Chapter Fifteen
In which Alec has dessert and Martin learns why you knock.
Fee…
I insisted on having dessert before leaving Davies’ restaurant.The food was that good.
Whilst we waited, I slipped off one of my flats and placed the sole of my bare foot firmly against the hot, hard bar of his erection.
God love the man, but he did little more than raise the corner of his lip, showing off a bit of his canines, “The tablecloth probably isn’t long enough to hide anything.”
“Don’t care. Besides which, you said yourself this is a very discreet corner.” I kneaded at him with my toes, and tried not to let on that his size was nearly past thrilling into intimidating.
“True. However, since our waiter hasn’t consented and I know that is important to you, maybe we shouldn’t shock a member of the proletariat?”
“Good point.” I gave him a last brush with my heel and then slipped my shoe back on before our sweets arrived. A plate of baked quince halves in honey, some stuffed with whipped cream, some with candied walnuts.
Davies ignored the knives and forks and lifted one of the cream-filled gems to his mouth, looking me in the eye the full time. Those poison green eyes were so hungry. Then he closed them and started to lick .
I swear I felt every taste he took, that long, clever tongue of his scooping up that sweetened cream with greedy swipes until it was empty. My cunt was swollen, soft, starting to beat in time to my heart, which was speeding up.
I may have dropped my spoon when he opened his eyes again, smiled at me, and ate the now empty fruit in three sharp bites.
“You should get the check.”
“Are you sure?” He gestured to my plate, “You’ve barely touched your pudding.”
I ran my finger through the cream, getting a big dollop, and sucked it clean. “Mmmmm… I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“I hope that’s not true. Check!”
Davies’ mansion/temple was close to the restaurant, so we decided for the sake of public decency - and the amount of distracting noises his driver would be subjected to -to keep our hands to ourselves. Also, no matter how badly I was gagging for the man I was not going to have it off in the backseat of fucking Bentley Bentayga, even if it was a hybrid.
Out of the vehicle at top speed, we walked, no we all but ran into the building. “Your room, my room, the study, the fucking hallway, where do you want to go?” Davies kept his voice casual, but when he opened the door for me his knuckles were as white as snow.
“Your room,” I turned in the doorway and running a hand through his hair, and leaned close, trying not to rub myself on him, “But I imagine your bed is the altar piece to this monstrosity of a house, so I would assume that for you fucking a socialist on it would probably deconsecrate it, yeah?”
“Tomorrow I’ll take you to Highgate cemetery and fuck you on Marx’s grave, so we’ll be even,” he growled, then he bent his knees, threw me over his shoulder so my hips took the brunt of it rather than my full stomach and ran up the sweeping stairs two at a time, my laugh trailing behind us.
The master suite of the Davies’ mansion had double doors with brass handles and elaborate carvings of fruit and stags, probably salvaged from a Georgian country house. They opened with an ominous creak, as the doors to the lair of a supervillain Godking should. The darkness was absolute, and for a moment it was as if we had been swallowed whole.
Then, a few more steps and I was flying backwards, landing in a puff of velvet-covered eiderdown and sumptuous piles of pillows. Davies was over me, caging me with his long, strong body, though I could see little more than the shape of him.Dipping his head, his hair brushing my forehead, we found each other's mouths by instinct, kissing and pulling away, he tenderly bit my lower lip and I arched up into him, running my lips up his throat, rubbing my face against the stubble of his like I was a cat and he was my favorite toy.
Then he, with the sound of someone trying to get themselves under control, was up and off me.
I expected Davies to turn on a light but rather, I felt his long finger circle my right ankle, lifting my foot and taking off my shoe.
“Felicity?” he asked, planting a soft kiss on the arch of my foot. His voice was like silk and sandpaper over my skin, soothing and agitating at once.
For a moment I couldn’t think of what he was saying then the penny dropped. My name. “Nah.Too English for me.”
He performed the same service to my left foot. “Felicia?”
Now I snorted, “As if.”
Those same fingers, running up my legs, their heat searing through the denim, brushing over the apex of my sex. I inhaled with a hiss, “Lovely.” He undid the button and then slowly unzipped, and I swear I felt every tooth of that zipped rattle through my blood which was shouting for him to hurry it up.
He stopped and started to say, “Fed - fuck it, I can’t,” and pulled my jeans and panties off in one go. For a moment I was cold and wet and feeling a bit alone, as he waited. I could hear his breathing coming like a racehorse. “I haven’t been with anyone in… I don’t remember how long, and I had a physical recently so I’m healthy, but if you want a condom I have a selection.” He sounded almost diffident. Almost embarrassed.
