Chapter 15
Beatrice needed some time alone when they returned to the estate, so of course Vespa took that moment to chase after her.
“Hey, hold up!” she called, grabbing her arm.
Beatrice had been intent on her escape, and the sudden jerk caused her to wobble on her heels. She glared at the woman.
Vespa glared back, but her hand dropped. “I just need to clear the air. About earlier.”
Beatrice stared at her.
Vespa shifted, glancing around.
A whole crowd of Coronellas was staring back, Montrell included. He was smiling, though, while the others winced and looked away.
“Goddammit,” Vespa muttered, grabbing her arm again.
Beatrice let herself be dragged to the same bathroom where she’d bandaged up a drunken Montrell.
Vespa slammed the door behind them. She grabbed the tight bun at the back of her head as she scowled. “A few of them are probably pressing their ears against the door, but whatever. I’m sorry, okay?”
And then Beatrice remembered how she’d started her day: watching Montrell grin and laugh in Vespa’s face while the other woman was straddling his lap.
She felt stupid. How big of her, to offer Montrell an ear to talk to. Her husband had the perfect person right there, who knew exactly how he felt about his mother. And suddenly she was jealous, just like Montrell had accused her of being.
It made her words tighter as she lifted an eyebrow and folded her arms. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”
Vespa flushed. “Yes, dammit. I know what it looked like, and I had no business being in your husband’s lap. I mean, it’s not like that between us, but it’s still wrong.” She actually looked a little embarrassed.
Which pissed Beatrice off more. “So you humping him wasn’t like that?”
“I wasn’t humping him!” Vespa’s gaze flew to the door, and she lowered her voice. “Look, he’s my best friend, and I forget he’s a guy sometimes. That’s all.”
It was easy to picture Montrell in the bathroom. His thick body had taken up all the space the other night. His brown eyes had been extra sexy, all dopey like that. And there was never any missing his full beard. “Bullshit. Montrell is all man.”
Vespa glared at the floor this time as she tugged on her hair. “I mean, I know he’s a man. But he and I, we’re not like that. I don’t see him as sexual.”
Remembering the way he’d talked to her as he’d touched her the night before, Beatrice felt a little warm. She cleared her throat. “He’s very sexual.” Admitting it made her want to bite off her own tongue.
Vespa shrugged. “Not for me. And that makes him safe.”
Beatrice’s stomach tightened at the flash of emotion she saw on the woman’s face. If she hadn’t been watching her so closely, she doubted she’d have seen it. “Vespa, are you scared of men?” she asked softly.
Vespa’s glare was back. “Fuck off! I’m not scared of anything.” But her arms folded over her chest in a defensive way. “We’re not talking about me. The lap thing only happened because Montrell asked me to be all buddy-buddy with you, and I got annoyed and overdid it and lost my balance. That’s all.”
“He what?” Beatrice blinked at her.
Vespa rolled her shoulders. “Not an excuse, though. I won’t get carried away like that again. He’s married, and I’m happy for him.” Her gaze locked back onto hers. “You could be nicer to him, though. He’s a good guy.”
Beatrice ignored the reprimand. She didn’t disagree. “He wants us to be friends?”
Vespa snorted. “It ain’t going to happen.”
“Definitely not,” Beatrice agreed.
“But I can say when I’m wrong, and my behavior was wrong today. So… sorry.”
Beatrice still didn’t like Vespa, but it was getting harder to hate her. “Apology accepted.”
Vespa nodded once. “Good.”
As the silence between them fell, they both looked away. Beatrice remembered the expression Vespa had worn at the Di Salvo estate, and her lips twitched. “Do you need another hug or something?”
Vespa groaned, finally reaching for the door. “Fuck off!” she repeated, stomping away.
There really were Coronellas still gathered in the hallway. Not that they’d been pressed against the door or anything, but Vespa hadn’t exactly been whispering.
Beatrice ignored them, even Montrell, as she slipped up to her room. Being alone in the middle of a crowd of people had always been easy for her. She listened, gathering tidbits she could use, but she never got involved.
But when she’d been at the bottom of the stairs in the Di Salvo estate, everything had paused. She’d stood beside Montrell often in the last few weeks, but in that moment, it was as if she could feel his shoulder against hers, even if they weren’t touching at all.
