Chapter 23 Alessia
Gabriel breaks off our kiss too soon, stealing the words I want to ask him right out of my breath like: what the fuck is wrong with you?
What are you doing to me?
And you were supposed to help me get back into the game, not block me from going out with any other men ever again!
Before I can even react to the intensity of his kiss, the way his tongue is inside my mouth, making me forget all my questions, the way he’s pressing his entire body against mine like he’s relieved to see me, he’s spinning me around, unzipping my dress with that same confidence he had zipping me into it two hours ago except this time he’s frantic.
The fabric pools at my feet, a soft puddle of material on the floor. He helps me step out of it, his strong hands steady, and then with one deft movement, he unsnaps my bra.
My breasts fall free, heavy, aching for his touch and already turned on.
He wastes no time, reaching around my front, cupping them both, his palms warm as he kneads them, squeezing just enough to make me gasp.
His fingers find my nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, tugging lightly, teasing them into stiff, puffy peaks until I feel like I might come just from the way he’s touching me.
My head rests against his chest, his scent, light smoke from the fireplace, whiskey and leather from his bike, coats my skin deliciously. A deep, satisfied sound rumbles from his chest.
“You’re perfect,” he says softly in my ear as he plays with my body.
The relief that I’m finally being taken care of hits me instantly. Like my body has been holding its breath for hours and is only just now allowed to exhale. He’s finally touching me.
Every place that’s been lit up and aching since I left his house is suddenly under his hands, his attention focused on me, like he’s reacquainting himself with every inch of my skin.
He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t miss anything.
His palms glide over my waist, my ribs, my stomach, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
His fingers slide lower, curling around my hips where they dig in just enough to make it sting.
Then they move lower. He brushes over my pussy once with a single digit.
It’s enough to have me rocking forward. A slow, teasing graze that sends a sharp pulse of need straight through my body.
“One foot on the couch cushion, the other on the floor,” he says in my ear, his voice dark and velvety.
I do as he says, shifting forward into the position he wants, one step up, my back arching slightly as he presses his palm against the small of my spine, bending me forward to position me where he wants me. My dark hair cascades over my shoulder as I exhale shakily, heart hammering in my chest.
“Good girl. You look so beautiful bent over like this, Alessia.”
I love the way he says my name. Thousands of people have called for me in my life, have needed something from me, have spoken my name in passing or in praise.
But none of them have ever said it the way he does.
Like it’s both an exaltation and an inhalation.
Like the word itself is something precious he has to draw into his lungs before he lets it go.
He drops to his knees behind me, and I feel him everywhere.
His warm breath on my thighs, his hands gripping my hips, thumbs pressing into the curve of my ass as he spreads me open, exposing me fully to him.
A slow, wet lick from my clit all the way up and across my ass sends a violent shudder through me.
I grip the couch, knuckles white, trying to steady myself, trying to hold onto some sliver of control, but it’s impossible when he’s doing that.
I’ve been aching for this for over two hours now.
My pussy is throbbing, clit oversensitive from rubbing together with every damn step I took in that restaurant.
I was so wet, so ready, still leaking with his cum, I could barely think straight to make the drive home.
And now he’s taking his time—making me wait for it all over again.
A satisfied hum runs through his throat and out onto the tip of his tongue he has pressed against my clit.
“We taste so good together. Do you want a taste, sweetheart?”
My eyes are sealed shut, my body bent over while he holds me in place.
“Yes.”
He slides a finger inside my pussy and then reaches between my legs to press it past the seam of my lip. I taste him. I taste me. I taste us and I suck. It’s warm, a little salty and something I’ve never, ever done before.
“Say you like the way that we taste.”
I don’t say anything.
“Alessia, say we taste good together. Say that you like the way we taste and that it turns you on to suck our come off my fingers.”
I can’t believe I ever thought Gabriel was just a nice guy who works in construction who raised his sister. I blow out a heavy breath because whew, the dirty talk.
“I like the way we taste. We taste good together.”
He chuckles. “We do, sweetheart.” And then his tongue plunges deep inside me.
I let out a strangled moan as his fingers tighten on my ass, holding me still while he devours me.
