Chapter 30
Lily
Brady had set me across the glass table we’d been eating dinner on, covered my pussy with the red wine we’d been drinking, and buried his face between my legs. He hadn’t just used me as a glass. He licked me. He fingered me. And he was currently nearing me toward a second orgasm.
As my body climbed toward that riveting, steep point, my arms tried extending over my head, desperate to find something to hold on to, my fingers teasing the mound of spaghetti on his plate. I tried moving them sideways, and they hit my plate and glass of wine.
So, I held on to his hair and screamed, “Fuck,” while I twirled his thick black locks, clenching them in my grip.
That tongue.
“There’s nothing in this fucking world that tastes as good as you,” he rasped.
And there was simply nothing in this world that felt as good as him.
The way he knew just where to flick. That he focused on the spot at the very top, using the flatness of his tongue to massage and the tip to sweep. The way his finger knew what speed and angle to slide into me.
How the combination of the two almost immediately brought me back to that place again with hardly any rest in between.
“Yes,” I cried. “Don’t stop.”
“I want you to come on my fucking face.”
He didn’t even need to ask.
I was already there.
“Right now, Lily. Right fucking now.”
“Oh, yes!”
A rush shot through my body, starting at my clit that throbbed with sensations each time the wetness from his mouth slipped across it. From there, the passion trickled across my stomach, rose to my chest, and tingled its way down my legs.
But those were just the tail of the orgasm.
The core lived within my pussy, exploding with these fiery prickles, each one pounding harder, like fingers on piano keys during a song that was rising in sound.
“Brady!” I couldn’t get out more than one word. But that wasn’t the only thing that came out of me; there were moans too. Ones so loud that they vibrated through my body. “Ah!” And as those moans cascaded from my lips, they hit the air as if they were bolts of thunder.
Waves of shivers collided in my stomach, causing shudders to rocket through me. “Yes! Brady, fuck!”
He didn’t slow. What he did instead was lick until there was nothing left in me but breath, and when he was sure I had hit the sensitivity phase, my body completely still, he lifted my shirt to kiss across my stomach and my breasts. He shifted to my neck, throat, and chin, settling against my mouth.
“Kiss me,” he pressed. “I want you to know just how good you taste.”
His kisses were as ravenous as when he’d licked my pussy.
The sound of his belt buckle and zipper filled the silence. When those noises quieted, he pulled back to say, “I could have eaten your pussy all night.”
“It almost feels like you did.” I held his face. “For the record, I never wanted you to stop. I loved every second.”
He nipped my lip. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t gentle either.
“Fuck me, you’re wet.” His dick was probing my entrance, a door that he was lightly knocking against, as though he knew I needed a few seconds to catch my breath and find my bearings before he dived in. “Is she ready for me?”
“Yes.” As I inhaled, I let out a small laugh. “I love that I’m still on the table and all I can smell is spaghetti and how it’s not even a little distracting.”
“All I can smell is your pussy. Which is distracting because I want to eat it again.” He slowly sank into me. “Goddamn it, Lily. You feel fucking incredible.”
His pace was unhurried, his body heating mine as it lay on top of me. A weight I found so incredibly sexy because it didn’t crush me.
It held me.
And that was everything I needed from him, even as my breath hitched from taking in more, inch by inch, until he was fully buried.
That was when I really moaned. When the sound from my throat became so guttural that I was positive he could feel it within his shaft.
“Fuck yes,” he hissed. “This is exactly what I wanted.” He leaned up, pulling me to the table’s edge, and while he stood in front of me, my legs wrapped around him, he took his first stroke. “Jesus, Lily. You get tighter every time I fuck you.”
His thrusts were getting deeper.
If there was an end, he was now hitting it. But not like a hammer. He was circling that spot, the one that craved his presence, and all it did was add to my wetness.
And make me moan louder.
“Harder.” I didn’t know how my body could so easily and so quickly find that place again, but I was there, dangling, dominated, and desperate for that feeling I knew he could give me. My nails stabbed his hands as they roamed my chest, his landing on my breasts, pinching my nipples through my bra, mine resting on top of his, pushing him to do it even stronger. “Faster!”
“You want to come again?”
The way I exhaled gave him the response he didn’t need since I was sure he could feel what was happening inside my body.
