Chapter 5 #2
His tongue probes deeper inside me. “A fine way to go.”
The sensation’s insane. I’m standing on the floor, straddling his face, having my clit sucked as I cling to the handles for dear life. My God, the man has a talented tongue.
“Ash,” I cry out as his tongue flicks faster over my sensitive nub. “I won’t last long like this.”
“Not to put too fine a point on this, but”—he pauses to flutter the tip of his tongue at my entrance—“isn’t this meant to be a flying sixty-nine?”
“Math was never my strong suit.” But he’s right, his cock is right there . I lean forward to reach it, lying over his torso with my breasts pressing into his belly. Gripping the base of his cock, I seal my lips around the head.
“Fuck.” He groans as I slide down slowly. “That’s more like it.”
He doesn’t let up on his side of the bargain, licking and sucking and making me mindless with his mouth. At some point, he slides two fingers inside me, turning his wrist to locate my G-spot.
“Holy fuck!” I cry out, nearly choking on his cock. “What fucking manual did you read?”
“A fucking manual.” He chuckles between my thighs. “How aptly named.”
I go back to swirling my tongue at the head of his cock.
As skilled as he is at eating me out, I want to impress him with my fellatio.
But I keep getting distracted by the tug of his lips on my clit.
His fingertip pressure on my G-spot. The talent he has for teasing me right to the brink, then easing up just as I reach the precipice of climax.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” I pant, “aren’t you?”
“Edging you?” He plunges his fingers in deeper. “Perhaps.”
I like it. I like it way too much.
It’s the sort of thing that’s only possible with a partner who knows your body intimately. How is he doing this?
“Camille.” There’s a sharp note of warning in his voice. “No more deep throating.”
“Mmm?” I’ve already got him at the base of my throat, so I ease off gently. “How come?”
“Yes.” His voice sounds strained, or maybe that’s because he’s speaking into the space between my legs. “You’ll make me come the next time you— Camille .”
I chuckle and ease off, letting the man have a break. “Two can play the edging game.”
“Ready to fly?”
“What?” My voice slips out hazy and breathless. I’m dizzily swirling my tongue at the base of his cock, struggling to make sense of his words. “Is that a clever word for coming?”
“Pick up your legs.”
“What?” Jesus, I’m close. Colors blur at the edge of my vision. “What are you?—”
“Lift your feet off the floor, Camille.”
“But then you’ll be holding my full weight on your— oh !” I pitch forward as Ash yanks my legs out from under me. I nearly impale my own throat on his cock but manage to brace myself on his thighs.
Then something magical happens. Ashton shoves off with one foot, sending us spinning. Stretching my legs out behind me, I yelp and go full-on Supergirl.
That’s if Supergirl flew with a tongue between her legs, and why wouldn’t she? She’s fucking Supergirl.
“Oh my God.” I’m groaning and laughing at the same time. No small feat, while I’m still sucking Ashton’s cock. “We’re flying .”
“Indeed.” He tongues me some more, then gasps as I drag him to the back of my throat. “Fuck, you’re good at that.”
We keep spinning in circles, weightless and mindless and moaning between each other’s legs.
He’s managed to find the stirrups with his feet, so we’re completely suspended now.
There’s some kind of ball socket hooked to the ceiling, and I’m certain it’s built to hold our combined weight.
I may not know Ashton Holyfield well, but I have no doubt the man would make sure a sex swing could hold two people. Probably three.
Gravity stops existing. We spin in a blissed haze of mouths and tongues and fingers. Of soft pressure and gentle suction. We’re twirling through space on a cloud of shared pleasure.
“Ash,” I warn as spots dance through my field of vision. “I’m close.”
He makes a guttural sound as I slurp on the head of his cock. “Stop right fucking now if you don’t want a mouthful.”
Is he kidding? There’s nothing I want more than to swallow him down, to feel him explode on my tongue. Fireworks burst behind my eyelids as the first blast of orgasm hits me.
“Fuck!” I’m spinning and flying and coming so hard I can’t see.
Then Ash makes a sound like somebody’s ripping his soul from his body. His cock starts to pulse and I swallow him down as my own climax goes on and on.
We’re still spinning slowly as we both come down.
Ash drops his feet to the floor, and I do the same. “Holy shit.” I should peel myself off his body, but I’m not sure my legs work. “Are you still alive down there?”
“Please.” He chuckles and nips the inside of my thigh. “I could do this all night.”