More than anything, she’d wanted to comfort him, though that would have never worked. She didn’t even know how to comfort herself. If he’d even needed to be comforted at all, which she still wasn’t certain about, it was better that he had Vespa for that type of thing.
Still, for the first time, she hadn’t been thinking about herself at all. She’d become so damn self-involved that it made her sick. She’d needed to, Beatrice reminded herself. That’s how she’d survived. And here she was, still alive, but with no idea how to live at all. She was too scared to feel anything.
Like she had the night before, Beatrice studied herself in the mirror. She didn’t like what she saw. She hadn’t for a long time.
The person who had quietly asked her husband if he was okay was another side of her. She kind of liked that person. If she got closer to Montrell, if she let him care about her, would she be able to reciprocate? Could she ever love anyone? She didn’t even love herself. Especially not the part that wanted to curl up at the thought of returning to Montrell’s room. He’d warned her. He’d make her feel again.
Feeling anything was hard. The ice and emptiness were easier.
Her mind continued to race in circles as night fell. The nightgown she’d left in the shower had been removed and washed. She found it folded in her dresser. She wondered if Giulia had been the one to do it, and if Montrell’s cum had still been on it.
The silky nightgown felt good to slip on. She dragged off her underwear like she had the night before, and she slipped on her bracelets again, adjusting them just so over her scars.
Deciding to go to him was the hardest part. Beatrice had hated being raped. She’d had no choice in the matter. But having the choice be all hers was a different sort of pressure that she didn’t like either.
Montrell had said he liked to be in control. She wondered what it would be like to let him be, even their first time had been at her instigating.
She shouldn’t get her hopes up. The night before was likely an aberration. It wasn’t as if she was getting wet thinking about her orgasm. She’d been honest with Montrell: Her body didn’t ready itself for sex anymore. It had been let down too many times in the past.
He had that slippery lube, though, and thinking about the lube made her feel something. Not turned on. She pictured how disgusted her previous husband would have been if they’d ever tried to use it. He’d been the fastidious sort. That’s why his cousin had felt so confident raping her ass. Her husband didn’t like to be dirty. In fact, he hadn’t ever forced himself inside her mouth. There were too many germs in saliva. Blood was fine—he’d raped her while she was on her period as punishment for not getting pregnant—but he had never wanted her dirty mouth on him.
She wondered when she would be free of the memories. Probably never.
The hallway was quiet as she slipped out of her room and into the one next door. Montrell didn’t stir this time. He was snoring the loud, deep rumbles of someone truly asleep.
Must be nice.
She flushed as she remembered how well she’d slept after getting to bed the night before. The orgasm had done that. Montrell had said he masturbated often. Maybe that was why he slept so soundly now. Maybe he’d already fucked his own hand.
Her lip curled at the thought. It shouldn’t have made her feel annoyed. It didn’t, she told herself, even as she stalked to the bed, feet slapping against the cold floorboards.
He continued to snore as if he hadn’t been waiting for her at all.
The thought prompted her to flip the covers off of him like she had the night before. He’d been naked then, and he was naked again. Apparently that was how he slept.
His cock had already been tenting the sheet when she’d arrived the night before. That had been convenient; she’d had only one purpose. A purpose he hadn’t appreciated.
Studying the size of him—even limp against his leg, he looked big—made her question that purpose. She’d never told her husband that she’d seen one bigger. He’d never doubted she’d been a virgin on their wedding night. No, Montrell was her secret. She’d been filled with him once before, and it hadn’t hurt at all.
She’d been lucky back then. Her body had known how to work. A cock hadn’t seemed like a thrusting sword intent on ripping her apart.
Her hand reached out. Montrell wasn’t erect, but she’d expected him to feel hard, not silky and soft and strangely pleasant to touch. It was especially easy to trace the veins under his skin.
Montrell continued to snore. His whole body wasn’t asleep, though. As her curiosity rose and her hand continued to explore, his cock grew very much awake. It lifted from his thigh, jutting out instead. His cock was silky to the touch, even as he became hard under her lingering fingers.
She wondered what expression he would make if he woke up inside her mouth. The thought of it made her lick her lips and study his face. There was a little crease on his forehead as if he knew something was going on, but wasn’t quite sure what.
Maybe he’d look as surprised as he had when she’d asked him if he was okay. He hadn’t expected her to care.
