17. tallulah
TALLULAH
VICTORY PRIZE WHORE
The simmering anger inside of me mixed with something else, leaving me hot-blooded, breathing as hard as he was. I took his phone, gazing at what I’d been waiting for.
My eyes slid to Nick’s.
Nick, who wanted to rip up those tickets for me.
I didn’t want to win like that, but something unfurled in my chest at the offer—no, his demand that he’d do it. He was adamant to help me. It was very…sweet.
His eyes drifted down my body, prolonged and deliberate, like he was drinking me in, memorizing every curve. My heart thrummed at the way he inched closer. His breathing was shallow, matching mine, the only sounds in the room.
He moved closer still, angling over me. “No sex?”
“Um, not—not yet.” I admitted, my voice unsteady. Every time I thought about actual sex with him, I felt like a heroine in a nineteenth century novel with a fainting spell. Hell, I felt like that now. “I—I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay.” He exhaled, his voice rough. “So we…?”
“Make out?” I squeaked.
“Make out,” he repeated, with a cautious air, holding himself back. “Rated G, wholesome making out?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Dry-humping,” I blurted out. “And—um—groping and fooling around and—?”
“Yeah, we can do that,” he muttered.
Nick was fast. He dipped down, crashing his lips to mine, shoving me up against the door. My arms wrapped around his neck, so natural. The kisses hot and heavy. Panting filled the air, filled my mind. I crushed him to me, kissing him harder. His body was everywhere and not touching me enough.
I yanked on his dress shirt, impatient, fumbling with the buttons. Too many buttons. Why were there so many fucking buttons? Nick took over, easily finishing to rip his shirt off and toss it to the floor, still kissing me, never stopping.
His broad shoulders filled my vision, muscles twitching under my fingertips. Lust was the only thing I knew. It seeped into my skin, deciding every action. We grabbed at each other, palming, stroking, touching any way we could.
Nick was dominant. He moved me to the desk, to my skinny twin bed where he pushed me down, his hand gripping the back of my head to kiss me hard and keep me kissing him.
I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t care.
He finally released me, and I gasped for breath, head swimming. Was there any better sensation? I’d certainly never felt one. I hurried to unbutton his slacks, pleasure coursing through me. His cock curved against the fabric, stiff to the touch.
“Closer,” I panted. “Closer—”
I needed him closer. Nothing else would satisfy. I brought him down to me, Nick panting into my neck, grinding into me. I could taste his hunger, how much he wanted me in each shallow thrust.
Nick gathered my dress, rubbing his bulge against my panties. My belly swooped. The only thing holding us back were two thin pieces of fabric.
Groaning, Nick broke the kiss. “Fuck.” He drew in a breath through clenched teeth. “You’re wet.”
“I—I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be—” Nick kissed me again then stopped, pressing his forehead to mine. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry—” My throat tightened. “I—I’m sorry—”
“Why can’t I eat you out again?” he rasped. “Remind me.”
Our bodies were moving instinctively through the conversation, rubbing against each other. It was difficult to experience that and answer Nick’s question. “I—I can’t finish—”
“So it hurts when someone eats you out?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“You don’t feel anything?”
“No, I—I feel—” Emotions punctured my whispers, shame wrought in my admission.
Half of my favorite porn videos were oral sex, zoomed in so I could watch it happen close-up.
Fuck, I missed it. There were a lot of complicated thoughts tied with it, but when it used to happen, for those first three minutes, the high was like nothing else. “I—I feel—”
“How does it feel?”
“It feels good,” I whimpered.
His voice was husky in my ear. “How good?”
“So good.” My lower lip wobbled. “So, so, so good. But I can’t finish—”
Nick moved to gaze down, casting a shadow over me. The soft bedroom light made a halo around him, casting his face in shadows. He was thinking about something, breathing deeply.
His hands disappeared under my dress, working up my thighs. “What’s number three on your bucket list?”
“I—I don’t remember—”
“Orgasm denial,” Nick answered, tugging off my panties. He held them above me. The light gray fabric was slick in the middle, gleaming in the lamplight. Evidence of my arousal, of how much I wanted him. I was drenched.
Nick brought them to his face and inhaled.
“Oh my god,” rushed out of me, heart slamming against my ribcage.
His shoulders slackened, his eyes fluttered, there was an animal-like curl as he leaned over me. “Orgasm denial, Tallulah. You’re not allowed to cum.”
“Nick, I—I can’t finish—”
“Yeah, you can’t cum.” His eyes flashed, daring me to argue, as he lowered his mouth. “You’re not allowed to.”
Nick’s tongue was warm, and my back arched off of the bed.
My fingers threaded through his hair for something to hold on to.