That wouldn’t surprise me at all. The man’s superhuman, that’s all there is to it.
Somehow, I manage to lurch to my feet. Gripping the straps overhead, I extricate myself gracelessly from the world’s most intense sixty-nine. I peer down at Ashton, whose chin now resembles a glazed donut.
“Hello.”
“Hi.” He pulls himself into an upright position, not wiping his face at all. “Was the experience what you expected?”
That experience so far exceeded my expectations that I no longer recall what they were. “I’m still seeing stars and I can’t feel my hands. Is it possible to die of bliss?”
“We have an excellent physician on staff,” he replies. “Shall I summon her back to the resort?”
“Only if she knows how to keep this sensation going forever.”
Ashton smiles and I swear it’s like the sun just came out. Cool blue eyes dart to the ceiling, then back to me. “Well then,” he says dryly. “I’ll inform the maintenance team this unit has been thoroughly tested.”
Ashton leaves ten minutes later, declining to stick around to cuddle. Not that I invited him. Not that I expected him to be the snuggly sort. Whatever’s between us is purely sexual, and I’ll be gone tomorrow anyway.
Having time to myself in this luxury suite gives me a chance to catch my breath. To take a long bath in the gigantic tub and assess the last thirty-six hours of my life.
I feel like a failure.
I haven’t said that out loud to anyone yet. Not even myself.
But when Ashton said I sounded like a great therapist, I wanted so badly to think so. I’ve always believed that. It’s what’s kept me going through challenging patients and discouraging treatments that tested my skills. Through all of that, I persevered.
But what kind of therapist can’t see she’s botched her own relationship this badly?
I should have seen the signs that things weren’t great with Hayden. We lost our connection long before he didn’t show up for our wedding. That was just a symptom of a larger problem. A problem I failed to diagnose.
That failure leaves me questioning everything.
Drawing a breath, I turn off the taps and settle into a fragrant sea of bubbles. As I snatch my phone from the edge of the tub, I reenter the real world for the first time all day.
I have several calls from Sara and Eve. A few from my sisters, all five of them, plus one from my brother and four from our mom.
A patient I’ve worked with for years has emailed requesting an appointment.
“I know you’re getting married,” she says.
“Please don’t let me bother you if you’re busy.
But I’ve had a breakthrough in my feelings around Jimmy’s death, and if there’s any room in your schedule for a telehealth session, I’d be so grateful.
Even ten minutes in the late afternoon would be amazing. ”
I normally wouldn’t accept. It’s important to set boundaries with patients, and I’m clearly marked out of the office. But if tomorrow’s travel day goes according to plan, I’ll be stuck in Atlanta on a three-hour layover right when she’s hoping to meet.
I email her back confirming a time for a telehealth session, making it clear that it’s subject to change, based on my travel schedule. As soon as I send it, I switch back to checking my messages.
There are two missed calls and a series of texts from Hayden. He and I spoke briefly on my layover in Houston when I called to explain as clearly as possible that this wasn’t a temporary break. That we needed to end our relationship.
He didn’t sound hurt. Not even a little.
“If that’s your decision.” He spoke like a man addressing a third grader eating Crayolas in class. “I won’t hold you hostage in a relationship.”
“It’s been a long time coming, don’t you think?”
“What I think,” he began, sounding fatigued with the conversation, “is that we should talk about this later. When I’m not at work?—”
“You’re at work?” Of course he was. It was only nine p.m. in Portland.
Hayden kept going like I hadn’t asked a question. “I think we should sleep on it. Talk a bit more when you’ve calmed down and you’re feeling more reasonable and rational.”
“I think that’s the problem.” I was willing to give him a pass on the calm down bullshit. It had been a long day for us both. “We focused too much on reasonable and rational. Not enough on our emotional needs.”
He scoffed like I knew he would. “Okay, Camille. If this is what you want, I won’t fight it.”
He hung up without a goodbye. Probably just as well.
As I settle in to read his texts that followed that call, I’m braced for anger. For an apology. For hurt or rage or blame or maybe all of those things.
What I should have expected was total detachment.
I’m sending a proposal to buy out your half of the mortgage.
Do you want to keep the cookware?
When did we buy this bookshelf? I’m adding it to my side of the ledger but please move it to yours if you brought it into the partnership.
“Jesus.” Right to the end, it’s a business transaction for Hayden. Why did I think our breakup would be any different from the entirety of our relationship?