That realization made her hand move away. Montrell had no expectations of her at all. In fact, if he knew she was thinking about putting her mouth on him, he’d stop her. Not because it grossed him out or he thought it was dirty, but because Montrell only wanted to please her. He’d never hurt her. He preferred the opposite—to give.
The idea of giving to him instead took away her fears. Her heartbeat sped up in her chest. She wanted to give to him.
Montrell had seemed happy when he’d made her orgasm the night before. She wanted that feeling for herself.
Beatrice crawled on the bed, sitting on his legs. The pressure of her weight interrupted his snoring. Worried he’d stop her, she bent over his erection, taking it into her mouth.
Montrell had thought of the night before while he was whacking off in the shower, but he’d felt guilty about it, so he’d switched to his more tried-and-true memories of her. The ones that he’d polished as often as his cock. As he’d gotten closer, the memory of her slickness the night before, dripping with lube, had drifted in, unbidden. The subtle shimmy of her hips as she sought his touch had been sexy as hell. He imagined the way the tip of his cock had felt inside her, but he pictured her pulsing around it as she orgasmed, and he’d flooded the goddamn wall.
He’d meant to take the edge off in case she came that night because he’d been truthful with her that morning. If she came to him, it was going to be all about getting her to orgasm as many times as he could get away with before she ran again.
As he’d slipped into bed, naked but not hard, he’d thought of her. This time, it was nothing about sex. No, he’d remembered her asking if he was okay, and his damn chest constricted, just as it had before.
So it wasn’t surprising that his subconscious dreamed about her, but the damn bastard started halfway through, with her mouth already surrounding his cock. He groaned as he watched her cheeks pull in while she sucked hard.
“Fucking hell,” he choked out. She barely had any of him inside her mouth, and he already wanted to come. “This dream is so damn wrong.”
There was no way Beatrice would really want to do that to him. She didn’t want sex at all.
His mind must have agreed because dream Beatrice lifted her head. “You dream about me?” she asked. The slight smile he’d been craving tilted up her lips.
“Every damn night,” he admitted. Why not? His mind already knew. “Ever since we were together, I’ve masturbated to nothing else.”
Her lips were smiling as she licked up the length of him. Fuck, that was hot.
“What would I be doing to you?” she asked, sounding breathless. It was a sweet fantasy. Beatrice was never breathless.
She’d become breathless the night before, though, right before she orgasmed from his touch. He felt almost desperate just thinking about that.
Her head lowered, licking at his slit. It felt so good. So real.
“Tell me what to do,” she told him, sounding like his darkest fantasy.
“Nothing,” he admitted, and her smile dropped. “I should be the one touching you.” He frowned at the truth of that, but then she took him into her mouth again and thinking became hard.
Everything was so fucking hard.
She tried to take him deeper and gagged.
“No, don’t force it.” His hand reached for her hair, sifting through the strands as he tried to soothe her. “You’re being so good to me, but only take what’s comfortable. I know I’m big. Wrap your hand around the rest.” When she immediately did, he had to breathe through the sensation so he didn’t come. “Oh, fuck, that’s good.” Her mouth loosened as she stopped trying to shove lower, sliding him out and in again. “Yeah, just like that,” he begged, trying to hold his hips still. He wasn’t going to last long at all.
His other hand settled in her hair as he relaxed into the bed, trying to deny his need to thrust.
“Pump down with your hand.” She squeezed as she did it. He hadn’t told her to squeeze, and his balls drew up. “Fuck, Bea, yeah, just like that. Your mouth is heaven.” And it was, but he wished he was inside her. He tried to imagine it, but the scene didn’t change. Her tongue began to stroke the bottom of him too.
He groaned. “Damn it, your tongue. Not gonna last.” His breath rushed back in as her tongue retreated, as if she’d thought he didn’t like it. “No, do it again. I loved it.” His hands tightened in her hair as her mouth shifted, and she gave him not only her tongue but a scrape of light teeth.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he chanted, his hips thrusting before he could stop them. Her hand squeezed tighter as she pulled back in surprise. He groaned as he watched her lick her lips.
When she looked up at him, hovering over his cock, he began to think he wasn’t dreaming. Her expression had tightened as if she was anxious.
