Chapter Thirty Bram
Chapter Thirty
Bram
I obey Maddie and take off my shirt, reaching behind my head and pulling it off from the neck. I fold it and put it on the counter. The way her gaze goes ardent and keen at the sight of my bare torso has heat crawling up my thighs.
“I love the hair on your stomach and chest,” she says on a sigh. “Fuck, it’s hot. Take off your pants too.”
I should feel self-conscious undressing in the middle of my kitchen in broad daylight, but there’s only eagerness to do what Maddie wants, to gratify her, and when she makes a happy noise at the sight of my dick and my (just as hairy as my chest) thighs, pleasure surges in my belly. I love giving her what she wants.
It takes her a moment to speak, but not like she’s having second thoughts. More like a general surveying the field, choosing where to outflank the enemy.
“Stand just there.” She picks up her latte, leans back on one hand, and uses the mug to indicate a spot by the entrance to the dining room with the air of someone gesturing to movers where to put a couch.
I obey, of course.
It’s a good spot for someone to stand naked; from here, I can see into the living room and parlor and into my office, I can feel the open space of my house around me, the distance to the walls, the brush of air currents from the house’s little system of easterlies and westerlies, the unfiltered sinfulness of standing naked in full daylight in an open space.
But it’s also shielded by various angles from view; despite the many tall windows in the house, there’s no danger of neighbors or passersby seeing anything other than Maddie slouched on the kitchen island, one leg now dangling idly over the edge as she sips from her mug.
If they happened to notice the sultry curve of her mouth, or that her eyes are glintingly fixed on one spot, well. They would never be able to see why.
I stand with my feet apart and my hands at my sides, ready for her to make me do whatever she wants. Which I have a guess about, but coarse satisfaction still floods me when she says in a clear imperative, “Jerk off for me.”
My cock is hot to the touch when I take it in my hand, hot and swollen enough that the first brush of my fingers has pleasure rippling through my stomach. Maddie watches with undisguised gratification as I take a moment to collect myself, cupping my balls, running a hand up to my chest.
Well, it was a moment to collect myself, but now I’m preening a little bit, showing off.
Spreading my hand wide as I move it back down over my chest and stomach, letting her take in the hair she says she likes so much, the tight lines of muscle moving under my skin.
I cup my balls and widen my thighs. When I start stroking myself, I don’t use the quick, efficient you have five minutes in the shower so make them count motions, but the long, grazing make it last kind.
I make sure she can see the muscles in my arm and shoulder bunch and tense; I want her to see the flex and release of the tendons in my forearms and wrists and hands.
I want her to see the three veins meandering thickly up my dick, like vines, scandent and seeking, and I want her to see the clear glisten of desire pooling at my slit.
She’s trying to play it cool still, her latte in hand, her dangling foot, but the mug is frozen halfway to her mouth and I can see the jut of her nipples even through her sweatshirt.
Ahhh, fuck, I like this.
I like this a lot.
Is this how she feels coloring her lips bright red?
Putting on a skirt that she knows will have me hauling her into a corner at the first opportunity?
I’m not an exhibitionist; I don’t have any internal craving to be watched or perceived.
And yet showing off for her, making her throat move and her cheeks pink just by existing . . .
That’s potent.
And it’s exhilarating to realize in my mid-thirties that I’m actually sexy to someone.
Sara and I got together when I was short and awkward and stammering, my teeth everywhere, my body a mix of knobby bones and soft places.
* And so nothing changed for me romantically or sexually after the muscles and the hair came, or after my features caught up with my teeth and nose.
Sara loved the clumsy youngster and the big, quiet man just the same, and so I guess I never reconsidered my own attractiveness.
Attempting to date after the divorce, even this attachment with Maddie—well, I know what I can do for people.
Make them feel good. Make them feel cared for.
And I like doing those things, honestly.
But it does feel nice to have Maddie look at me like I should be on the cover of a magazine. Like she’s memorizing the sight of me to rub her clit to later.
“Go faster,” she says. The mug has been abandoned and she’s scooted to the edge of the counter. Her chest is moving up and down under the sweatshirt. “I want to see how you do it when you’re getting yourself off alone.”
