Chapter 28
"Lover," Taylor Swift
Victoria
I resisted his path to the master bathroom shower, stopping him with a hand on his chest. Normally with a man in my bedroom, I kept the lights dim to mask my insecurities. But with Eric, I stood shamelessly naked, ready to play.
“Sounds like your contract has a loophole. Rookie mistake, baby.”
Insulting my contract? Shots fired. “Or maybe it’s false advertising.”
“I didn’t see you faking anything.”
“He promises up to 12 hours,” I declared with the enthusiasm of an infomercial telemarketer. “But how much of that is sleeping off his orgasm?”
“Not sleeping if I’m making you come again in the shower.”
My core heated, but I didn’t want to shower. Showering felt like an ending … and since I only got one night, I would damn well make the most of it.
“I think you’re stalling. Pumping up your longevity metrics while we wait out your refractory period.”
“I think you’re stalling because you like my cum on your tits,” he said with a devilish smile. “You’re secretly a dirty girl who needs a break from that squeaky clean image.”
He grabbed my ass, changing his trajectory from the bathroom towards the bed. When the back of my legs hit the blanket and he lowered me down, I expected him to climb on top. But he stayed upright, walking over to my nightstand.
Alarmed, I propped up on my elbows. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting out my refractory period, like you said.”
He opened my top drawer. I held my breath, waiting for his reaction.
Spencer had been offended by my sex toys, insisting he was man enough to take care of me—then blaming me for lying there bored. Alexander ignored my collection, too tired to bother with foreplay.
But not Eric. He lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Is this the kind that syncs to music?” he held up a U-shaped toy.
My cheeks heated. “Yes, but it’s not charged.”
He looked disappointed putting it away, then lifted a long, black vibrating dildo and a bold red bullet. “Which one?”
I stilled. Those were for my private use, not for him. “I don’t—”
“No, you’re right, you don’t have to choose,” he said, dropping both on the bed and adding lube and condoms to the pile.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling your bluff,” he grinned. “You’re being a bratty bottom who won’t ask for what you want, so I’m bringing in backup. I need a few minutes, and watching you will bridge the gap.” He gestured to the pile of toys. “Show me.”
He wanted me to touch myself? while he watched? and he did … nothing?
“Isn’t that your job?”
“You calling me lazy, woman?”
“Cocky bastard.”
“Oooh, that helps.” He stroked himself, stiffening from looking at my naked body. “Do you think about how cocky I am when you touch yourself?”
When I didn’t move or speak, too self-conscious, he poured lube onto his fingers and stroked the dildo, his hand sliding over the black silicon at the same pace that he’d been stroking his cock.
“This isn’t emasculating to you?” I worried out loud.
“Are you kidding? Watching you come is hot, whether it’s on my hand, my face, my dick, your hand, your toys.”
When I didn’t reach for the dildo, he climbed onto the bed with his back on the headboard.
He gestured me over between his spread legs, directing me to put my back against his chest. When I opened my legs wide, he groaned over my shoulder at the view.
His cock twitched against my back as he lined the lubed dildo up at my entrance, and we both exhaled as he slid it smoothly inside my pussy.
I expected this to feel shameful—I’d always hidden my toys, believing I wouldn’t need them if I had a worthwhile man—but his breath on my neck, the rawness in his voice, his hands on my body, his hard cock against my back … I felt desired. Adored, even.
He pressed the button to turn on the vibrations, a quiet rumbling from deep inside me joining with his moans and my panting breath.
My body pulsed in time with his gentle thrusts, reacting to his fingertips on my ribs, caressing my breast, scraping fingernails across my nipple.
His lips explored my neck, finding a spot behind my ear that sent me reeling.
“What do you think about when you’re alone?” he asked, his mouth never lifting from my neck as he slowly slid the dildo inside me.
Unrelated mental images flashed across my mind’s eye: a head between my legs against the leather seat in the back of a towncar, a hand on my throat as I gasped for air, bent over my desk with my hands behind my back, my Prada heel on a tattooed chest.
But I couldn’t speak, choking on the words locked in my throat. I took a gasping breath as my body completely lost momentum.
“Hey, it’s ok. You don’t have to tell me anything,” he murmured directly into my ear, his warm breath on my neck, and my breath slowly steadied. “It would be hot if we think about the same things. Or maybe you have fantasies I haven’t thought of—though I doubt that—and I could help you enjoy them.”
His hand ran circles along my ribs. “Do you want me to guess your fantasies? Or to shut the fuck up?”