“I’m sorry, Bea,” he said. The apology was automatic, but he was also panicking because he was so close. Too close to want to stop. “You’re so fucking amazing.” She smiled again, and he relaxed. Only Dream Beatrice would smile like that as she tried to swallow him whole.
Her mouth reached her hand this time as she worked him over again. It was too much. He wanted to hold on tight and drag her down as he thrust his hips up. He scrambled for restraint instead, his body beginning to shake. “Fuck, I’m going to come. Lift up, Bea. Lift if you don’t want to swallow.”
Beatrice scrambled away, and his hand replaced hers on his cock. He was already coming. He shouted as he thrust into his fist and creamed his own stomach. His eyes didn’t close, but instead stared into her startled ones as she watched his face as he climaxed.
His legs were shaking as he sank into the bed and tried to make his mind work.
She didn’t disappear. She was wearing that same strappy nightie. Her eyes dropped to where his own cum stuck to his hairy abs, and her delicate nose wrinkled a little.
He wasn’t dreaming.
Which meant his wife had snuck into his room and given him a blow job.
Montrell jerked the sheet and comforter over his sticky self as he barked, “Come here!”
Beatrice scrambled up from the bed.
He didn’t blame her. He’d sounded frustrated and angry. Because he was. While he was sticky, she wasn’t at all. And he’d hate himself for it once he stopped feeling so goddamn good.
“Please, Bea,” he said, trying to let a softer tone of voice in. “Let me return the favor.”
She didn’t run, but she didn’t come closer.
That was for the best. His control was in tatters as his need to touch her grew. His breath stuttered when she took a step toward him.
“Fair warning,” he rasped. When she froze again, he took a deeper breath, trying to calm his hammering heart. “If you climb up here, I’m taking over.”
“Please,” she snorted. “You just released a geyser.” It wasn’t a small smile but a full-blown smirk that graced her lips as she climbed on top of him. She looked just as she should as she stared down at him, satisfied at one-upping him. “I did that.”
His arms wrapped around her, startling her into stiffening as he rolled her onto her back. “Yes, you did. Let me taste that dirty mouth.” His words brought a shuttering to her eyes that he regretted. He kissed her anyway.
Montrell tried to keep it gentle and sweet, but her mouth opened and her tongue thrust against his, and before he knew what he was doing, he was devouring her instead. His mouth slanted over hers again and again as he fought himself for control. The more his tongue dipped inside, mapping out every inch of her, the more she relaxed beneath him. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he began to lift away, and he growled and thrust his tongue inside her hot mouth all over again.
His cock had been there only minutes before. Already it strained toward her, but he kept it away. Besides his mouth, he tried to press against her as little as possible.
When her hands brushed across the bandages on his shoulders, she stiffened.
Montrell lifted his head. Even in the dimness of his bedroom, her lips looked swollen. He’d been too rough. He didn’t apologize, though. “Fuck, I love your mouth.” He let his thumb brush over her bottom lip.
“So dirty is good?”
“Everything about you is good.” Montrell dipped his head. This time, he could be gentle. “You’re such a good girl, Bea, coming to me like this.”
Her hips shifted on the bed.
He liked that. He decided it meant she was hot for him already, and he reached for the short hem of her nightie. “Did you come here without underwear again?” he asked, breathing through his own renewed arousal as he moved between her legs.
She had, in fact, come to him without underwear again. His fingers brushed over the warm center of her, but he didn’t find it soaking like he’d imagined he would.
His hand stilled. She wasn’t wet at all. Tension filled him at the idea that she hadn’t sucked him out of desire. “Did you not like using your mouth on me?”
Her eyes squeezed shut at whatever she saw on his face, and she tried to roll away.
Montrell gave her a bit of his weight to keep her where she was. He tried to smooth his frown away. “Answer me.” His voice was too gruff, and he cleared it. “Did you hate doing what you did to me?”
Her brows drew together. “I didn’t hate it,” she whispered. Her eyes opened, searching his face. “I should have swallowed. You would have liked that better.”
“No shoulds. You do what’s right for you.” He leaned down, kissing her nose. “Besides, I liked it. Too much. Especially if it hurt you.” He wanted to ask her if her husband had forced her to do that, if he’d raped her mouth, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment any more than he already had.
She scowled. “It didn’t hurt me. It was my idea.” Her eyes shifted to look over his shoulder instead of at him. “I wanted you to like it. I wanted to drive you crazy.”