But I added, “Yes. Please.” And then, “Now,” in case it made him fuck me even rougher.
Not a roughness that was careless and reckless. A roughness that came from a man who knew what I could handle and just how I wanted it.
But even after my begging, he didn’t give in. His speed stayed exactly the same, as though he was building me up first. What did change was his thumb. It pressed against that tender spot he’d licked earlier. He didn’t just hold it there; he brushed the pad of that finger back and forth.
“Wetter. Just what I wanted,” he exhaled.
He was working me.
Leading me.
“Holy! Shit!” I unraveled my legs from around him and set my feet on the lip of the table, keeping my thighs wide and open. “Yes!”
The new position took away all restrictions. He now had full access to do whatever he wanted.
And what he decided, was to send me so far over the cliff that my whole body was wriggling with spasms, my stomach shuddering, my lips screaming, “Brady!”
That was when he went faster.
When he finally caved and his movements became harsher.
When he twisted his hips, aiming for every angle, adding to the overwhelming ache inside me.
“You’re getting tighter again. Fuck me.”
Within a few more strokes, I was nearing the comedown—a place I never thought I’d reach at this rate.
He lowered his upper body, shortening the space between us so I could wrap my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in his neck.
I was spent, exhausted.
I just needed to breathe.
I needed to hold on.
I needed to give him my weight that I could no longer bear myself.
Rather than staying still, he lifted me into the air, circling my legs around his waist, bouncing me over his dick as he carried me. With each jump, he spread more of my wetness over him, but what he also did was release the lingering jitters that had been stranded in my stomach. Somehow, he even knew the lasting spasms were hiding within me, and he set them free.
After each bump, I clung to him.
I yelled for him.
I moved with him, meeting him in the middle, moaning from the friction as he slipped back.
He held on to my hips and said, “Jesus, you know how to fuck.”
I expected him to walk us into his bedroom, a mattress to be beneath some part of me, the crackling of his fireplace as the background noise.
But when he reached the living room, he placed me on top of the couch, the hard edge no wider than a balance beam with cushions directly behind my ass. And as he set me there, he tore off my shirt and bra, leaving me naked while he removed the remaining clothes he had on.
Finally bare, he pressed our bodies together, sliding back in like he’d never left.
“And you’re still so fucking wet,” he groaned.
“Because I want more.”
“Insatiable … like me.”
I ran my fingers over his chest, across the deep grooves and solid, rock-hard muscle before dipping down his abs, feeling the way they outlined, becoming more defined as he thrust into me.
“But just with you,” I clarified.
It wasn’t only his body that I was obsessed with, watching the cords and etches as he fucked the breath out of me. It was also the way he looked at me while he did it that owned me like nothing I’d ever experienced.
That feral nature in his eyes.
The desire.
Need.
I couldn’t get enough, and there was no way I ever would.
“Brady”—I pulled his mouth toward mine—“I want you to fill me with your cum.”
“Don’t say that to me. It’ll make me go fucking wild.”
The smile was already on my lips, but it grew for him. For the anticipation of what he was about to do to me. For what was going to happen when the wildness took over. For the realization that my fourth orgasm in less than an hour would feel as good as the first.
“But I want it,” I told him. “I want to watch you come, and I want to feel it drip out of me.”
“So fucking naughty.” He kissed me. “And all mine.” He reared his hips back and plunged in, twisting, rocking as though he wasn’t afraid to send me flying into the cushions. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes,” easily rolled off my lips because I was almost there again.
The build nagged at my insides, the satisfaction growing with every pump.
Just like the table, I bent my knees and rolled my bare feet over the tough corner and used my hands to balance, squeezing the section of the couch by my heels.
What this position allowed was one hell of a view.
Of his body and those delicious muscles.
Of his cock driving in and out of me, covered in a glistening slickness.
And of his face as the pleasure spread across it.
My God, he was handsome, especially when he was having an orgasm.
Like he was now.
“Lily …” He dragged my name out in multiple syllables, getting deeper as his growl turned louder. “You’d better fucking come.”
He didn’t have to order that demand.
I was there.
Shouting, “I am!”
The beat was climbing, summiting, a steady pulse that had me yelling his name over and over. I was paralyzed by the euphoria torturously running through me. Rapture so intense that I was lost.
I was locked.
I was over capacity.
