Chapter 1 #2
And then, with a growl, he pulls off my tank top before pressing his hips in against me. I can feel his erection, thick and hard against my butt, and as he cups my bared breasts in his hands, his face falls to the curve of my neck.
It’s a relief knowing he’s turned on, too. But that pulse of awareness is followed immediately by another bolt of irritation, that this is so easy for him.
“You’re so fucking hot.” He drags in a breath, then slides one hand down my bare belly, his fingertips pushing along the waistband of my sleep shorts. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I don’t need to be tucked in.” The words rush out of me, getting tighter as my throat feels like it’s going to close up.
I can’t handle him in the bed we once shared.
He pushes his hand just into my panties. Still teasing. Unaffected by my flutter of panic. “Couch, then?”
“Here’s just fine by me.” I push my ass back against his erection. “Make it quick against the door?”
He huffs a laugh against my temple. “That eager to kick me out?”
“Just trying to keep it simple.”
“I’ll leave my boots on, then. Any other demands? Lights on or off?”
We’ve always been lights on people, so I’m guessing he’s asking if I want to pretend this is more anonymous or something.
“On,” I pant.
If he’s gotten jacked over the summer, I want to see it.
I didn’t know that the last time we ever had sex would be the last time. I can’t even remember exactly when it was.
This time? I’m going to catalogue every single second.
With a nod, he pushes my shorts down, then steps back.
In the sudden absence of his body, I sway, dropping back to my heels.
By the time I turn around, he’s peeled off his flannel shirt and stretched out on my new sofa, his feet hanging just over the end.
I should hate that he’s left his boots on, but it helps anchor what this is—and what this isn’t. And they’re not touching the couch.
Enough thinking about the sofa, I scold myself.
I’m naked.
He’s laying down.
I look at where his erection is straining against the fly of his jeans.
“I’ve got condoms,” I say.
It sounds inane out loud. So matter of fact. Is this what casual sex feels like? I wouldn’t know. He’s the only person I’ve ever done this with.
His eyes rake over me, making my skin pebble. “We don’t need them for you to ride my face. Get your ass over here.”
Heat races to my cheeks, and my legs shake as I cross to him. “I’m just saying I think we need to be sensible—”
He catches me by the hips as soon as I’m within grabbing range and he pulls me on top of him, so I’m straddling his chest. “You think too fucking much.”
And then he latches his mouth onto a nipple and sucks.
Fuck.
White hot need pulses straight through me, arrowing directly to my pussy. I breathe his name.
He pulls off with a wet pop, then drags his nose along my skin, inhaling before he takes the other nipple between his teeth and licks it.
I’ve missed this so much.
Shame twists around my pulsing desire. We really shouldn’t be doing this.
I shouldn’t let him tug my hips up, shouldn’t moan as he bites at my belly and kisses my inner thighs while he positions them on either side of his head.
I shouldn’t brace my hands on the arm of the sofa and hold myself up so he can spread me open and look at me, his gaze burning dark and rabid.
All those shouldn’ts make me hesitate, and he notices.
“What, you think I’ve lost my taste for this? Sit on my fucking face, Roar.”
A whole body shiver rockets through me as he wraps his long arms around my thighs, taking full control.
Locking me in for the ride.
A decade of memories slam through me as he licks a broad path straight up my centre to my clit.
When was the first time we did it like this?
God, it’s hard to remember when his tongue is doing that.
Was it the first winter here in Ottawa? I moved for university, and I was living in the dorms, but I hated my roommate. Garrett was visiting, and he went to the military recruiting office.
Would I want to move off-campus and share an apartment, if he could get into a reserve unit in Ottawa?
I threw myself at him, and after making out hungrily, he asked me to sit on his face.
“But…how will you breathe?”
He just grinned and shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Garrett!” My face was burning up. “If I smother you…”
“Then I’ll die the happiest recruit in the Canadian Forces.”
He didn’t die. It sort of felt like I did, the best kind of death, the type of orgasm that builds and builds with heady need, pulse-pounding and intense, and then explodes into dazzling nothingness.