“You did.” Some of his tension left, and his finger lightly stroked her slit. “Fuck, I came so hard. That was all you.”
Her mouth thinned as she stiffened, and he stopped even that much of a caress.
“I’ll do better next time,” she promised.
She’d kill him if she did any better, but he couldn’t say it around the lump that formed in his throat. She was back to looking vulnerable.
“He thought doing that was dirty, so I don’t have a ton of experience with it,” she admitted.
Her doing that had been about her other husband, after all. His cock calmed down some.
“It was dirty,” he said, leaning down to let his next words brush over her ear. “Fucking filthy.” A small shiver ran through her, dancing his finger over her slit. “I want to make you filthier. Will you run if I roll over to grab the lube?”
She stiffened, her eyes searching his when he lifted his head. “You’re disappointed, aren’t you? It’d be better if I was already dripping.”
Montrell wished his every thought didn’t show on his face. “No, Bea. I frowned because I didn’t know why you sucked me off. I didn’t like the idea of you forcing yourself to do anything you don’t want to do.”
Her body softened under his again. “I’ll only do what I want.”
“Promise me?” He held his breath, waiting.
She sighed. “Sure. I promise. But, Montrell?”
He loved his name on her lips. He wanted her to scream it. “Yeah?”
“It’s not always about desire. I sometimes want things for different reasons.”
He hesitated. “But not pain reasons?”
She made an exasperated sound. “I’m not the masochist you seem to think I am. I just wanted to give you an orgasm. You looked kind of sad today.”
He lost his breath, and his voice came out weak. “You wanted to be giving, Bea?”
“Don’t get excited. It won’t happen often.” The sulky tilt of her mouth reminded him that it had been wrapped around his cock not long before.
More than anything, he needed his wife to come. He needed to be the one to make her do it. “That’s okay. I prefer to be the one doing the giving.” He rolled toward the nightstand, grabbing the lube and the other item he’d left there to charge earlier. “But make no mistake. This is going to be about desire. And don’t fret about not being wet enough.” He slipped the vibrator under the pillow before squeezing out some lube on his fingers. “I love slicking you up myself. Spread your thighs.”
She didn’t obey him this time. Instead, she bit her lip. He loved when she painted them, and he wanted to smear her lipstick someday soon, but the natural pink of them was sexy, too.
“Please, Bea,” he murmured, giving her lips a swift kiss that startled a gasp from between them.
“What if I can’t orgasm?”
“You let me worry about that. I have a big ego that doesn’t bruise that easy.” He wriggled his slick fingers. “Now, nightie up, legs open.”
She stared up at the ceiling as she did as he asked.
And he was achingly hard again. “Good girl,” he mumbled, not making her wait.
His fingers were thick and clumsy sometimes, but he kept them gentle as he rubbed the lube over her. Her clit was still tucked away, but gentle passes over the hood that covered it had her breath sucking in.
He teased at her lips as well, but she didn’t shudder when he touched there. Not like she shuddered when he circled around her clit, not directly over it. Not yet. He didn’t want to rush anything. He wanted to memorize exactly how she liked to be teased. When he pulled away for another squeeze of lube, her hips rose. It made him feel like a fucking god, and he squeezed a little too hard on the bottle.
Not wanting to waste the excess, he rooted under the pillow for the small, rounded vibrator he’d purchased for her. It wasn’t cold and metal. It was blue with a purple button and material that felt soft, but it was soon slick as he rubbed the lube over it.
Beatrice was staring at it. “You’re not going to touch me?”
“Sure I am,” he said, putting the bullet in his other hand as he reached between her legs again. The lube helped his touch slide as he teased around her with his fingers. “I love touching you. But I want you to get comfortable touching yourself too. A bullet is a nice entry point for masturbation.”
Her eyes remained focused on the bullet, which looked smaller clutched between his thick fingers. Her legs shifted wider as he continued to deny her clit. “But what if I like it better?” Her hips shifted, and she sucked in a breath as the movement dragged his finger just where she wanted.
He rewarded her with a steady stroke. “I hope you fucking love it.” He slowed even more as a tremor ran through her. “I’m not selfish. Anything is fair game if it’ll get you there over and over again. There can’t be enough orgasms.”
