Chapter 19
19
Kit
Heat washes over me.
I’m on fire. A molten river of hot, velvet lava.
And the bastard hasn’t even touched me yet.
This is fine. Just fine.
Leaning on the door of my coat closet, a bottle of cold champagne clutched in one hand and Jake Brand’s huge, callused hand sliding into my underwear with the kind of efficiency that comes from vast experience.
Where he’ll find me wet and ready. The way I am every time he’s around.
It’s a Pavlov’s dogs situation by now. Jake walks into a room and I turn to mush. And that’s before he went and mentioned his tongue inside me and all those other things I really, really didn’t want this to be about.
Now, as he edges one thick, rough finger under the waistband of my high cut cotton granny panties, all I’m capable of doing is leaning my head back against the wall and doing my best to look unaffected.
I don’t know why this is important, but it is.
It’s essential that he not know how much my body wants this.
Maybe it’s because I’ve never felt like this—not with Clark, not ever. My libido’s gone haywire for Jake and my body feels like it’s been trained like those dogs. Aching and edgy and constantly, constantly ready any time he’s around.
“There we go,” he mutters in that dark, slightly southern accent, his fingers fanning out over the pubic hair I told myself I didn’t have to shave for a man who wasn’t my boyfriend. At least he won’t see it this way. In the shadowy hall with my yoga pants firmly in place.
Yeah right. Who am I kidding? After that whole speech he gave me a second ago, there’s no way in hell he’ll give me a chance to hide again in the dark or under clothes. The man’s thrown down the sexual gauntlet and if I choose to take him up on his challenge, he’ll be calling the shots from here on out.
A shiver runs through me.
“See? That wasn’t hard, now was it?”
I growl.
“Just hold still, Katarina.” He gives my mound a little slap and I immediately obey.
“Oh, baby. Look at all this,” his mouth oozes words beside my ear. “Fuck, Kit, you little liar.”
It’s because he’s slipped down between my lips and found out just how wet I’ve gotten in these last few minutes.
“I didn’t lie.” I sound like a bratty teenager. “I never said I wasn’t turned on.”
He snorts in disbelief while the hard callused edge of one finger explores parts of me I’ve mostly ignored these past few months. Hell, even before the breakup, because Clark never spent much time down there or even worrying about how sex felt for me at all.
My eyes shut hard on the pleasure of Jake there, sliding over my stiff clit and down to a place he knows intimately, but has never once seen.
When I think of it that way—when I take my feelings and fears and everything else out of the equation—it does seem unfair, somehow, that I’ve kept him from touching, looking, tasting.
That one finger feels huge this way, with his big body hemming mine in and his breath so close to my face.
Between the cold champagne bottle in my hand and Jake, I’m trapped here, which is a relief, somehow. If he’s making me do this, then I’m entirely absolved of responsibility.
I shudder when he rubs back up and nudges my clit again, sending pleasure racing through my nerves.
“You’re such a good girl, Kit, getting all swollen and wet for me like this. It’ll feel so good when I fuck you,” he whispers.
“ Jake ,” I admonish, embarrassed as hell by his words.
“Sorry. Should I be telling you to hold still?” He huffs out a humorless sound. “Grit your teeth? Shut your eyes while I administer a dose of medicinal fingering before we move on to the main procedure?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, well. Forget the no-talking rule.” He shakes his head and shifts closer, glides his hand deeper again to gather my wetness and draw it up to where he’s concentrating his energies.
My entire body curls in on itself at the spark of rough fingers to stiff clit.
“That rule,” he breathes, the words coinciding with the slow swirl of his fingers in a way that makes the whole thing bigger, harsher, brighter. “Wasn’t in the contract, was it? In’t that true?”
It’s true. It’s true, it wasn’t in the contract. We talked about it, mentioned an addendum, but it was clearly a joke and now, here I am, being talked dirty to in the hallway of my house while Macon’s chihuahua barks up a storm next door and Mrs. Kreighton’s probably throwing all her weeds over the fence into my yard and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but this. “I guess,” I manage to eke out, since he’s clearly waiting for a response. The truth is, I’ve got no idea what we’re talking about.
“And this, what I’m doing here?” His head bends, bringing his nose not quite against my cheek. “Fingering your tight little pussy like this? There’s actually no rule against that, is there? No mention of finger-fucking in the contract, was there?”
When I shake my head it brings my skin against his, presses his words into my cheekbone, imprints him there like it’s where he’s meant to be.
“It was touching or…unnecessary foreplay,” I remind him, ever the good student.
“Oooooh, that’s it. Right. Well, that’s gone. Dust. You and your sweet little, soaking wet pussy decided to forego that rule, didn’t you? You’re a bad girl, actually, Katarina.”
“No,” I moan, truly upset, for some inexplicable reason.
“You are. ’Cause now that we’ve blown through it, it’s gone. That’s how this works. You get that, right?”
“Oh, god.”
“Yep. Better pull up the contract so we can scratch out some of those rules. What do we have so far?”
“I don’t…I can’t…”
“Was there a rule about licking? Hmmmm, can’t quite recall now.”
My eyes fly open as I turn quickly to protest, but his body’s there to staunch the flow and box me in again. “Shhhhh, shhhhh, don’t get bent out of shape over nothing, Katarina. I’m not licking your little pussy right now, so calm the hell down.”
