Crawl to Me
Lex
I’ve never understood the saying, ‘the silence is deafening,’ until right now, waiting in this room for him to come in. I can’t stop moving, fidgeting back and forth. My skin feels like it’s covered in ants, and I have this overwhelming need to put space between the door and myself. Looking around the room, at the large bed still rumpled from when I climbed out of it, the mirror on the dresser, my suitcase. Despite being a large room, it feels cluttered and busy, and now probably isn’t the time to reorganize things.
My feet slowly move, backing me toward the far corner; if I’m there, I can see the entire room, and nothing can take me by surprise. As my shoulders touch the wall, the door quietly opens, and now not only does the room feel cluttered, but the air feels like oil. It’s so thick. Taking him in fully, I’m caught between cursing my physical reaction to his beauty and encouraging myself to run to him.
I’ve never felt more conflicted about anything, especially a man. He’s also so thick everywhere, lean muscles under fitted clothes, one arm covered in tattoos, and I can make out a bear, maybe an eagle. I want to explore him and ask him if they have any meaning. Mine only means I can hide under them.
Does he feel like I do—trapped in a body that never quite feels his own?
He leans back against the door, hands in his pockets, and the stance is passive. For the first time, I don’t feel the need to run away; I want to be here. I want to know more about him, but it appears I’ve entirely lost the ability to speak, and the silence booms in my ears. The sound of my heart beating, the sound of him breathing in and out slowly.
I glide my hands up and down my thighs, practicing an exercise my therapist taught me. I feel the lush carpet under my feet, the warmth of my legs under my hands, the sensation of my hands moving. I can’t spin out. His hand moves up and removes his baseball hat, placing it on the dresser next to him and then returning to scrub a hand over his scalp, across the very short, almost not-there stubble. The muscles in his arms flex with the movement, biceps straining under his shirt. He’s so much bigger than any man I’ve ever been with or been attracted to, but I can’t deny that I want to feel what it would be like if he positioned himself over me.
I’m desperately trying to figure out how to break the silence when he steps forward and our eyes lock.
“Lex,”
My name sounds like butter on his tongue, and my stomach flips. I want to hear him repeat it; I want to listen to him groan it.
“Say it again,” I whisper, the desire evident in my tone.
His eyebrow shoots up at the request, and I think I like this expression. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning, seeing the pile of presents with his name on them.
“You left.”
I did. I did leave. This had been planned for a couple of months.
“I…”
“You should have told me.”
This display of… hurt? It’s confusing coming from him.
I couldn’t possibly describe what I’m feeling—desire and annoyance, guilt, maybe.
His voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts.
“You’ll always tell me where you’re going.”
Not a question. A demand.
My eyebrows furrow at this, at the expectation.
“How exactly would you suggest I do that? I don’t have your phone number or address. Should I send out smoke signals? Fly a message through the sky and hope you see it?”
He smirks, taking another step into the room.
“Well, you could have messaged me on Instagram.”
Right. That.
I blush at him calling this out. I forgot that Aleks outed me for being a creepy Instagram stalker. I want to pick a fight and scream that he has no right to know anything about me or my plans, that he’s done nothing but play games that I don’t know the rules to, but he continues.
“So, what will I do with you?”
He doesn’t sound angry; he sounds hungry, and my breathing kicks up a notch.
“I want to punish you. I want to teach you how my woman should act.”
His… woman?
Tingles spread across my skin, leaving it flushed and covered in goosebumps. I can’t take another edging. I think I’ll die. Even at this moment, the thrum between my legs threatens to make me buckle.
Is it hot in here?
“Take off your clothes.”
It’s a demand. One I could deny. One I should deny. The house is full of people who love me. Aleks would throw him out in a heartbeat if I called for help. But I don’t move—my pulse pounds. I don’t need help. My hands move from my thighs to the hem of the shirt I’m wearing, and I pull it slowly over my head before moving to my shorts, hooking my thumbs into the waistband and pausing. His chest rises and falls in quicker succession, and his gaze is fixed on my bare chest.
I notice the movement in his shorts, the way his dick presses against the material.
“Keep going.”
I shift and work my shorts down, leaving myself standing bare and exposed before him, and I fight the urge to cover my tummy.
God, he can see all of me.
The roaring silence returns, and he stares at me for an eternity. I would give anything for a pathway into his thoughts. What does he see when he looks at me, at my body littered with tattoos? He’s hard, but that doesn’t mean he likes what he sees. I’ve heard men talk about their conquests over the years, and it doesn’t always take physical attraction for a man to get hard over a woman. Sometimes, it’s simply a biological response to a naked—
“You’re so fucking beautiful…”
Oh… my…
My eyes drop to my body—the rise and fall of my breath, the heat pooling between my legs. I know I’ll do whatever he wants. Now. Tomorrow. Next week.
He can take it all with my blessing.
“Crawl to me, Lex.”
Don’t immediately comply.
Make him think you’re fighting back.
I arch a brow, my voice smooth, slow, wrapped in silk.
“I beg your pardon?”
