29. Liam #2
I give the other side the same treatment until both are equally marked.
I’m salivating at the thought of how she must feel in that tight spot in between.
Not just for play, but for an intimacy I’ve only dreamed of.
I’ve done it with other women before. Beautiful women, adventurous women.
But this—this hunger for her—is different.
I deliver another slap.
“Fuck you, Fox!” she cries out, but the words dissolve against the water.
I take the insult as praise. I stop only to assess her. She’s wet inside and it’s not from the pool. She’s fucking enjoying this.
Her ass presses against me. I could take her there with no warning.
I’ve told her I won’t hold back. But something locks into place.
With her, whatever I do, it’s not just about getting off.
It’s discovery, it’s respect. Every cry of pain.
Every reaction. Every damn squeeze. I want all of it—but not now.
I spread her legs and align myself, rubbing my solid length. She moves instinctively, hips lifting, seeking friction even restrained. I set the crown of my cock into her pussy. Her tightness takes me by surprise, forcing a slower thrust. Her walls press around me, painfully constrictive.
For a second, I pull back, letting the tension build to something unbearable.
She breaks first, pressing up, urging me deeper.
“Not yet,” I tell her, even as my own control frays. “I’m not finished.”
She adjusts for me, opening herself just enough. That’s all I need.
Hellion cries out as I take more of her. I slam my cock into the friction, despite her pussy squeezing me so fiercely it nearly unravels me. Her ass cheeks rebound with each motion. The water splashes harder now. Our movements send ripples against the sides of the pool.
“You don’t like slow, huh?” I murmur against her throat.
“You should know that by now.”
I increase the pace. “You’re going to wait.”
Her body clenches, thighs pressing forcefully around me.
“I can’t…” she bites out, head thrown back, water catching in her hair as she trembles.
“Beg properly.”
We’re both breathing hard. Both close.
“Fox, please…let me come.”
I hold her tight, one arm locked around her waist, deciding when she rises for air and when she sinks under. I prolong it out until her body truly strains, her bound arms drawn to their limit.
When she cries out again, it’s torn straight from her chest. I’m right behind her, breaking with her, spilling into her like it’s the first time I’ve ever known what this feels like. The force of it blindsides me. It’s violent, pleasure wrenching through me until it borders on torture.
But I hold her through it, supporting her weight, making sure she stays lifted, safe, anchored—even as everything else between us is anything but.
I’ve never had a woman lose herself like this, water or not. When I untie her, she’s loose with satisfaction. Her mask is drenched with water, sweat, and whatever we dragged out of each other. Red Fox isn’t faring any better.
I lift her out of the pool and she curls into me, arms sliding around my neck as I carry her across the mosaic floor. Water trails behind us in a shimmering path. I lay her on the divan prepared nearby—thick towels layered over velvet cushions, designed to drink in the water from our bodies.
A low table waits within reach, holding two glasses and two robes folded neatly beside them. I always prepare for possibilities. I plan exits, contingencies, and comfort. If there’s even a chance I’ll remove more than my jacket, I make sure the aftermath is predictable.
Tonight, I leave my robe untouched. I take one for her, and the drinks.
I sit beside her and hand her a glass. “Atay b’naana,” I say. “Iced Moroccan mint tea. Velvet Edition.”
She takes a sip. Approval shows in her smile.
I offer her the robe, and she shakes her head. Then she sets the glass aside on the floor. Her hand rises to my face. Her palm is still cool from the drink. She cups my cheek, appraising me through the mask.
“That was…” she rasps, “incredible.”
“You are incredible,” I reply.
She leans into me and draws a slow breath along the side of my neck. “Hmm…it’s gone.”
“What is?”
“The thing that always gives you away.”
I know what she means. “You recognized the scent at the door. Though none of the vials contained the full blend.”
“That’s what I thought. The woody note wasn’t there.”
“Damn, you’re frighteningly observant.”
“So?” she presses. “What is it?”
“Cardamom and sandalwood.”
Her eyes flicker. “Ah…yes. That’s it.”
“Was that the only thing that led you to me?”
She shakes her head.
“Other instincts?” I ask.
She takes my hand and slides it down, pressing it against her slit. “This one.”
Jesus fucking Christ. This woman is going to have me giving more than I’m willing.
She lowers her head to one of the cushions, body fully relaxed now. One arm drapes across my chest like it belongs there.
I let it.
One minute. Two. Three.
Time stretches.
By this point I’m usually halfway out the door. What lingers after sex is supposed to cool. Level out. Turn comfortable. This doesn’t. Something invisible drawing closer instead of dissolving.
It should unsettle me. Instead, I stay where I am and let myself sink into it. The unfamiliar ease of remaining, of not reaching for my clothes the second the hunger fades.
She turns onto her side to face me fully.
“You said I took a piece of you,” she murmurs.