His tongue flicks against my pussy, then pushes in again, deeper, slow at first, then with more pressure, more urgency.
His nose brushes my clit, teasing, and I nearly collapse forward onto the couch from the sheer force of his touch.
His lips find my clit next, sucking it into his mouth, and I watch between my legs, my breath catching, my body trembling as I hang my head upside down, getting the show of my fucking life.
“I didn’t want to do that, Aly,” he rasps, voice rough with restraint as he sucks, nips, and flicks against my soaked core.
I shudder, my whole body locked up, trembling, pleasure crackling through me like a live wire.
I want to be mad still, I should be mad that he didn’t let me come, but the way he hums against my clit—the way he eats pussy so, so good—vibrations rolling through me from my head to my toes—makes it impossible to stay angry.
“…But I promised I’d make it up to you if you came home,” he says, voice dark and sinful. “And I will.”
Then his tongue is on me again, flicking so violently against my clit that I can’t even think. I can’t breathe. He sucks down on it and my toes curl into the carpet of his rug as if I can get away.
I tip forward, desperate, my legs shaking, and just when I’m about to come, right when I’m about to get the best of orgasm of my life, his thumb presses against my ass to send another sharp, completely unexpected jolt of pleasure through me.
It’s too much. I feel it in the follicles of my hair, in my nipples, my stomach, my pelvis and my clit—
“Gabriel,” I moan, my body going taut then soft, pleasure hitting me like a freight train and this time he doesn’t stop it from coming. He doesn’t make me wait. It’s relief. Sweet relief.
My chest caves forward, my abs clench so tight it nearly hurts.
There are different kinds of orgasms, and this one feels devastating.
A long, drawn-out wrecking of all my senses.
His fingers keep pumping inside me, drawing it out, dragging it out, making it last, until I can’t tell where that one started and ended because I’m rolling into another one.
There’s no rest, no mercy—he’s already back at my opening, lapping me up, groaning against my soaked, swollen pussy like he can’t get enough. I come again.
“Oh, oh my…” I moan; my knees shake.
“Fuck. I can feel your walls squeezing me so tight. I can’t wait anymore.
” He groans against my pussy then pulls back just long enough to shove his sweatpants down.
I feel the hot, heavy, completely naked weight of him press against my entrance.
The slick head of his cock glides over my drenched pussy, teasing, before he pushes in just enough to have me whimpering.
“You’re still orgasming, aren’t you” he asks.
“I… I don’t know.”
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He curses, squeezes my hips to steady himself and inches in a little bit more. “I can put a condom on,” he rasps, voice thick with need from behind me. “I bought more at the store last week.”
“You better not,” I snap, barely able to form words as his fingers find my clit again, rubbing tight, brutal circles that make my hips jolt forward.
He chuckles darkly. “As you wish.” And then slides into me in one deep, smooth thrust.
I cry out as my body stretches around him, the thickness of him almost too much after my orgasm, my nerves still lit up and aching in the best possible way. I’m too sensitive, every inch of me raw and awake, and somehow that only makes it better.
My walls tighten around him as he fills me, the angle hitting something inside me that sends heat spiraling through my stomach. It’s overwhelming, the pressure, the fullness, the steady pulse of him inside me. So good. Almost too good. And I feel it everywhere.
He steadies me, grips my hips tighter, lifts them just enough to position himself deeper. My toes are almost off the ground, his cock filling me completely. My leg, still propped on the couch, trembles as he pulls back, almost all the way out—then drives into me again, hard, to the bottom.
“Oh, god,” I moan, voice wrecked, fingers curling into the couch for any kind of anchor.
“Yeah,” he huffs behind me, voice ragged and possessive. “This feels right. There’s nothing better in the world than feeling my cum still inside of you. Waiting for me to fill you up again.”
And dammit, that’s hot. Everything Gabriel says turns me on.
I’m convinced he could make me come with just his words.
He takes another, long stroke, pulling out almost completely then bottoming out.
And again. And again. Smooth, deep, angled, each thrust forcing me forward, forcing me open, making me take all of him.