Something flashes in his eyes as he responds, “Oh. Beg.” A dark chuckle, the sound dragging heat down my spine, “Not yet, but you will.”
His response dissolves every last ounce of resolve I had. I lift my eyes to meet his; they look black from here, and I lower myself to the floor.
Feel my knees on the carpet.
The way my hands support me.
The feeling of my hair around me, creating a curtain.
Stay present.
“Come to me.”
I start to move slowly, one limb at a time.
Right hand.
Left leg.
Left hand.
All the while keeping my eyes glued to him.
That small and crowded feeling from before is gone, and suddenly, it feels like there’s an ocean between us that I’ll never reach the other side of.
I want to be under him now.
As I approach, he slowly drops into a crouch.
I don’t stop.
I push into his space, my head between his knees, and our eyes locked. His strong hands wrap around my shoulders, and he pulls me up into him, my body flush against his. My nerves explode when his fingers rake up my arm and his cotton shirt brushes my skin. Leaning down, getting so close, he whispers, “Good girl.”
A small whimper claws its way out of my throat.
I sound so fucking desperate.
“You’re the most frustrating thing I’ve ever encountered.”
His hand on my arm tightens, and my stomach drops until he continues, “And the most incredible thing.”
He yanks me up, crushing his mouth to mine. His lips devour me, and his fingers tangle in my hair, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure. His other hand spans my lower back, pressing me into the heat of him.
He’s so much bigger than me.
I feel his hand move to my jaw, and he pulls away. I bite my bottom lip, tasting him there and loving the slightly swollen feeling left by the harshness of his kiss. He rubs his thumb along my jaw, a look of wonder in his eyes, before rubbing the rough pad along my bottom lip.
My heart stutters,
And then, it fractures.
His eyes search mine, and I know—
This is going to hurt.
Adrian
No woman has ever looked at me like this—like she sees me. Like she knows me. And it makes me nervous.
No woman has ever made me nervous.
The intensity of this moment, with her body pressed against mine and free from any barriers, is sobering. I see and feel her shift something in me—a pull toward tenderness. But we’re not there; she hasn’t earned tenderness. I literally shake myself. She notices the movement, as subtle as it is, and her eyebrows knit together, concern etched on her face. I force my expression into one of neutrality and indifference.
“Turn around,” I command.
She hesitates briefly before spinning, sitting on her knees before me. I sink onto my knees, one on each side of her ass, and reach out to her wild hair, twisting it into a long braid down her back. Her skin feels like fire, raging against my hands as I work. Her shoulders are tense, and I can only imagine the thoughts going through her head. I can’t imagine she thought I’d be braiding her hair while she’s completely naked, on her knees, in this dimly lit bedroom.
But I’ve wanted to do this for so long, too long, five years.
I review my handiwork, fingers ghosting over the long braid. Having a sister taught me a thing or two about braiding hair. My gaze trails lower, mapping the ink across her back—flowers on her shoulders, butterflies, and other scattered pieces of her story etched into her skin. She shifts slightly, peering over her left shoulder at me, looking unsure. I stop myself from shaking my head clear again.
“Stand up, Lex.”
With intentional movements, she shifts onto her hands slightly and lifts off her knees, letting her ass come up first and giving me a perfect view of her pussy. And holy fuck, she’s soaked, gleaming in the dim light. I follow, running my hands up the side of her thighs as I rise, loving the way she shudders under my touch. I guide her to turn around and face me; without me asking, she lifts her eyes back to mine.
She’ll be my undoing.
Dragging my hand up her stomach, over her breast, I firmly grab the braid, wrapping it around her neck and pulling her into me so our noses almost touch. She doesn’t try to pull back or avert her eyes.
So stubborn. So fucking beautiful.
“What do you want from me, Lex?”
I silently cheer my ability to keep my tone even, bordering on uninterested. Her lips part slightly, and no words come out, but her thighs rub together.
“I don’t want to guess. Tell me exactly what you want—and what you think you deserve after pulling that stunt.”
Her breath stutters, and her voice is barely above a whisper when she finally speaks. Even in the dim light, the flush creeping up her neck is unmistakable.
“I want you to fuck me.”
A slow smile tugs at my lips.
She likes to play with fire.
Fittingly, I like to watch things burn.
I use my hand, which is still holding her braid wrapped around her neck, to shove her back—her legs hit the bed, and she falls backward, and for the first time tonight, she closes her eyes. Her long lashes rest against her cheekbones, and she looks like a fucking angel. Her heart is pounding so hard that her chest jumps in rapid succession.
I’m so fucked.
I take two steps toward the bed, pulling my shirt off as I go, and there’s a flicker of surprise when her eyes open again and sees that I’ve shed some clothing and am lowering myself over top of her.
“You know the rules,” I say, statement, not a question.
The look of confusion crosses her face again, and there’s only so much I’ll tolerate the damsel in distress act.
She knows.
My voice is gruff and somewhat harsh when I continue.
“Don’t play with me. Tell me. Tell me you know the rules.”
I see the look of resignation and disappointment, maybe some excitement.