Her eyes closed as she tried to relax. The next drag of his finger made her whimper. “Are you focusing, Bea? See how good it can feel?”
“I’m not—” She licked her lips, her eyes not opening. “I’m not close. I just—” She gasped again.
“Like it?” He swirled instead of stroking. “Don’t worry about being close or not. Liking it is more than enough. Do you like this?” He swirled again, mostly avoiding the clit. Then he slid right over it, up and down. “Or that?”
“Tha-at,” she groaned, and he did it again. “Oh, God, that!”
“Are you sure?” he asked, switching directions. He stroked from left to right instead. “What about this?”
Her brow furrowed as she bit her lip.
“No?” he asked, reading her face. Wanting to tease her, he switched back to the barely nudging swirl. “Was it this?”
“I—” Her hips shimmied against the bed. He shifted with them, keeping his finger tantalizingly close to her clit. She tried to shift again, her hands clenching on the bed.
“It’s okay. You can tell me it’s good.” But he swirled and didn’t stroke, delighting in the sulky set to her mouth. “Remember, it’s okay if you can’t orgasm.”
Her eyes opened in a glare just before he stroked her the way she preferred. His pressure stayed soft, but the lube was slick, and he rubbed her faster.
“Montrell!” she cried, grabbing his hand and pressing it harder against her.
The feel of her fingers around his wrist, holding him there, broke his rhythm. He wanted to curse. She’d almost climaxed, but now she flopped to the bed as if she’d given up, her hands pulling away.
“Sorry. You surprised me.” He left off on his teasing, stroking the way he now knew she liked. Her breath caught, but her excitement had receded.
He pulled away, showing her the bullet again. “Want to try some vibrations?” He was glad he hadn’t pressed it against her when he pushed the button. The first setting shook his goddamn hand. Her eyes widened at the sound of it in the open, even though it was supposed to be the quiet type. “There’re multiple settings,” he murmured. He pressed through them. When one buzzed in a gradually increasing rhythm before returning to is baseline again, she blinked.
Fuck, she really did want to be teased.
He flicked back to the lightest one instead. “Let’s start basic. Be a good girl and give me more room to play.”
When she immediately spread her legs wider, he had to breathe through his own tightening need. Tonight wasn’t supposed to be about him.
Beatrice needed to learn that she could orgasm just fine. No matter how long it took to give her not one, but multiple.
He moved the vibrator between her legs, starting high. Even light, direct clit action would be too much when she loved to be teased. Her shoulders relaxed as he let the low vibrations stimulate her body above her clit instead.
Her hands shifted over the bunched-up nightie gathered on her stomach. He couldn’t help but look above where they rested. The way she lay flat had also flattened her chest. He felt a pang as he realized he’d skipped her breasts altogether.
Her gaze followed his own. Tension climbed through her body as her hands curled around the bunched-up material.
“If you tug it down, I’ll use my mouth on your nipples,” he promised.
“I—” Her eyes flashed to his, then back to her hands, which clenched tighter. “No.” Her head jerked in a harder denial, rubbing along the pillow.
Something was there, hiding behind her ‘no.’ Her body had tightened to the point of thrumming, but not for a good reason.
Montrell dropped the idea for the time being, shifting the vibrator down. It wasn’t directly on her clit, but closer, so the vibrations could tease at its hood.
She gasped, her eyes squeezing shut.
His other hand curled over her thigh, rubbing light circles as he slowly shifted the vibrator closer to the prize.
“Do you feel it?” he asked. “Is it enough? Or do you want it closer?”
She swallowed but didn’t answer, her head tilting back to expose her throat.
God, he wanted to lower his face and drag his lips over her warm, soft skin, but her hands were still clenched tight.
“You’re beginning to ache, aren’t you? Don’t worry, Bea. The throb is good. Focus on the throb.” He edged closer. The bullet he’d chosen had a wider tip than some, and he reached her clit sooner than he anticipated.
Her hips jerked her away, and her brow furrowed again.
“Too much?” he murmured. He shifted the bullet higher again, teasing above her clit.
Her eyes opened. “Montrell,” she started, a rasp in her voice. “I don’t think—”
“It’s okay if you don’t come. Let’s just see what you like.” He lifted the bullet to thumb through the vibrations, finding the rhythmic one she’d shown interest in. Then he lubed it up again before he moved it back. “In fact, it’s better not to expect it. No pressure.” He dragged the lubed bullet lightly over her clit while it was low, moving it higher again as the vibration pulsed harder.