That same kind of release is starting to coil tight in my belly now, as he pulls my clit into his mouth, as he licks and sucks and growls.
Missed you, I want to say. But I don’t, because that isn’t what this is. He won’t even let me kiss him. He picked the crudest way to get me off.
This is just sex.
That splashes cold water on my arousal.
My hips stutter, my thighs tensing up, as suddenly his mouth on my clit is too much, way too much.
“Garrett, stop,” I pant.
He pulls off gasping.
How will you breathe?
Dunno.
He stares up at me, his face slick with my arousal.
“It’s okay,” he says. “You taste good. Don’t over think it.”
I let out a weak little laugh. “Easier said than done.”
He rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”
I frown. “Hey, I can’t help it.”
He pats my hip. “Lift up.”
I pull my shaking leg off him, and he slides out from under me. He doesn’t go far, just circles around and holds me from behind. My ass rubs against his erection as he hooks my bare legs around his kneeling thighs.
Stretching me out, a naked girl on top of her fully-clothed ex.
“Look at how fucking sexy you are,” he whispers roughly in my ear.
He palms my tits, then pushes one hand between my thighs.
His fingers tease at my pussy lips, but he avoids my clit.
“You were all turned on when we started. Was it the bickering that did it for you? You sent out an orgasm distress signal, but you really just wanted to fight?”
I choke on a frustrated denial.
“Yeah, no. You want to come.” He works his middle finger through my slick arousal to my entrance. “So stop thinking and fuck my hand.”
I roll my hips, grinding back against his thick cock. “Your hand isn’t why I texted you.”
He keeps going as if I didn’t just beg for his dick. “Jesus, fighting makes you wet.”
“I have condoms, so it’s fine if you’ve been—”
He pinches my clit. “Let’s go find you a toy.”
“Okay, you can go home now.” I wriggle out of his arms and stumble off the couch. His green flannel shirt is the closest thing I can find to cover my naked body.
“Whoa, hang on.” He frowns as he climbs to his feet.
He’s so much taller than me.
When we were together, he was such a constant in my life that he never felt tall to me, he was just Garrett.
But with a few months’ absence, he’s now a stranger. A more muscular, taller, more frustrating stranger.
And despite my hot and cold attitude, he still has a very prominent erection. Plus he’s breathing so hard, his whole chest is rising and falling.
“You always do this!” I yell. “You think you can control the conversation by just avoiding what I’m saying, and that’s—”
“And you always self-sabotage a good thing,” he says quietly, cutting me off. Firm and unrepentant.
The direct shot takes my breath away.
God damn it. Hot tears threaten behind my eyelids. “I need to go to bed.”
“Don’t fucking—” He exhales roughly. “I got my dick pierced.”
“What?”
“That’s why I was dodging what you were saying. I thought I could just get you off and we wouldn’t have to talk about it.” His cheeks slash with ruddy embarrassment.
“You…” I drop my eyes and stare at his bulge. “Why?”
He doesn’t answer.
I tighten my hold on his shirt.
I shared a bed—a whole life—with Garrett for a decade, and I never had a glimmer of a guess that he would want to get pierced.
One summer apart, and he’s changed more than I could imagine.
“Did you think I would judge you for it?” I huff a definitely-not-jealous laugh. “Have you had any bad reactions?”
“Are we asking each other about our personal lives now?” He reaches out and tugs on the shirt I’ve wrapped around myself. “I got them done for myself. That’s all you need to know.”
“Them? There’s more than one?”
He unbuttons his jeans. The metallic purr of his zipper is so loud, I realize I’m holding my breath.
His fingers hesitate at the waistband of his black boxer briefs, then he frees his cock. Even with his fingers holding up the heavy length, I can see a Jacob’s Ladder down the underside of his cock. Three prominent barbells.
My eyes bug out.
“You sure you want to get on this ride again? There’s been some modifications.”
“Don’t underestimate the power of curiosity,” I mutter as I yank off his shirt and let it drop to the floor in front of him. I follow, licking my lips as I get on my knees, then take him in my mouth.