“Brady!”
“Fuck yes,” he crooned. “Make me feel it.” His pounding transformed into quick, sharp thrusts. “Milk my fucking cock.”
I didn’t know what my body was doing to him internally. I only knew how I was feeling, how loud I was shouting, how I was quivering from every part of me. And as those tremors slipped through me, he was clinching me tighter, stroking me harder, emptying himself inside me.
I knew because I could feel it.
The way the wetness was increasing.
The way it was thickening.
And, oh shit, there was nothing hotter.
“Brady, yes!”
“You like that, don’t you?” He held my face with so much strength. “You fucking love when I fill you with my cum.”
My arms rotated around his neck, my legs doing the same to his waist while I moaned, “Give me more of it.”
And he did.
Several more strokes’ worth until we were both completely still.
Panting.
Sweaty.
And, dare I say, satiated for the moment.
“You are … something else.” I laughed.
He cupped my chin. “I’m going to bring you into the shower and clean the wine and cum off your pussy, and then we’re coming back out here and finishing that meal.”
“Love that idea.” I smiled. “But I’m surprised you’re still hungry after all that eating.”
He gave me a quick kiss and bent over to pick up the clothes he’d stripped off us. “Don’t tempt me, Lily. I can easily go for another round after our shower.”
By now, I knew the sound of Brady’s notifications. The low ding that was assigned for texts had gone off several times in a row.
I nodded toward his pants. “I think your phone is about to explode.”
He set his pants beside me, where he draped them over the back of the couch, and he reached into his pocket to grab his cell. “I just want to make sure it’s not anything serious …” His voice faded before he shouted, “What the fuck?!”
Anger was immediately present in his expression, his teeth bared, as though he were about to attack.
I couldn’t imagine what he was reading.
Was it about work? Edinburgh?
Shit … could it be about me?
I grabbed his hand. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m going to fucking kill him.”
Him?
Did that mean … David?
Or someone else?
I continued to grasp the back of his hand. “Brady? What happened?” I waited, and when I got no response, I added, “Talk to me.”
His eyes slowly shifted from the screen to me. “Lily …” His head shook back and forth, the rage building in his eyes. “I don’t want to show you this.”
David.
It had to be.
And as that realization began to take hold, my heart pounded inside my chest.
A boulder wedged its way into my throat.
Every bit of pleasure I’d been feeling was instantly drained from my body.
“Please.” I sounded breathless. “Just get it over with.”
Gradually and reluctantly, he tilted the screen so we could look at it at the same time.
Unknown
A few more to add to your collection, you motherfucker.
There were four photographs attached to the text from Unknown. The first was of a bed that looked vaguely familiar, a pair of boy shorts and a T-shirt on top.
Boy shorts and a T-shirt that were mine.
A sickness was rising in my stomach as I flipped to the second picture. This one showed the interior of my suitcase, where my two packing pods had been unzipped; a pink lace bra and matching thong poked out of one, and my Dalton polo, which was part of my uniform, had been pulled out of the other.
My heart began to throb as the third photo showed my cosmetic case as it sat on the counter of the bathroom. My perfume had been taken out and was resting in the palm of a hand, fingers wrapped around it, nails that were rugged and chewed.
A hand I knew all too well.
“That was my hotel room in Charleston.” My throat was so tight; I could barely speak. “I recognize the bed and the bathroom.” I tried to swallow and couldn’t. “He got in. Oh God.” My hand went over my mouth. “He’d come into that room while I was out … and I didn’t know.”
The fourth photo made my eyes fill, tears streaming down my face as I continued to stare at it. It was a photo of the inside flap of a wallet—David’s wallet—where a picture had been secured. The shot was of David and me, on his couch, during the beginning of our relationship. His arm was around my shoulders, his lips were on my cheek, and there was a huge smile on my face.
I’d taken the selfie, and during our relationship, it had become the home screen of his phone. I didn’t know he’d printed it or that it lived in his wallet, but it was a picture that should have been tossed when I broke up with him.
After a full year, it was still there.
To me, a scar.
To him, a possession.
Something he’d never let go of.
Someone he’d never stop fighting for.
When I opened my mouth, I tasted the saltiness.
The fear.
The promise, which I voiced to Brady in the quietest whisper. “He won’t ever stop.”