokes my back—which just urges me to nudge him deeper and touch myself harder, more desperately.
“I want to be inside you,” Bruce demands just as my orgasm is about to crest.
My mind is too sex-muddled to reply, so I just watch as Bruce lays me on the bed and sheaths Titan: first into the condom, then into me.
Eyes rolling into the back of my head, I rake Bruce’s back as my orgasm finally makes landfall—all over his cock.
“Good girl,” he croons, then splays my arms above my head and interlaces our fingers. “Now I want you to give me another one.” He accompanies his demand with a thrust.
If I could speak at the moment, I’d say that I may be able to squeeze out one more, provided he keeps looking into my eyes like that. Like I’m the center of his universe.
He thrusts into me harder and captures my moan with his mouth. He feels so amazing inside me I could scream, but his scorching kiss prevents me from doing so.
His thrusts turn more frantic, and his tongue seems to be echoing what his pelvis is doing as he hungrily ravishes my mouth. Then he tenses, pulling away from the kiss to groan out loud, and I feel him grow impossibly hard inside me as he reaches his release.
That’s it. With a choked cry, I come, and the ecstasy goes on for what feels like an eternity.
Whew. It’s a good thing I’m on my back because I don’t think I have the energy to do anything but sink into the mattress. My every muscle has jellified.
He sprawls next to me, his breathing equally ragged. “I can’t believe the dog slept through all that.”
I force my facial muscles to function. “I know, right?”
“Stay with me tonight,” he murmurs, kissing my eyebrow.
I nod sleepily. “Unless you’re volunteering to carry me to my room, that’s the only option available.”
And with that, I let myself pass out.