God, they feel wild on my tongue. I swallow him as deep as I can go, then slide off. He makes the most incredible sound as I lick the barbells out of my mouth, then swirl that eager spit around his tip.
He catches my head in his hands and holds me still.
His cock is wet in my hand, wet from my mouth, and my lips feel swollen already.
I can’t read his expression. But when he growls low in his throat and thrusts his hips forward, that’s clear as can be. I swallow him again and moan around his length.
He fucks my mouth, using my tongue, using his new decorations. It’s a wicked combination. He gets bigger than I remember, until he’s heavy on my tongue and my mouth is stretched wide.
With a gasp, he wrenches out of me and pushes me onto all fours.
“Where are those fucking condoms?” His voice is ragged but his touch is firm, confident as he mounts me from behind.
I can’t see him, but I can feel the shiver-inducing heavy weight of his cock, bumping against my ass, and the rip of a wrapper completes the picture of what he’s doing.
I stretch my arms out in front of me and lower my head, letting my hips rise to meet him. Letting go of everything else. All thought, any worry.
Nothing else matters but receiving the thick press of Garrett’s cock. Of being fucked and enjoying it for what it is. A gift, pure pleasure.
And it’s so good once I let everything else go. He stretches me on the way in, and I’m not even sure I feel the piercings as he buries himself to the hilt, but I for sure feel them as he rocks his hips back.
I feel the heck out of them in the best way.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
He tightens his hold on my hips. “Yeah? Good?”
“Harder.”
He snaps forward, driving deep.
“Yes,” I pant. “More.”
He shifts his thighs wider, adding the weight of his body to the next soul-thudding thrust. It’s perfect.
Cursing, he curves over me, covering my back with his body. His t-shirt clings to the damp sweat on my back. He presses his forehead to my shoulder and picks up the pace. One of his hands wraps around to find my clit.
That extra pressure is all I need to shoot off like a rocket.
It’s not the kind of orgasm I was chasing when I was on his face.
It’s not the kind of orgasm I was thinking about at all.
It’s the kind of bright, short bursting climax I needed, something…
functional. It floods my body with the hormones I was craving, and I go boneless, sagging to the floor as Garret fucks me harder, chasing his own release.
“Give me another, Roar,” he growls against my hair.
I can’t, I want to say, but the words don’t come out. And then it turns out I can, it turns out that his clever mechanic fingers know exactly how to play my clit, even after a long break.
And as he circles my still-throbbing nerve centre, I feel a deeper orgasm gathering like storm clouds, heavy and dark. Racing in on a rush of hot, late summer wind.
“Fucking come for me,” he grunts. “Need you to—”
I sob his name, jerking my hips up to meet his long, deep, desperate final thrusts.
He loses control, rolling up and hard into me in a way that drives his piercings over a new spot inside, and I see an entire galaxy of stars.
“Fuck, yes,” he gasps. “I can feel you. That’s it. Squeeze me. Milk me. God damn.”
And then there’s stillness.
Neither of us move. We barely breathe. Deep inside me, he pulses, and have I ever felt that before? Has he ever taken up this much space inside me before?
“Shit,” he mutters.
Then, “Sorry.”
“For what? The double orgasm or the rug burn on my knees? I think I needed all of that.”
He pushes off me, taking that delicious fullness with him, leaving me feeling wrung out and empty in a good way. In a I’m going to sleep well kind of way.
“I probably shouldn’t sleep right here on the floor,” I mumble.
“I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“I’m fine.”
“You get dehydrated.”
“I can take care of myself.” I hear myself as I say it. And I know he’s holding his tongue when he doesn’t immediately snap back that he’s only here since I was whining that I can’t.
He covers me with something soft, then lets himself out.
I drift in the warm, muzzy post-orgasm glow until the middle of the night.
Then I stumble to the kitchen to drink water I should have let him get me before rolling myself into bed.
It’s not until I get up in the morning that I realize he left his flannel shirt behind. That’s what he covered me with. It smells like us, like sex and desperation.
I toss it in the to-wash laundry basket and race to the shower, where I promise myself out loud that I’ll figure out how to use the damn shower head to get off.
Because last night?
That can’t happen again.