He’s right. He’s not. But he’s introduced the idea and that’s as good as.
“I’m not sucking this little clit.” His deft fingers surround what feels like the nucleus of every active nerve in my body and pinch, hard enough to make me gasp. “Christ, that looks good. You know how much I’ve wanted to see you when you’re like this, huh?” Another pinch makes me try to bend double. Of course he stops me with that body. The bastard.
“Let me sum up, though, what we’re crossing off the menu, huh?”
“Okay,” I whisper, half hating myself for agreeing and more than half turned on that he’s calling it a menu.
“Restaurant sex: Check. Biting: Check. Unnecessary foreplay: Double-check.”
I hum while he caresses me deep and firm.
“Is this petting? Huh?”
I shake my head, still somehow fighting to maintain a boundary or two.
“Every expression on your face, Kit, is so goddamn perfect.” His sharp inhale sounds hollow in my ear. “Like now. When I slide in between your lips like this.” He eases down, separating me smoothly, explicitly. “Sweet, silky soft, fluttering open for me, like a flower. Like petals.”
I work hard to give him a bitter half-laugh. “You a poet now?”
“Can be.”
“When it…suits you?”
“Sure. I could tell you how the swell of your bottom lip makes me think of biting ripe fruit, my teeth sinking in.”
I can’t help a moan at the idea, the way his hand’s working me while his words wind me up.
“Yeah. Hell, yeah. Look at that mouth. Plump and plush and prime for the picking.”
“That’s…nice alliteration.”
“Fuck, I love when you talk in big words for me, Katarina. So smart. So fucking hoity-toity and well bred.”
“Don’t…”
“No? Too much?” Another easy skim down, down to breach me, deep and slow and we know—we both know —that he’s taking his time with this. He’s making it last. And the only thing I can’t figure out is if there’s a power thing happening here or if it truly gives him pleasure to watch me writhe. Maybe both. Definitely.
The point fritters away to irrelevance when a second finger joins the first and his hand twists to an angle that no one’s ever used before and suddenly what felt languidly sexy becomes an urgent need to…
“I’m gonna come.” I sound shocked—I am . At once somehow begging him to stop and to make it happen and hurry up and I don’t even know how or when my free hand wrapped itself around his wrist, but it’s there and it’s holding him and my fingers don’t even span his width there and that…that…that…
His size, his smell, the way he nudges closer with his nose and tells me how good he’ll suck my pussy when I let him. Not if, when. How his tongue and his hands together will make me come so hard I’d see stars. How I’ll beg for his cock. How he’ll get on his back and drag me on top of him and split me wide open on his face and just feast.
“Stop, stop, stop talking,” I whisper against his chest while my insides screw tighter and the ache gets deeper and I tug at his wrist, and it’s not to pull him off me, but to press harder, drag him closer, more.
More. Please, more.
His thumb’s strumming me, fast, and his fingers press deep and if I let myself suck in his scent I’ll be nothing but animal pleasure and want, and want.
“Should I stop?” He grates out, low and mean. “Stop telling you how you smell like sex and I’ll bet you’ll taste like goddamn sugar? No? Yeah? Should I not say that I’m gonna come so deep and so hard inside you today I’ll be leaking out for hours. Tomorrow at work. And then, Kitty, you know what I’ll do?”
I shake my head no, though the words are almost meaningless against the swelling tide he’s conjuring between my legs. It’s almost too much and also nothing, nothing could stop me from bearing down and seeking out this thing he’s hell bent on giving me. “What?” I gasp as if I need the answer as much as the climax.
“Tomorrow, I’ll take you in the supply closet. You head in there for bevnaps or straws or some shit and I’ll shove a box against the door and bend you over and use this perfect little hole to empty my balls into. It’s what you want, isn’t it? What you asked for? You want to be bred, right?” He’s fucking me hard with his hand now, and, oh god, how does he do it so well? The motion of his fingers like a come here is somehow pressing on the part of me I didn’t know needed pressure and it’s twisting me higher and higher, making my insides feel tight and full enough to burst. I’ve got to pee for a second, but not. “In’t that what you wanted me to do? Fuck you full of my come and fill this belly up so it’s huge and tight and your tits…” He groans and I realize his hips are moving with the cadence of his hands. My entire body is moving with it. Dancing to the rhythm he’s forced on me. “Christ, you’ll look so good like that. You want that? My come overflowing your pussy every second of the day?”
I clench, too tight , at the crassness of his words. I can’t… I can’t… “No,” I mutter, though I’ve no idea if it’s in response to the dirty way he speaks or the idea that he can take me at work—again—and I’ll just let him. Or or or it’s something else. The way I want exactly what he’s offering. Promising. Threatening.
“Yeah. Yeah, you’ll take it like a good girl.” A grunt. His, I think. Or was it mine? “My good girl. My sweet, good girl.”
Oh god, oh, god, oh god, every word is punctuated by a deep thrust of his fingers. I’m up on my toes, straining. Stretching, arching. Trying to escape it, while every cell reaches toward it.
“That’s it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, baby. That’s it. That’s it. I’ve got you. Oh, Katarina, sweetheart, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Let go, yeah. Fuck. Fuck. Give it to me.” His voice, those words, the thump thump thump of the door, all of it disappears in the supernova blast that takes over.
“I got you,” I hear one more time, and then I’m gone.