Montrell moved the vibrator horizontally, letting it press over more of her pussy as the vibration spiked and then went flat. The tip barely reached her clit as the pulsing started again. Her knees pulled up, shifting his hand along her thigh. The bullet reached its peak, and her breath shuddered out the moment it went lower again. Her thighs widened as they relaxed and the rhythm started all over again.
With each new pass, he shifted just a bit closer to her clit.
Her hips pressed up into it when the vibration next started, and he finally moved it over her clit directly. She gasped, her eyes squeezing shut again.
“There’s my good girl,” he murmured as she shifted into it. A slight whine escaped her lips as she fell back to the bed during the lull. “Don’t worry. You’re not going to orgasm.” He nearly laughed as the whine returned to her voice with his words. The vibration started again, and he pressed a little more firmly this time. Her breathing shuddered.
“You’re really throbbing now. That’s right, press into it. That will help ease the pressure.” Her next soft groan made his own balls tighten. She relaxed again, panting as the rhythm resumed. He didn’t wait for her to lift her hips but circled her clit right away. She gasped, stilling as she focused. “Don’t worry, Bea. You’re not going to come. No, don’t come yet.” The bullet hit the crescendo in his hand as she cried out, arching into it. He thumbed the vibration to a steady one, slightly harder than the first as she pressed her clit against it.
“So fucking gorgeous,” he breathed, watching her teeth close on her lip as the orgasm rushed through her.
Her thighs relaxed as the last pulse faded away.
Montrell didn’t remove the bullet. He thumbed it to the lowest setting, rubbing up and down to gather more lube.
Her eyes flew wide. “Wait—”
But she was sensitive now, and the bullet was shifting just the way she liked as it vibrated her clit.
“Almost there. Again, Bea.” He rubbed her clit with it.
She tried to speak, but no words came as she thrust against the vibrator, trying to dislodge the pressure. He tilted the bullet with her movements until the tip pulsed right against her clit.
“It’s okay. You can do it.” He couldn’t help it if the words came out rough.
Her second orgasm was harder than the first, and she grabbed for his hand, trying to shove it away. He lifted the bullet so it was barely vibrating on her, letting it pull her through the orgasm before thumbing it off.
Beatrice couldn’t catch her breath as she stared up at him.
“Bea?” he asked, suddenly feeling guilty. She’d asked him to wait.
She groaned, her hands grabbing his head and dragging his mouth down to hers. Her tongue thrust inside his mouth, so fucking giving. He rolled on top of her, very glad for the sheets and comforter between them. His body was telling him to cover her and enter her so it could thrust.
Her body had stiffened, though. As if it was waiting for that.
He poured all he had into the kiss, rubbing and seeking and clinging.
Her hands loosened, where they were tangled in his hair, letting him raise his head again to stare down at her.
She frowned up at him, and her brow had furrowed. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”
His hand that was holding the vibrator was trapped between them. He shifted to the side, rubbing it against her even though it was off. “Need another orgasm?”
She stroked the back of his neck. He didn’t think she realized she did it. Her eyes were too intent on his own. “No, I—” She swallowed, shaking her head. “No.” Her body relaxed, still partially under his.
He removed the vibrator, letting it fall to the messy sheets. They were already sticky with dripped lube and his earlier explosion.
Her eyes had slipped closed.
“Makes you sleepy, doesn’t it?” He kissed her nose again. “You okay with cum-stained sheets? Or can you stay awake long enough for me to change them?”
Her nose wrinkled, and her hands pulled away. She looked toward the door.
“Or you can slip back to your room. Whatever you want,” he murmured, even though he wanted to beg her to stay. He lifted himself fully off of her, and she scrambled off the bed on the side closest to the door.
“Want to take the vibrator for later?” he offered.
She shook her head, already walking toward the door. With it open, she hesitated.
“Good night, Montrell.”
“Good night, Bea.”
When she closed the door behind her, he collapsed to the bed, yanking at the sheets until the cool air hit his straining cock. His hand was still slick with lube as he wrapped it around his erection. The sheets were already messy. More cum wouldn’t hurt them at all, and it was all too easy to imagine how her mouth had felt when she’d used it on him.