For a moment I forgot who he was, what he was, and I sat up and touched where I could see the outline of his shoulder.
“I haven’t been with anyone either, been too busy. But I have an implant. I trust you about not needing a condom.”
And then he was on me.
Broad palms pushed my thighs apart and he settled between them like there was no place else in the world as far as he was concerned. Rather than the full, aggressive tongue lashing he’d given that poor quince at the restaurant, he started with a kiss, teasingly given, upon my clit. Already worn from being denied since dinner, it wanted more, but he played coy, with more boyish kisses, each one with slightly more open lips, until he was suckling on it, not hard but generously, keeping his mouth soft.
I rolled my hips against him, wanting, needing more aggression, more firmness, something less maddening. “You teasing bastard, I know you can use that lying tongue of yours for more than that.” I tried to rage at him, but my breath was too rough, my tone too needy.
Lifting his head, whilst putting a firm hand on my belly to keep me from doing more than he wanted, he said, “Ms. Cassidy, I don’t tell you how to blow up dams or clean up goat shit, so don’t tell me how to eat pussy. For that you don’t get your first orgasm from my poor, insulted tongue.”
As he spoke he ran one of the fingers of his free hand up and down my seam, then entered me with two of them, my wet soaking his entire hand, stroking with the firmness his mouth had denied me. Then, curling, one of his finger pads found my G-spot.
A sound left me, taking along with it any dignity I have left, and a fond farewell to it. “There she is,” he murmured, and I had a feeling he could see in the dark better than I could, for I was sure he was looking at my face.
That damned touch circled and circled, and I swear I sobbed at the pleasure of it, my hands fisted into the velvet, my cunt throbbing, trying to pull more of him into me, my feet trying to plant themselves to push up, but he splayed over me, using his weight to keep me from rushing, rushing what was coming, slowly enough to make me crazy, insistent enough that I knew it was a promise, and then -
He tapped. Three hard times.
My mouth opened into a howl of pleasure as every bit of me that had been contracted released, and he moved to cage me again and kiss that howl, and then I was able to wrap my legs around his arm and work myself against his touch as the orgasm kept coming and coming and he kissed me as he fumbled, his first ungraceful moment since sobering up and loosed himself from his trousers and fucked into me and into the orgasm so I was squeezing him as tight as tight could be from that first moment.
Big, Jesus but he was fucking big! Even ready and open and wanting I ached so good at the feel of him working me, spreading me.
“Fuck, Fee,” he gritted, his teeth scraping my cheek, “you are hot as a goddamned kiln.”
“Beware I don’t turn ya to ash,” I managed to wheeze out, as he braced his arms on either side of my head, raised up and started to work his hips faster and faster. I wrapped my legs about his waist, the fingers of one hand snagged his hair, whilst the other worked its way under his sweater and dug its nails into his back.
“Worth it,” he hissed. “But you first.” Reaching under me, he scooped me up, sitting upright himself so I now perched on his kneeling thighs, “Get yourself there on me, Fee. Get us both there.”
Half insensible from the daylights he’d been fucking out of me, it took me a minute to figure out what he was saying. Then I knew and I ground down, I ground so my clit was scratched by his pubic hair, so the head of that marvelous, monstrous cock of his worked so deep it was a sharp shock that brought me around, and then I rode him.
Big hands on my hips not to move them but to keep me in place, I could hear grunts, no, growls, coming from Alec, only the feel of his expensive sweater under my hands, reminding me that he was a man and not a wolf.
That and that he had yet to bite the back of my neck and take me from behind.
The thought of which was enough to send me over the edge again, so my head fell back and my mindless scream of pleasure echoed in the high-ceilinged room, and probably through the halls as well, joined quickly by Alec’s own finishing howl as I felt him spend, hot and endlessly, in me.
Afterwards, we managed to untangle ourselves with minimum damage, a miracle considering how sex drunk and exhausted we both were. I swear I never laughed so hard as at how much trouble I had getting my shirt unbuttoned, and Davies all but fell on his arse sliding his trousers off.
Normally after a ride I am not one for having a fella stay the night, or staying at his, either. However, I was already staying at his and the thought of walking the several kilometers of hallway back to the room I was using made me want to weep with exhaustion.
Rather, when he lifted the duvet, I pulled myself in, “No cuddling now, I don’t do that,” I cautioned him.
“Neither do I,” he assured me. Though at some point in the night one or both of us turned out to be a liar, based on how we were laying when dawn, and my Da looking for Noreen, broke into the room.
Thank god it wasn’t Fintan.