Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Markie
“Okay,” I tease as I land on the soft blue bedding. “That’s one way to tell me you get what I’m saying.”
“Babe, it’s never been that I don’t understand what you’re saying.” He peels his shirt off and tosses it on the floor. “I think I understand you all too well.”
Watching him undress is elite foreplay. The man is built like a god.
Sure, I’ve seen him shirtless and in shorts a few times, but seeing it all come together in front of me like this—like a real-life version of the fictional man who’s ravished me in my dreams for the past almost five months—is wild.
Every piece of him is perfection. Wide shoulders.
Barrel chest. Arms strong enough to pick me up and toss me around like I weigh nothing.
His thighs are tree trunks, with a tattoo extending onto his right hip.
And, as he steps out of his shorts and stands straight up, I feast my eyes on the pièce de résistance.
That cock.
I prop myself up on my elbows to better appreciate the gift I’m being bestowed, like the universe is apologizing for letting me down throughout my life. Because none of those … boys—I can’t even call them men now—can even compare.
“Warn a girl,” I say, struggling to find words for quite possibly the first time in my life.
He smirks, grabbing the base and stroking. A bead of precum glistens on the head, and I could be convinced without much trouble to cover it with my mouth and suck it clean.
“Warn a girl?” His smirk deepens. “Sorry. I learned my lesson last night,” he says, pumping up his shaft again. “Ask, and you shall receive.”
My body hums with anticipation, with too much restless energy to sit still. The way he looks at me, like I’m an oasis in the middle of a desert, doesn’t help at all. But what does help—what shakes me out of the haze enough to get my wits about me—is his words.
Ask and you shall receive.
“I hope you mean that,” I say, grinning.
His hand slows. “Why do I feel like I might regret saying that?”
“Because someone,” I say, pulling my dress slowly up my legs, “sent me home last night with more sexual frustration than I could stand.”
His eyes are glued to the edge of the fabric, and they grow dark when the movement stops at the tops of my thighs. His reaction is heady—nearly intoxicating. The obvious desire Jory has for me repairs any of my ego he might’ve cracked last night.
“So, rugby boy, here’s what we’re going to do,” I say, each word crisp. I pause until his gaze lands on mine. “You’re going to beg.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Beg.” I shrug as if it’s a given. “Get on your knees and beg for me.”
My breath stalls in my chest as the heat in his gaze threatens to burn me down. I can feel my body pulsing with each inhale and shaking as the air leaves my lungs.
I’m not sure what his reaction will be, and I’m not even entirely sure what result I’m after. Do I want him to actually beg? Do I want him on his knees? The hell if I know. I’m playing a game, most certainly with fire, but being burned might be worth it.
Slowly, methodically, he stalks toward the bed. His fingertips are the first to touch the comforter. Then it’s his knees. With his eyes glued to mine, he crawls up my body, hovering over me without contact, until his face is inches away.
With each breath, my chest brushes against his. His thick cock swipes against my leg. The intensity in his gaze is almost lethal, threatening to melt me on the spot. But instead of looking away or squirming, I give as good as I get.
“It appears that you can’t follow instructions, Mr. Plath,” I tease.
His chuckle is low and gravelly, the vibrations felt against my lips. Each ripple sends a shot of need straight to my core. My thighs are coated with desire, and I’m this close to reaching between them to alleviate some of the building pressure.
I gasp softly as Jory lowers his lips until they’re almost touching mine.
“Please,” he whispers, the words fluttering across my mouth.
It’s one word—a single syllable in the English language—but it might as well be a spark landing in dry tinder. Heat explodes inside me, racing from the spot where his breath touches my skin all the way to my toes.
I lift my chin, desperate for contact, but he only allows our lips to brush in the lightest, faintest way before pulling back.
“Hey,” I yelp, fighting irritation and frustration.
He grins mischievously, moving down my body until he’s at my feet. A hand grabs each ankle. I start to ask him what he’s doing, but all I manage is a gasp as he separates my legs in one quick motion.
“Oh!” I shriek as he pulls me toward him. My back skims smoothly across the comforter until he’s kneeling between my thighs and peering down at me like I’m a snack he’s about to devour.
“Please let me fuck you.” Gone is the tender whisper of before. Now every word is edged in temptation. “I’m on my knees and begging for your permission to lick …” His fingers press deeper into my skin. “Taste.” His palms travel closer to the apex. “And fuck you senseless.”