“Gabriel, please,” I curse, my voice raw, desperate.
The next time he goes even deeper. I scream, fingers clawing at the couch as pleasure spikes through me like a live wire. Another orgasm is close but before I can reach it, he pulls out completely. I barely have time to register the loss before he’s turning me around so fast my head spins.
“W-what are you doing?” I gasp, breathless, still trembling from how close I was.
He doesn’t answer. Just sits me down, my bare ass on his couch, yanks me to the edge, drops to his knees in front of me, and spreads my thighs wide, his hands gripping my body and positioning me like he owns me.
I fear after tonight, he might.
Then he grins—wicked, knowing—before lowering his mouth to me again. His tongue drags up my pussy in one slow, unholy stripe, ending in a sharp, devastating flick over my clit.
“Yes,” I moan, body jerking, hips rocking forward, chasing that friction, that pressure, that high.
I want more.
“But I want your cock too,” I plead, rolling my hips against his face because his face will do for now, but that cock... It’s the biggest I’ve ever had. It’s the thickest. It’s the heaviest. It fills me in ways that I’ve never felt properly filled before.
“You will,” he grunts against my entrance, voice low and vibrating through me, making me shudder. “But first, I want you coming on my face again.”
Before I realize what’s happening, he’s lifting my legs, hooking my knees over his broad shoulders as he dives back in.
His tongue presses firm against my clit, circling, flicking hard and fast, his grip locking me in place as he devours me.
The pleasure builds back quickly, too intensely, too much, and before I can even stop it, another orgasm blasts through me.
I cry out, my body arching, my head falling back into the couch to rest. And once again—Gabriel doesn’t stop.
He drags it out, his tongue slow now, languid, exploring every inch of me like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me.
Tasting me. Kissing, licking, sucking, owning.
My nipples ache, so painfully tight. My back arches deeper into the couch, but I can’t focus, can’t think, can’t do anything but let him wreck me.
Before Gabriel, I was always one and done. Maybe that’s just because my ex was the same way. We’d finish, sometimes I wouldn’t at all, and then we’d roll over and go to sleep like checking something off a to-do list.
Gabriel is… not like that. Gabriel treats my body like a challenge he has every intention of winning.
Like the number of times that he can make me orgasm is some private game he’s playing with himself, and he refuses to stop until he’s absolutely certain I can’t take another second of it.
And the worst or best part is he looks so damn pleased every time I lose control.
Like wringing another orgasm out of me is the most satisfying victory he’s ever had, and my protests about how sensitive I am or how I might actually die of dehydration mean absolutely nothing to him.
I need water. I need electrolytes. I need rest. I need more.
He lifts his head to see me, his lips slick from my orgasm, his breath hot against my pussy.
“Fuck, Gabriel,” I whisper, barely able to speak. My body is still trembling, still pulsing, my limbs heavy and weak. “You weren’t lying about making it up to me.”
His strong arms wrap around me, lifting me like I weigh nothing, and then he’s flipping me around so he can take a seat, placing me on his lap to straddle his thighs.
And his cock—It’s still between us, thick and heavy, so hard it throbs against my stomach and leaks precum there. He looks up at me, his hazel eyes dark, burning, his lips curling in a dangerous smile that tells me he isn’t finished.
“I’ll never lie to you. Might punish you but I won’t lie. Are you ready for a little more? Can you handle another one?”
I look down at him—at that thick, round head, flushed, glistening, squeezed between us. The way the firelight dances off it and his jaw carved from stone, highlighting just how perfect he is.
Gabriel has an incredible body. That’s apparent to anyone who looks at him. A strong body. But it isn’t just his body that’s perfect. I fear it might be him, his heart that’s perfect, too.
I could tease him. I could make him wait. I could withhold an orgasm from him. Could still be mad about what he did earlier.
I could leave him like this. Denied. Desperate. Wrecked in the same way that he did me before my date. But I don’t want to. I want more. So much more.
I nod. “I can handle it.”
His fingers tighten around my waist, his voice dropping into something rougher.
“Use me, Alessia… get your third orgasm. Take what you need from me and when you come, let it be my name on your lips.”