Telling him to shut up would make him laugh, but … “Guess.”
“It probably starts with a memory,” he sped the pace of his thrusts as I nodded.
“That first night at the club. You pull me into the bathroom. I hike up your skirt. I slide my fingers inside this greedy pussy to make you come. Or in the cab, you put my hand on your thigh. I tease your clit while you tell the driver your address.” My moan echoed between his labored breaths.
“Or later that night, instead of being alone in my bed, you demand I lick your pussy. God, I wanted you to climb on my face,” he confessed.
I dropped my head onto his shoulder, hips bucking beneath his hands.
“Or maybe you think about the elevator,” he said into my ear, and I couldn’t stop my moan. “You let down your hair, you dared me to take off my shirt—”
“Truth,” I corrected breathlessly. “Tattoos.”
“What if the fire department hadn’t interrupted? Would you have dared me to take off my pants?” I couldn't hold back my whimper. “Dared me to fuck you?”
“Would you have?” I whispered.
“We didn’t have a condom,” he answered, confirmation that he’d considered it. “I’ve never had sex without one.”
“And in your fantasy?” I arched into his hand as it trailed down my stomach, wanting him lower. “Do you have a condom?”
“In my fantasy,” his perfect voice rumbled, “you tell me I don’t need one. You want me bare.”
I barely heard his low rumble over my panting. “How do you know—?”
“I have them too, Victoria. So many fantasies—all about you.”
He lifted my bullet vibrator, jolting me into the moment. “Wait. Hold on.”
He froze, dropping the bullet on the comforter, stopping the vibrations inside me, lifting his hands from my body. It took a moment to process just how quickly he reacted.
“I didn’t mean—” I said, trying to catch my breath. I picked up the red bullet, putting it back in his hand. “The gray one is better. More powerful.”
He huffed a relieved breath as his hard cock surged into my back. “You’re gonna kill me, Victoria.”
He leaned over to my nightstand and fumbled for the gray one, running his thumb over the smoother silicon before lifting it for my approval. “Better?”
“Better.” He turned back on my dildo then brought my bullet vibrator to my clit. I gasped at the sudden touch, my hips pulsing too hard.
“Holy shit that’s strong, sorry.” He shifted it to a less intense spot on the side of my clit. When I relaxed again, arching my back as my hips shifted, he asked, “Where were we?”
“Your fantasies."
“You want me to keep going?” he asked. I nodded so fast that he laughed.
“Legs over my shoulders on your couch while I eat you out. You beg me to bend you over the armrest. My bed, riding my face, holding me down so all I can see or taste or feel is you. You on top so your amazing tits bounce while you come.”
His words played out in my mind, cycling through every conceivable position in familiar settings.
Through his eyes, I saw myself as a goddamn goddess, demanding what I wanted. I always thought desperation was a flaw, but he was unabashedly desperate for me, and I loved it.
“Asking me to come on your tits was even better than my fantasy. So hot when you rubbed my cum all over your perfect pink nipples.”
Oh god, I was so close. I reached behind his head to grip his hair. He cursed, precum leaking onto my lower back as his hands and his words sped.
The dirtier he talked, the higher I spiraled.
“Feasting on you splayed out on your kitchen island. Bending you over those granite countertops.”
“I love a man in the kitchen.”
“The best kitchen in the building, wasted by microwaving all your food.”
Laughter exploded from my mouth. I didn’t know laughing was possible when I was this close to coming, but somehow it made every sensation stronger.
He shifted, propping pillows behind my back and moving between my feet, kneeling between my splayed thighs. He could see everything, and I felt an urge to snap my knees shut and hide. He licked his lips and looked up to meet my eyes. “Want to hear my go-to fantasy?”
Every fantasy pushed me closer, so if he had a favorite … “Tell me.”
“The first time I saw you,” he said, his voice a heady mix of arousal and nostalgia. “At self-defense class.”
I flew cross-country to drag Alexander back to work, found him with his arms around another woman, and pulled the plug. “You think about that?”
“You showed up out of nowhere like a conquering victor. You were out the door in two minutes.”
And then I remembered the muscular man who stepped forward, with a smile brighter than a lighthouse in a storm.
“But in my fantasy, instead of his name,” he said, tilting the dildo into my front wall, “you say mine.”
I fought breathlessness to strengthen my voice. “I’m here for Eric de la Cruz.”
“Fuck yes,” he moaned, his once-again erect cock leaking. “You order everybody else out. You drop the cord and say one word, just one.”