“Can I come?” It seems important to ask her this, to know exactly what she wants.
Her eyes are so, so dark with pupil now, despite the light filling up the house. “No,” she says, her voice shaking a little, with lust and maybe with the power of it too, the ability to deny me something we both know I want. “Not yet.”
“Then I won’t,” I say, although I’m already in the danger zone, already feeling that pull deep in my groin.
The shimmering mirage of relief just a few hard pumps away.
I take a breath and try to steady myself as I wrap my hand securely around my cock and start working the thick organ with the kind of strokes I like in private—steady, short, rough.
You could set a metronome to how I fuck my fist, and Maddie seems to have set her heartbeat to it, judging by the fast heave of her chest and the unconscious squirm of her hips.
I’m there so fast, my balls cinching up and my thighs trembling, and I feel the first dangerous swell of my penis, the tight, angry knot at the base of my spine, and I yank my hand away with an agonized noise, my ribs jerking with futile, uneven breaths.
Her breathing is just as uneven, her lower lip wet from licking, her right hand up and kneading her breast, as if it’s aching and needs relief.
“Good,” she says, her voice a little hoarse. “That’s so good, Bram.”
I grunt, my entire body clenched against the release, a string of shining pre-come dripping from my tip.
She watches me strain for a moment, clearly enjoying my struggles, and then comes to some kind of decision, because her lips curve wickedly.
“Again,” she declares, “but this time—”
She wriggles out of her shorts, which have nothing underneath. She’s wearing only the sweatshirt now, and then it’s all plump, creamy thighs and that ass and those hips and the adorable smile of her belly just above her bare pussy.
“This time I’m going to come while I watch you,” she says, perching on the edge of the counter and spreading her legs wide.
The sunlight means that I can see immediately how worked up she’s become watching me jerk off, and when she runs two fingers up the center of herself, they come away wet. “But you still can’t come.”
“Maddie.” It comes out as a growl. A warning.
“You said I could tell you what to do,” she purrs as she licks her own arousal off her fingertips.
Fuck. Me.
My cock gives a painful jerk in the air, without me touching it. Another string of pre-come drops to the floor.
She touches herself again, this time focusing on the needy bundle of nerves at the top of her sex, relaxing back on one hand again and looking for all the world like someone having a casual self-care session.
Like someone treating themselves to a nice morning with some porn.
It’s so goddamn hot, and without meaning to, I grab myself again, stroking as I watch her fuck herself.
Delicate fingers, her nails varnished the same killer red as her lipstick, fucking against all sweet, wet pink.
“I did this thinking of you after that first day when you showed up on my doorstep.” The words come out jagged and harsh.
“That night. I got in the shower and I thought of fucking your mouth until you had pink lipstick all over your chin. I thought of bending you over my desk and spanking you until you were begging and squirming, and then making you take me as deep as I could go. Making you come on me while my handprints were still glowing on your backside.”
She sucks in a breath, her fingers moving faster.
“I fucked myself that night too,” she admits, her hips moving now to meet the pleasure.
“In the library bathroom. I had to bite the side of my hand to keep quiet. I thought about you calling me a brat. I imagined you finding me on campus and making me take your cock before class.” Her gaze is on that same cock now, like she’s jealous of me for touching it and also like she’s .
. . proud of it. Like it belongs to her, a treasured possession that she can demand at any time, and oh god, it’s true, it belongs to her as much as the rest of my body and my mind. As much as my heart.
“Tell me the worst thing you thought about,” she demands breathlessly. “The filthiest thing. The thing you would never even imagine if you were in your right mind.”
“Maddie, don’t,” I groan, jerking myself harder despite my protests. “Don’t make me say it.”
“But I’m in charge right now, and I want to know,” she says, brat and queen all at once.
“You’re always so good, so careful, but now I know that you’ve been bad before too.
That there’s a streak of it in you. That you want to be bad with me.
” The last part comes in a low voice—the words broken as her hips move even faster into her touch.
And I shouldn’t, it’s awful, it’s nothing like the person I want to be, nothing I would ever even think with anyone other than Maddie, but—