Chapter 33 #2
The smell of roasted garlic and butter lingers in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of the wine already poured. Plates are set on the island, candles flickering low, shadows stretching warm and intimate across the counters.
I pull her stool out like a gentleman—which, frankly, is hilarious, because five minutes from now I’ll be plotting how to undo those jeans with my teeth.
She glances toward the dining table, one brow lifting. “We aren’t sitting there?”
“Nope.” I drop into the stool beside hers with a satisfied sigh. “I like it better here. Feels more normal.”
“Normal…” she repeats, skeptical, but smiling.
“Yeah. You know. Less formal, less stiff.” I roll my shoulders, then swivel my chair sideways, demonstrating.
“If we eat at the island, it just feels like us. Side by side, talking. I can turn my chair like this—” I do it, the motion casual but deliberate. “Slide a knee between your legs—” I slide my knee, just a nudge against her thigh. “Maybe sneak a peek under your skirt, and… you know. Normal.”
Her laugh bursts out, bright and sharp, filling every corner of the room.
“But I’m wearing jeans.”
“Hey.” I lift my hands in mock surrender, grinning. “It’s not my fault you failed to read the subliminal assignment, Tote.”
She keeps laughing, shaking her head, and that sound—it does things to me. Untangles every knot I’ve carried since Saturday, every trace of doubt.
Just like that, everything is easy again.
Dinner doesn’t last long. Not because the food is bad (I nailed it, thank you very much), but because every other bite is interrupted by something else.
Her hand brushing mine. My lips brushing her cheek. A joke murmured against my mouth before it turns into another kiss.
I keep my arm draped across the back of her stool, fingers toying with the ends of her hair, grazing her shoulder, slipping against her skin. She leans into me every time like gravity insists on it.
Wine vanishes. Plates empty. And the rest of the world dissolves.
One kiss becomes two, then three, then something hungrier. She shifts, turning sideways, legs bracketing mine, and I rise without thinking, slotting myself between her knees.
Her arms loop around my neck, body pressed flush to mine like she was made for this.
My hands grip her hips, then slide lower, over the curve of her ass, and I lift. She gasps but clings tighter, legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her down the hall.
Tori’s laugh breaks between kisses, her breath warm against my mouth, her body alive and pliant in my arms.
I trail my mouth down her jaw, along the line of her throat, tasting her skin. She tilts her head back in offering, and I groan into the hollow of her collarbone, already half mad with hunger.
That silky, tempting wrap shirt slips, neckline gaping. I tug at the edge with my teeth, growling against her chest, “Open it. Lose it.”
Her hands obey, untying one side, then the other, until the whole thing comes undone. It falls open, then slides off her shoulders, landing somewhere behind us.
I keep walking, and my eyes catch what she’s wearing beneath. Black lace, sheer, a balconette bra that leaves nothing to the imagination. And then I see the flash of silver.
“When. The fuck. Did you get them pierced?” My voice comes out guttural, torn straight from my chest.
I don’t give her time to answer before my mouth is on her, tugging one of the bars with my teeth. She arches, moans, her whole body tightening against me.
“The day after the funeral,” she breathes.
I freeze mid-step, releasing her nipple, staring at her. Confusion is written all over my face.
“But, you were pissed at me.”
The look she gives me would undo a lesser man. Pity, amusement, a challenge in her eyes.
Tori pouts, taps my cheek twice like I’m a misbehaving child, and says:
“It’s so cute that you think I got these for you. These were a Christmas present to myself, sweetie.”
Naturally, I spank her ass. Sharp. Quick. And then I bite her other nipple, tugging at the piercing with my teeth until she cries out.
“More,” she moans, hands gripping my hair, yanking me closer.
By the time I reach the bedroom, she’s half undressed, wrapped around me, kissing me like she never intends to stop.
But I don’t drop her onto the bed. Not tonight.
Tonight isn’t about being careless or reckless. Tonight isn’t about games. Tonight is about reverence. Worship.
About showing her, without a single shadow of doubt, that I love her. That I am in love with her. That whatever came before, whatever hurt or brokenness we dragged behind us, the old has gone and the new has come.
I lower her onto the bed slowly, gently, my body still pressed hard against hers. My hands brace on either side of her head, our mouths working furiously, until I finally pull back just enough to see her.
Her jeans. Her boots. They have to go.
I kneel, tugging off one boot, then the other, setting them aside. She watches me with heavy eyes, panting, gaze burning hot enough to sear.
“These jeans look painted on, Tote,” I murmur, smirking up at her. “When I unzip them, will they obey, or will your ass fight me for them?”
She laughs, breathless. “They stretch. So they should behave.”
“Should,” I tease, leaning in to pop the button. I drag the zipper down slowly, deliberately, and the sight that greets me nearly buckles my knees. Matching black lace panties, sheer like the bra, taunting me.
The jeans slide off easily, thank God, and now she’s laid out before me in lace and nothing else.
“You’re staring,” she says, softly.
“I’m aware.”
I don’t stop staring, but I do peel my own clothes away—shirt, jeans, boxers—until I’m stripped bare.
My cock heavy in my hand, I stroke once, slowly, letting her see exactly what she does to me.
“We didn’t have this conversation beforehand,” I say, voice low, steady, “but I need to know right now if I’m allowed to take you bare.”
Her eyes go wide. “I’m not on birth control.”
“That wasn’t the question, Victoria.”
Her gaze flicks from my cock to my face, back again. “No. Not bare. I trust you, but I’m not ready for that.”
I nod. Relief washes through me. She doesn’t feel like she has to give me something she isn’t ready for. She knows she can say no.
“Good girl.”
Her thighs twitch and then clench at the words, and I file that away for later. Praise kink, activated.
“Now,” I murmur, tracing my fingertips from her ankle, up her calf, to her knee. I push her leg wide, anchor my knee against hers so she can’t close it.
My other hand grips her opposite thigh, spreading her fully.
Her breath stutters. Her gaze flickers between my face and my cock, anticipation written across every line of her body.
I lick my lips; she moans.
Dessert.
“Listen carefully,” I tell her, voice rough, deliberate. “And do not interrupt.”
She nods, wide-eyed. “Okay.”
“I’m going to kiss every inch of your bare skin before this night is over.
I will eat your pussy until you come on my face.
You will suck my cock exactly how I tell you, and you’ll swallow every drop.
And I will fuck you—at least twice—before morning.
I will bite your piercings. I will spank your ass.
I will pull your hair. But I will not hurt you.
I will not leave a mark. Do you understand? ”
Tori nods. She squirms beneath me, panting, barely holding back sound.
“Is there anything in that list you don’t want?”
She shakes her head fast. “No.”
“Do you want control, or do you want me to worship you while you do as you’re told?”
Her breath shudders. “I’ll do as I’m told.”
The smile that spreads across my face is dark, certain, hungry.
“Perfect. Now take off that bra while I remove these panties with my teeth.”