Something real. I bucked against his tongue, every inhibition whisked away.
This wasn’t soft or sweet or kind. Nick fucked me with his mouth, hands curling around my thighs as he dragged me closer.
He moved in tight circles, kissing, nipping, sucking my clit between his perfect lips. I was moaning louder than I thought—no, we both were. He was moaning into me.
I was saying something—begging him to continue—to keep going—please, don’t stop—but my words didn’t make sense anymore. My stomach plunged with how he coaxed me to relax my thighs, exploring me with his tongue. I was putty in his hands.
Long minutes overwhelmed my senses and Nick slowed his pace.
The change was immaculate. Nick lapped at me, long, slow licks allowing me to feel every inch of his tongue.
Nestled between my thighs, sighing with pleasure, cheek pressed against my thigh.
Every now and then, he’d rub against it, cheek to thigh, soft skin to soft skin, going so slow, my whole body pulsed for him.
It was divine. It was heaven.
Until I focused enough to see the clock on my roommate’s nightstand.
Oh my god.
Fifteen minutes had passed—fifteen minutes?
Was Nick waiting for me to cum?
It was amazing, the best anyone had ever gone down on me, but my pulse picked up for a different reason. What if Nick was counting down the seconds? What if he was waiting for me to tell him to stop?
Heart pounding, I tapped his forehead, nudging him away.
Nick emerged, his eyes glassy, unfocused. His chin was wet, lips shining in the lamplight, hair stuck up from where I’d grabbed it, and he looked…dazed? He raised his eyebrows, or tried to. The second followed the first like he had a lack of muscle control.
Nick looked drunk.
“What?” he rasped, confused.
“I—I’m not going to finish—”
He nodded, returning to his place between my thighs. “Uh-huh, I know—”
I held him back by his hair. “Nick—”
“Huh?”
“Are—are you putting on an act?” I sputtered. “Are you pretending like you like this?”
Dumbfounded, Nick stared at me. I might as well have spoken a foreign language, he didn’t seem like he understood.
He shook his head. “Tallulah, I promise, I’ll do everything to calm your anxiety later, but please, please—” He lowered his mouth again. “Just let me eat your pussy.”
I gasped when Nick resumed, pressing his face between my legs.
The anxiety didn’t disappear, but it diminished enough that I didn’t have to pay attention to it anymore.
Because anxiety is questions. Overpowering questions.
Wondering if people secretly hated me, or if I’d ruin everything, or if life would be better if I never said anything at all.
Anxiety was the thousands of rotten questions that sank into my brain.
With Nick…maybe I didn’t have to listen to the anxiety. Maybe I could believe him.
A tiny, tiny bit.
The door opened.
Winona, shocked, filled the doorframe, her jaw unhinging at the sight—and Nick didn’t hear her. He moaned louder, fucking me with his tongue. I panicked, shoving his forehead with both hands.
Nick tumbled back and hit the ground.
“Nice!” Winona snapped, slamming the door behind her. “You couldn’t have put a sock on the door?!”
“I’m—I’m sorry,” I stammered, hurrying to the side of the bed. “Nick, are you okay?”
He was panting on the floor, hands covering the bulge straining in his boxers. He grunted. “Hey, Tallulah’s Roommate. Great timing. Awesome timing.”
“I’m not talking to Tallulah’s victory prize whore!” Winona retorted.
Nick glanced her way. “Did you call me a whore?”
“I’m so sorry, Winona,” I apologized again. “I—I wasn’t thinking—”
“Did she call me a whore?” Nick repeated, surprised.
Winona threw me the nastiest look over her shoulder, her gaze landing on the open biography, the ticket inside. “Of course you found one, of course you did. It’s soooo easy for you, isn’t it?”
“Hey, I’m not just Tallulah’s victory prize whore.” Nick shoved himself to a standing position. “I’m also the guy who says you can’t talk to her like that.”
“Winona, I—I didn’t mean to—” I faltered. “I—I’m so sorry—”
“The favoritism is disgusting,” Winona said. “I’m leaving for tonight. I’m sure you and Andrew have soooo much to laugh about.”
Winona strode out, throwing her bag over her shoulder.
Nick muttered something I didn’t hear, I wasn’t paying attention to him. I scrambled off the bed and headed to the hallway too. There were only a few minutes left for the competition. I could hear the other people still running across the halls, panicking to find the tickets.
I caught up to her at the elevator bank. “Winona?”
“What?”
“They’re in the Tomasini biographies.”
She stumbled to a stop. “What?”
“On the table. In the lounge.”
The fury evaporated. She touched the strap of her backpack, her face twisted like she didn’t believe me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why…why are you telling me?”
“I don’t like it either,” I admitted. “The internship.”