“Don’t come,” she breathes.
“That’s right, baby.”
She looks like she might cry, and before I cave and give her what I know she’s desperate for, I push off and lower myself between her legs, wrapping my arms around her thighs and pulling her to me, diving into her pussy with such ferocity that I fully expect her to come, whether she thinks she’s allowed to or not.
Her back arches off the bed, her hands fisting the sheets, and if I were on death row, this would be my last meal request.
I could live off of her.
God damn.
She seems worthy of dying for.
Slipping two fingers inside, and she’s so tight. If she’s this tight on my fingers, she’ll strangle my dick. I can feel her inner walls pulsing, and I know her orgasm is coming in hard. I’m tempted to push her over the edge and punish her for it after, but instead, I clamp down on her clit, biting into it, and she stills completely, her only movement the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
I can feel her pulse through her clit.
I bite back the desire to giggle like a little kid at that fact. When her breathing has slowed, I release her and lean up to see her eyes transfixed on the ceiling above, tears streaming down her temples.
Fuck.
I move up and over her to look into her eyes— did she say stop, and I missed it?
When our eyes meet, my concern evaporates as she reaches out and pulls me down onto her, our lips connecting in what might be the most devastating kiss. My resolve shatters, and I wrap my arms around her and roll so I can pull her onto me. I can taste the remnants of gin on her tongue, and it feels like she’s trying to pull my soul out of my body. Her hand moves down, and she fumbles with the button on my shorts.
Supposed to be teaching her a lesson…
She lets out a low growl, which might be the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard, before standing up and pulling my shorts down. That nervous feeling returns, a fluttering in my stomach. She crawls up the bed over me, her eyes wide and fixed on my dick— fuck it.
I reach for her to pull her close again, but she bats my hands away. Reaching between us, wasting no time, wrapping her long fingers around my cock and positioning it at her entrance.
“Lex…” I think I’m about to tell her to slow down when she lowers herself fully onto me, and she’s impossibly tight.
Delicate hands pressed into my chest. Her head falls back as she sets a steady pace, grinding up and down. Her full, round tits bounce slightly with her movements, and I want to touch them, touch her, but I’m frozen, mesmerized by the sight of her. She’s relentless, breathing heavily, and her chest glistens as she starts to sweat. My hands physically ache with the need to feel her skin, so I reach for her hips, grabbing them hard and slowing her pace.
She drops her head forward, those stormy eyes finding mine.
“Adrian..” my name is a moan, and it pushes me so close to my own edge.
I’m not ready for this to end or for her to take this from me.
I lift her off of me, and she squeals lightly as I flip her over onto her tummy, kissing a trail down her spine, giving myself a minute to step back off the ledge.
“Ass up, Lex.”
She wiggles her ass upward, and I return my mouth to her. She’s soaked, and I want every fucking drop of her inside of me before I fill her with myself again.
A low rumble builds in my chest.
“fuck—you taste like you were meant for me.”
“I’m going to come!” Her panicked, lust-laden voice informs.
Good—no, wait…
Pushing myself up, I grab my cock and slam it to the hilt. She releases a low grunt, and I know it’s a mixture of pleasure and pain.
I can feel her fucking cervix.
Reaching for her braid, I wrap it around her neck again and pick up my pace, slamming into her with relentless force.
“I—can’t—stop,” She gasps, each word punctuated by my thrusts.
She can’t stop the orgasm that’s about to rip through her, and in this moment, I want it. I want her to break apart before me. I slow my pace.
She doesn’t hesitate like before—doesn’t wait for me to command her.
“Please. Oh, god, please. Please may I come, Daddy?”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
That pushes me to the edge, and it’s now or never.
“Come for me.”
Her pussy locks down around my dick, and she screams into the bed. I reach around and find her clit, circling it, knowing it’ll push her orgasm on and on. The way she pulsates and squirms under me, the noises. They all do me in, and I follow her over that cliff, filling her pussy to the brim with cum before collapsing on top of her.
I could die right now, and my only problem would be that I didn’t get to do that more.
Our hearts beat in what feels like unison. She eases out from under me, and I watch her leave the room, returning a few moments later. She stands at the edge of the bed for a moment before crawling back in, pausing a few inches from me, and I feel her hesitation.
As if I could deny her.
She can have it all.
Reaching out, I wrap an arm around her narrow waist and pull her body against mine, breathing her in. She dissolves, relaxing, and soon her breath evens, and she’s asleep. It’s been a long day. I should be exhausted, but I don’t think sleep will be possible tonight. Not with her like this, tucked against me, her chest rising and falling in long, even breaths, her heart rate slow and steady. Her fingers twitch lightly against my chest like she’s searching for something as she sleeps. Like she’s seaching for me.
Oh…no…
And that feeling in my stomach is back. Like a slow, twisting pressure, low and unfamiliar. Not hunger. Not nerves. Something else. Something I don’t have a fucking name for. It tightens when she shifts against me; it feels like finally finding something missing for years.
It’s not a bad feeling.
She feels like home
She’s fucking everything.