I suck in a breath as a startled, disbelieving laugh escapes me. My brain lacks the capacity to process the sensory overload. His touch, his gaze—his fucking words. It’s too much to absorb.
“This is no laughing matter,” he says, grinning.
I bite my lip, trying to stop my giggles. “No, it’s not.”
“Let me know if you need help keeping that mouth occupied.”
My smile turns into a smirk as I pull my dress up to my waist, putting my pussy on full display. “I was thinking that it was your mouth that needs something to do.” I toss him a wink before dragging the fabric up my body, exposing all of me, and then tossing it onto the floor.
“How are you real?” he asks, clearly in a state of shock. His gaze travels over me. “For fuck’s sake, Markie. How are you fucking real?”
I let my knees fall to the side as I pull the lace under my nipples, letting my tits set on the top of it.
“You haven’t exactly said yes,” he says, teasing me. “And if you’re not going to, you need to get some clothes on and get off my bed. Or you can also lie there and let me look at you while I jack off.”
I laugh. “You’re talking an awful lot for a man whose face is supposed to be buried between my thighs.”
He hops off the bed and drags me closer to the edge.
I hold my breath, suspended in a state of anticipation and lust, as he positions himself precisely where I instructed.
Seeing him framed between my thighs is a picture I try to sear into my brain, and I get about four seconds to accomplish this before his tongue slides through me.
My body trembles. “Oh fuck.”
It’s delicious. The friction against my clit. The sound of him eating me like I’m his last meal. The pressure of his fingers parting my flesh and hitting the sweet spot against the front wall of my pussy. It’s all amazing.
I reach for him, threading my fingers into his silky hair.
“Like that,” I breathe, grinding myself against his face. “Oh my gosh, Jory.”
My words are broken, splintered by the earliest waves of an orgasm. I close my eyes, digging the back of my head against the comforter as my back arches in pleasure.
“Harder,” I say, gritting my teeth as his fingers fuck me within an inch of my life.
It’s so deliriously good. And so worth the five-month wait to be ravaged like this.
Each thrust of his fingers gets me closer. Every nudge of his nose against my swollen bud brings me higher. And when he chuckles against my flesh before sucking my clit? I unravel.
I scream as I come, arching off the bed like I’ve been possessed. He holds me open, refusing to let me stop until every last drop of my orgasm has been extracted from me.
“I can’t,” I yell, fighting the desire to keep going and the need to stop.
I shake so hard I’m nearly convulsing and no longer own the faculties to make it stop. Tears cloud my vision from the intensity of the climax. No part of me is in my control.
Slowly, he brings me back to earth. And when I land, I’m a heap in the center of the bed.
“I was wrong before,” I whisper, my eyes still closed.
“About what?”
“This,” I say, laughing softly. “This is what should come with a warning.”
He squeezes my calf. “I’ll remember that for next time.”
There’s humor in his voice, and I sense him standing and moving across the room.
Water runs somewhere in the distance. I wiggle my toes, then dare to move my legs. I fill my lungs, open my eyes, and then sit up just in time to see Jory coming into the room from the en suite with a condom in his hand.
Instead of putting it on and getting busy, he surprises me by climbing next to me in bed. He lies on his side facing me and studies me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says, brushing a strand of hair off my forehead.
The tenderness of his voice wraps around my heart—a place it has no business, but it’s too late to keep it out. “Thanks.” I look up into his eyes and smile at him without an agenda. “You’re pretty damn gorgeous yourself.”
He chuckles. “Thanks.”
I reach up and play with the unruly hair at the nape of his neck. “I learned something new about myself tonight.”
He hums, running a fingertip down my arm.
“I didn’t know …” I stop myself and restart. “Well, to be honest, I’m not sure that I’ve ever yelled during a sexual encounter before. Not that I can remember. But I didn’t know I was that girl.”
“A screamer?” he teases. “You’re definitely loud. That’s something we’ll have to take into consideration next time in case Gus is home.”
His gaze finds mine as we grapple with the phrase next time. I hold my breath, waiting on a wave of panic to hit, but it doesn’t. If anything, it’s relief that settles over me.
“Next time, huh?” I ask, grinning at him.
“I mean, I hope. You didn’t sound disappointed, but if I’m wrong …” His smile stretches from ear to ear, mirroring mine. “If I’m wrong, tell me.”
“You know I would.” I laugh, laying my palm against the back of his head. “But you also know that I’m not. Not even a little bit.”