Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
BLAKE
Afaint draft whispers through a cracked pane, rustling the foliage just enough to break the silence.
I slump back against the couch, my body heavy and spent from the release.
My ragged breaths are uneven and deep. My mind is a swirling storm of shock, lingering pleasure, and something deeper that leaves me reeling, chest tight with unspoken questions.
God, that blowjob. She fucking blew my mind.
On her knees between my legs, taking me with a hunger I never expected from her, her mouth hot and velvet-soft, enveloping me inch by inch.
I can still feel the ghost of her tongue swirling slowly and deliberately around the head, teasing the sensitive underside with flicks, building that fire until it consumes me.
All the while, she looked up at me through those lashes, her eyes swimming with desire, vulnerable yet fierce, and it unraveled me completely.
And the release when it came, crashed through me like nothing I've felt before, waves of heat pulsing out in shuddering bursts, leaving me utterly drained, but in a whirlwind of awe and confusion that makes my heart pound even now.
That woman is not...
But I don’t allow myself to finish the thought. Yesterday, I began to suspect it, but today the idea is becoming more and more fully formed.
The setup Carolyn and I have is an arrangement, pragmatic and straightforward.
Freya needed a good mom after her mother passed, and Carolyn was supposed to fill the gaping void in the life of my toddler.
Passion wasn't the point—reliability was, a steady partner to share the parenting load without drama or complications.
Fireworks? They weren't required in the equation.
We were building a stable life for Freya, not chasing sparks.
I sit there motionless, head tipped back against the cushion, my gaze fixed on the stars twinkling beyond the glass ceiling.
Their distant, indifferent light pierces the night like scattered diamonds on black velvet.
In my mind, the years stretch back like a barren, endless landscape, filled with nights of quiet distance and dutiful routines.
I had accepted the chill between us because that's what we had become: functional and polite, the sexual element slowly cooling to embers and eventually to ashes.
No heat, no urgency—just going through the motions in separate orbits around Freya.
But tonight… Tonight her enthusiasm was electric, her skill unexpected and precise, leaving me gasping as she worked me with a perfect blend of tease and intensity.
The way she drew out my pleasure until I was lost in it.
Those eyes locked onto mine as she took me deeper, pushing me right over the edge.
It left my vision blurring at the edges.
Well, she just unlocked a rusty, forgotten door I thought I had sealed forever.
My jeans are still open, the zipper parted, and fabric splayed, my cock, now heavy and relaxed, and my skin cooling in the gentle draft that whispers through the room.
With a frown, I tuck myself away and pull up the zipper. My hands feel clumsy, thick and uncoordinated.
I leave the conservatory behind and climb the stairs. A restless fire ignites in my veins, licking higher with each step. What’s her game? Why did she run from me right after baring that raw vulnerability downstairs? Why not lean into the spark that she’s so clearly ignited?
I approach her door and knock firmly on the wood.
My knuckles rap, sharp and insistent, but no answer comes.
I turn the handle and hear the faint, steady rush of water from the bathroom.
A spike of irritation and anger twists in my chest. Is she washing off the traces of what we shared as if it were a mistake?
The thought fuels a reckless edge, so I enter her suite.
Her scent envelops me immediately, floral and intoxicating—drifting towards me like an invisible pull that draws me deeper, stirring memories of her body against mine.
The bed stands unmade in the soft glow of a bedside lamp, sheets twisted and rumpled in chaotic folds like evidence of her own inner turmoil, pillows dented where she must have paced or tossed in agitation.
The fabric is still creased and warm when I reach out to touch it.
The whole scene whispers of the unrest that mirrors my own.
Steam wafts out in lazy curls that carry the faint scent of her soap. It draws me as irresistibly as an iron filing towards a magnet. My feet move before my mind catches up. I push the door further open and slip inside.
And there she is, under the spray of the shower, her silhouette blurred through the rising steam but unmistakable—the curve of her hips, the arch of her back.
She's got one hand braced against the slick tile wall, fingers splayed for support.
Water streams down her arm in rivulets. The other hand is between her thighs, circling her clit with urgent, rhythmic strokes—fingers moving in tight, desperate circles that make her body tense and release in subtle waves.
Her head is thrown back, wet hair plastered to her neck and shoulders, water cascading over her face as soft, desperate moans escape her lips, breathy and uncontrolled.
To my astonishment and delight, she calls out my name.
"Blake, Blake, ooh God...”
The words tumble out raw and needy, her voice cracking on the edges with building pleasure.
They bounce off the marble surfaces, each syllable sending a surge of triumph rushing through me like electricity.
My cock hardens instantly at the sight of her, lost to pleasuring herself… to thoughts of me.
I smile then, a predatory grin curving my lips, slow and satisfied as I watch her for just a moment longer, relishing her utter gorgeousness. Then I strip completely, yanking my shirt over my head in one swift motion and tossing it aside. My jeans and boxers follow in record time.
I step into the shower, and she gasps at my sudden presence. Her eyes fly open in surprise, but she melts into a deep moan as I press close, my body aligning with hers under the spray.