Chapter 16 #2
The rational part of my brain screamed at me to leave, to return to my room before I did something unforgivable. The rest of me—the part consumed by want, by need, by the confusing tangle of emotions I refused to name—had other ideas.
I traced my fingertips along his inner thigh, feeling the muscle tense reflexively beneath my touch. Still, he didn't wake.
"I can't stop thinking about you," I whispered, the confession easier in darkness, with his eyes closed and consciousness far away. "About the way you taste. The way you feel inside me. The way you stretch me open until I think I can't take anymore."
His cock twitched slightly, responding to my voice even in sleep. Emboldened, I wrapped my fingers around him, stroking with deliberate slowness as I continued to whisper.
"I've never wanted anyone the way I want you." The admission burned my throat, made my cunt throb with need. "It terrifies me. Makes me wet just thinking about you."
He hardened further in my hand, blood rushing to fill him as I continued my gentle ministrations. His breathing changed, growing slightly shallower, but his eyes remained closed.
I leaned closer, lips brushing his ear. "I'm going to take you in my mouth now," I murmured, voice pitched low and intimate. "I'm going to suck your cock until you come down my throat, and you won't even know it wasn't a dream."
A soft groan escaped him, but he didn't wake. Already half-hard from my hand, his cock responded eagerly to my words, thickening against my palm.
The robe fell open as I shifted on the bed, positioning myself between his legs with practiced care. My nipples tightened in the cool air, and between my thighs, I was embarrassingly wet, arousal slicking my inner thighs.
I lowered my head and took him into my mouth in one smooth motion, savouring the weight of him on my tongue, the velvet hardness encased in soft skin. The taste of him flooded my senses as I worked him with deliberate slowness.
He was fully hard now, his cock thick and pulsing against my tongue, his body responding even as his mind remained in dreams. My cunt clenched around emptiness, desperately wanting what my mouth was enjoying.
I hollowed my cheeks, taking him deeper, one hand wrapped around the base while the other traced patterns on his inner thigh. His hips shifted slightly, seeking more, and I gave it to him—increasing suction, swirling my tongue around the sensitive head before taking him deep again.
"Aoife," he murmured, the word slurred with sleep, and for a moment I thought he'd awakened.
But his eyes remained closed, his breathing still heavy with slumber. He was dreaming of me, even as I pleasured him in reality.
The knowledge sent a jolt of pure heat through my core. I moaned softly around him, the vibration making his cock twitch against my tongue.
"I love the way you fill my mouth," I whispered, lifting my head briefly before taking him deep again. "Love how hard you get for me, even in your sleep. Love how I can taste your precum already."
His breathing grew more ragged, muscles tensing as pleasure built even in unconsciousness. A drop of precum leaked from the tip, salty and bitter on my tongue. I increased my pace, reading his body's signals with the same attention to detail I applied to everything.
"I want you to come in my mouth," I murmured, swirling my tongue around the sensitive head. "Want to swallow everything you give me. Want you to fuck my face even in your sleep."
He groaned again, hips shifting restlessly, and for a moment I worried he might wake. But the whiskey had done its work well—that, combined with obvious exhaustion, kept him under.
I took him deeper, relaxing my throat to take him all the way to the base, my nose buried in the dark hair at his groin. I craved this—his fleeting submission, the fullness of him in my mouth, the momentary inability to breathe as he filled my throat completely.
When his thighs began to tremble, I knew he was close. His balls had drawn up tight, his cock hardening further, the veins standing out under my exploring tongue.
"Come for me," I breathed against his heated skin, stroking the base in rhythm with my mouth. "Let go, Alexander. Fill my mouth with your cum."
As if my command reached through the veil of sleep, his body tensed, back arching slightly as his release hit.
The first hot jet hit the back of my throat, salty and bitter and perfect.
I didn't pull away, swallowing around him as he pulsed in my mouth, taking everything he gave, working him through each spasm until he was completely spent.
Only when the last tremor had passed did I release him, pressing a final kiss to his softening length before carefully moving away.
He shifted in his sleep, brow furrowing briefly before his features relaxed once more into peaceful slumber. The whiskey had done its work well—that, combined with obvious exhaustion, had kept him under despite what I'd done.
I should leave now, return to my room before I pushed my luck too far. Yet, I couldn't tear my eyes away from him—from the slight flush on his chest, the parted lips, the utterly defenceless state I'd never see him in while awake.
The ache between my thighs had intensified to an unbearable degree, my clit throbbing with the need for attention. Without conscious thought, I found my hand slipping between my legs, fingers finding slick heat as I watched him sleep.
"I shouldn't want you," I whispered, circling my clit with practiced fingers, gasping at how sensitive I already was. "You're everything I'm supposed to hate. One I should aim to destroy..."
My free hand came up to cover my mouth, muffling the soft sounds of pleasure I couldn't quite contain. I was already so close—watching him come undone had brought me to the edge without a single touch.
"But I can't stop," I confessed to his unhearing form, fingers moving faster as tension coiled tight in my belly. "Can't stop wanting you. Needing you. Imagining your cock inside me, stretching me, filling me until I scream."
I slipped two fingers inside myself, feeling my inner walls clench around them, imagining it was Alexander's cock, Alexander's fingers, anything of his inside me. It wasn't enough—nothing would ever be enough again except him.
The orgasm hit with shocking intensity, washing through me in waves that left me trembling and gasping. I bit down hard on my palm to smother my cry, tasting blood as pleasure consumed me, eyes never leaving Alexander's sleeping face.
When the last aftershock had faded, I rose on shaky legs, adjusting my robe with hands that weren't quite steady. My thighs were slick with my own arousal, my body still humming with residual pleasure even as shame and triumph battled in my chest.
At the door, I paused for one final look. Alexander slept on, utterly unaware of my presence, of what had transpired. Tomorrow, he would wake thinking he'd had an erotic dream, never knowing the reality of tonight.
It was better that way. I wasn't ready to face what it meant—this obsession, this need, this dangerous wanting that threatened everything I was and had.
I slipped back to my room, closing the door without a sound before collapsing onto my bed. My body hummed with lingering pleasure, my pussy still pulsing with aftershocks, but my mind was a battlefield of conflicting emotions.
This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to care. Alexander Moore was meant to be a means to an end—truce, protection, a temporary ally against Beatrice.
Not this. Never this overwhelming want that took me under.
I stared at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the shadows as dawn crept closer.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new complications.
Beatrice was still out there. My future was uncertain—I had a life to return to, people who needed my direction.
Alexander had let me communicate with them, to let them know I had things to see to and I’d be back soon—especially Barrett who was way more than a driver, always dependable and would likely be the one to question my absence more than any other.
Now here I was, with the man who’d contributed to my father’s death.
Reality wouldn't disappear just because I wished it would.
Yet as sleep finally claimed me, it wasn't strategy or revenge that filled my thoughts—it was the memory of Alexander's taste on my tongue, the weight of him in my mouth, the way he'd said my name in his sleep.
The memory of words whispered in darkness: I can't stop wanting you.
The most dangerous truth of all.